#nobody comes out unhurt it's always nice

[skyward-floored]

A piece of paper with most of a coffee ring on it reads in smudged writing: “One of the boys uses their power to quietly save a civilian?”

I had the hardest time picking which boy to do lol, but I finally wrote something out for this :)

———

Wind walked at the back of the group with Four beside him, the two looking around as they followed the rest of their family out of the shopping center.

Wind didn’t like shopping much. Especially since despite how his parents tried to hide it he knew money was a little tight. But several of them had needed new school supplies for the year, so here they were.

In the boring shopping center.

Wind sighed. At least they were finally finished and going home now. They’d been here for what felt like ages and he’d looked at way too many pairs of shoes. At least his parents seemed happy with what they’d got.

“If one more person says how cute we are I’m gonna scream,” Four said grumpily from next to him, and Wind giggled, then shrugged.

“I don’t know, I think it’s nice. At least if they’re staring at us they’re leaving Wild alone,” he pointed out. Somebody always asked their brother him what happened with his scars, and he hated that.

Four folded his arms. “Yeah... I guess. Still, I’m five! That’s too old to be cute,” he said crossly, blowing some hair out of his face.

Wind just shrugged. Four was a cute kid no matter how much it bothered him, but Wind didn’t want to argue with him over the point. For being only five, he sure was good at winning arguments.

He turned his attention to the parking lot then, dutifully sticking by his parents’ sides when they crossed the road. Four held Twilight’s hand, and Wind found his attention drawn to farther down the street, where a woman had just exited a different store.

She had a huge pile of shopping bags in her arms, barely balancing them all as she walked down the sidewalk, and if that wasn’t enough, she was also digging through her purse and barely watching where she was going.

Wind watched her, a little amused at her absentmindedness, then frowned as he realized she was headed straight for a street corner. And still not paying any attention to where she was going, despite the heavy traffic. Wind looked around for any way to make the woman look up, but she probably wouldn’t hear him if he yelled, and nobody else walking by her seemed to notice just how distracted she was.

Four tugged on his sleeve and pointed, having noticed her as well, and Wind nodded, still looking around for some way to help as the woman stepped onto the street. Nothing jumped out at him, and a car came barreling around the corner right towards the woman, definitely going too fast to stop in time.

Four gasped and Wind didn’t even glance around to make sure nobody was looking as he thrust his hands out.

A gust of wind rushed towards the woman and thre her and her bags forward, just barely getting her out of the way of the car.

The woman fell to the ground, bags spilling everywhere, and her face was shocked as she finally looked up and realized how close she’d just come to being hit by the car. A few people who’d seen what had happened helped her up and started to gather her bags, and Wind sighed in relief as the woman stood up, looking shaken, but unhurt.

That had been really close.

“Nice job,” Four whispered, and Wind returned the smile he gave him, glancing anxiously around the parking lot. There were a lot of people around, but he was pretty sure nobody had seen him.

At least, he really hoped so.

��Did anyone see me?” he asked his brother, still looking furtively around.

“Don’t think so. Nobody’s pointing at you or yelling anyway,” Four said as he also looked around. “Good thing too. Mom and dad would kill you if they’d seen.”

Wind sighed in relief, and he and Four caught up to the rest of their family as they put their bags into the back of their car. The woman was safe, nobody had seen him, and he hadn’t accidentally exposed himself and forced their family to move again.

Wind looked up as his father walked past him to the driver’s seat, then froze when he looked him directly in the eye, a stern look on his face.

Oh no, he’d seen!

But then Time gave him just a hint of a proud smile, and Wind relaxed, returning it with a smile of his own.

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3

Lan Wangji, to his great displeasure, accompanies his husband to Qinghe

Nie Mingjue’s health did not improve in the weeks that followed. If anything, it appeared to worsen after Xue Yang, who had been caught and brought to justice by a rogue cultivator, was freed when his only surviving victim recanted his testimony and withdrew all accusations. Lanling Jin announced that they would punish Xue Yang themselves, proceeded to take him back in, claimed he was imprisoned for life, and did nothing more about it.

This, in turn, led to a new dispute between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, and to the latter being kicked down a set of stairs at Carp tower in a moment of rage. In the end Lan Xichen managed to calm the situation, but only barely, and it was clear to all who knew him that he was worried for both his sworn brothers. 

Lan Wangji had to accept the unavoidable truth; he agreed to go with his brother and husband to a conference held in Qinghe.

It was hard to explain to A-Yuan that he could not come with them. It had been two years since the child had arrived in Cloud Recesses, and he did not appear to remember his life before that, but he had never forgotten being abandoned. A-Yuan, always so good and obedient, cried and threw several tantrums as his father and Nie Huaisang packed for his stay with Hou Tianjian and Lan Jingyi as well as their own trip. More than once, Lan Wangji felt tempted to call off the one thing, just so his son wouldn’t have to be left behind.

“We can stay,” Nie Huaisang offered the night before they were set to depart. “I didn’t think it would impact him so much… he’s been through a lot already, I feel bad adding to that.”

It was, at that point, well past curfew, and A-Yuan had only just fallen asleep out of exhaustion after hours of crying. Even in sleep, the little boy looked restless, and held on tight to his father’s hand, as if afraid Lan Wangji might leave otherwise. In fact, he had slept uneasily ever since being told that they would have to go somewhere without him. Lan Wangji suspected that Wei Wuxian and the Wens had hidden him away from the upcoming siege while he had been asleep, and that A-Yuan hadn’t forgotten that betrayal.

“You can go alone,” Lan Wangji countered, already knowing the answer.

“It’s both of us or neither of us,” Nie Huaisang sighed, kneeling next to the bed and carefully tucking a wild strand of hair behind A-Yuan’s ear. “And it’s… fine. Your brother said A-Yao understands that Da-Ge isn’t in his normal state, that he’s still willing to help. Da-Ge doesn’t need me.”

Lan Wangji looked down at his son, desperately wishing that they never had to be parted. It would have been easy to take Nie Huaisang’s offer and stay together in Cloud Recesses, but it would have hurt the other man to be kept away from his brother.

“Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie must show they stand together,” Lan Wangji said at last. “It is why we are married.”

There was no mistaking the gratefulness in Nie Huaisang’s eyes.

“A-Yuan will be well taken care of,” he told Lan Wangji with a weak smile. “Hou Tianjian is a good person, and I’ve told her that he’ll be a little… that separation isn’t easy for him. She promised she’d be patient. And she’s like us, she doesn’t like physical punishments, so it’ll be fine. He’ll have great fun being with Jingyi all day!”

“Hm.”

The perspective of so much time with his best friend was the only thing that had sometimes gotten A-Yuan to stop crying. Lan Wangji was glad that his son had a friend, and that this friend was… perhaps not the most Lan of children.

“He’s not going to be alone is my point,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “This isn’t… this isn’t whatever happened to him before you adopted him. He won’t be alone, he won’t be abandoned. We’re leaving him with a good person, someone I know can be trusted, and we’re coming back for him as soon as the conference is over.”

“Hm.”

They had still never discussed where A-Yuan came from. Lan Wangji had tried, once, but Nie Huaisang had quickly changed the subject. Still, Lan Wangji was certain his husband knew that A-Yuan was, to some degree, tied to Wei Wuxian.

“It’ll be fine,” Nie Huaisang promised. “And I know a few good shops in Qinghe. We can bring him some toys! I wonder if that old man who made those beautiful wooden animals is still around… A-Yuan would love them, he made them articulated, and… oh, I hope he has bunnies!”

“Hm. That would be nice.”

Nie Huaisang stayed a little longer kneeling by the bed, listing all the things he wanted to bring back from Qinghe to amuse A-Yuan, from toys to local specialities so he’d get used to something other than Cloud Recesses’s bland food. He only stopped blabbering when both he and Lan Wangji became too tired to keep their eyes open. Once left alone, Lan Wangji quickly fell asleep, holding his son against his heart.

Nie Huaisang launched himself at his brother the instant they stepped into the Unclean Realm, and refused to let go of him for the rest of the day. Nie Mingjue complained about it the whole time but made no particular effort to push away his brother, and even smiled here and there. Although the guilt of leaving A-Yuan behind was still eating at Lan Wangji, he felt a little better about that decision when Lan Xichen whispered to him that this was the most relaxed he’d seen Nie Mingjue in weeks. At least, A-Yuan’s pain would not have been in vain.

That first day was not unpleasant. They settled in Nie Mingjue’s own home and chatted the hours away. Nie Mingjue, when not leading armies against innocent peasants hiding from the world, was a man of good company. He sounded genuinely concerned when he asked after Lan Wangji’s injuries, and mentioned that he hoped to come to Cloud Recesses in the near future to see how the reconstruction was going. Lan Wangji was starting to relax, when his brother-in-law announced that he had bought some presents for A-Yuan, since Nie Huaisang spoke of little else in his letters.

“Shouldn’t you worry instead about having your own children?” Nie Huaisang quickly teased, to distract everyone from the way Lan Wangji had tensed. “I want nephews and nieces! Why aren’t you getting married already, Da-Ge? Get yourself a wife! Isn't that your duty?”

“Now isn’t the right time,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “I’m not marrying until I have a clear view of my allies and enemies.”

“Boring. Where’s your sense of romance? Er-Ge, we need to find him a wife. Even A-Yao and I are married, how can the two of you still be single? It makes no sense. You two are the most handsome bachelors of our generation, surely there must be people throwing themselves at you!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at that chatter, while Lan Xichen looked uncomfortable.

“Marriage is more difficult for a sect leader,” Lan Xichen noted. “Romance is the last thing either of us can think of. Da-Ge is right to consider this carefully and not rush into anything.”

“Of course Er-Ge would be very reasonable about something like this,” Nie Huaisang retorted playfully. “Still, I want nephews. Da-Ge, please get married already. If you don’t get to it, I’ll start looking for a bride on your behalf. We can find you someone you’ll get along with. If we try hard, we might even find you someone pretty. What’s your type, Da-Ge?”

Nie Mingjue tried to change the subject, but his brother would not drop the matter and continued pestering him until dinner. In the end he was forced to give a short list of preferences just to finally get some peace. By then, Nie Mingjue was so tired of the topic that he did not speak again of his brother’s family, sparing Lan Wangji from having to say anything about his son to the man who had massacred A-Yuan’s family.

The second day of their stay in Qinghe was, unfortunately, rather less pleasant. Just as the three of them had arrived a few days earlier than the actual beginning of the martial art conference, Jin Guangyao had come ahead of the Jin delegation to spend time with his sworn brothers.

Only when he saw Nie Mingjue in the presence of Jin Guangyao did Lan Wangji understand why his husband and his brother were so worried. The instant Jin Guangyao greeted him, Nie Mingjue started radiating burning anger, his complexion darkening with each new word his sworn brother said until his patience snapped and he asked when, exactly, Jin Guangyao intended to have Xue Yang executed as he had apparently promised.

“The time you allowed me isn’t over yet,” Jin Guangyao politely pointed out. “Please understand this does not depend on me alone. I am working on it of course, but certain people are reluctant. No matter what he has done, Xue Yang has made many allies in his time with us that would rather he be kept alive.”

“So did those he slaughtered.”

At this, Jin Guangyao smiled uncomfortably. “This is why I am working so hard to get what Da-Ge wants. Justice must be served, even if it can be inconvenient to some people. But for now, let us push aside those matters. Da-Ge, I came early so I could play Cleansing for you, in case Er-Ge was not able to arrive in time. Will you allow me to do so, or will I be denied this chance to help?”

“If Er-Ge is here, I don’t see why I’d need you,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “Nobody wants an amateur when they can have a master.”

Jin Guangyao flinched, but lowered his head in acceptance. Nie Huaisang, apparently unsatisfied with that turn of events, sprung forth.

“Da-Ge is so mean!” he complained. “I was so excited to maybe hear A-Yao play, and now this happens. Da-Ge, please reconsider. I’ve heard Er-Ge compliment A-Yao’s skill so often, I want to hear it for myself! But if Da-Ge doesn’t want… San-Ge, would you play for me alone? I’ll drop my husband with these two old men, and we can chat and have a nice time together.”

That offer was met with a tentative smile from Jin Guangyao. “I would be happy to, but if Er-Ge plays for your brother, then he will need the guqin we left here, and so I cannot play at the same time.”

Nie Huaisang pouted at the news, and threw his brother an aggravated look.

“Da-Ge, please let San-Ge play for you,” he demanded. “There won’t be time for it later when everyone is there for the conference. Please? I miss being able to spend time with you and A-Yao. Weren’t things so nice before we all went our separate ways? I miss that a lot.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, and made the mistake of looking at Lan Xichen who appeared rather amused by the situation.

“Just let A-Yao play for you this time,” Lan Xichen encouraged him. “You know how Huaisang gets when he’s decided something.”

Under this triple attack, Nie Mingjue begrudgingly gave in. He looked absolutely betrayed when Lan Xichen declined to be present for that music session, but before he could protest, Nie Huaisang had grabbed both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao and started pulling them away from the courtyard, determined to have what he had demanded.

“Is this wise?” Lan Wangji asked, watching them go toward Nie Mingjue’s house.

“A-Yao really is extremely skilled,” Lan Xichen replied. “I would not have allowed him to use Cleansing otherwise.”

“Hm. Huaisang worries about the situation.”

A little surprised by that comment, Lan Xichen hesitated only a brief moment before gesturing toward the gardens in a silent invitation. Lan Wangji followed his brother, and neither spoke until they were away from the courtyard and perfectly isolated among trees and bushes.

“So your husband is getting you to care about politics?” Lan Xichen noted, pretending to inspect the flowers of a mulberry bush. “That is surprising, you have always been reticent to that.”

“It matters to him,” Lan Wangji replied, thinking on the flood of explanations he’d gotten from Nie Huaisang the instant he’d agreed to listen. “Huaisang believes his Excellency has designs.”

“It is not an easy political situation,” Lan Xichen admitted, looking rather more concerned than Lan Wangji would have preferred. “His Excellency is perhaps not as honest in dealing with the rest of us as we might wish him to be. This situation with Xue Yang causes me concern, as much as it does to Da-Ge. But Gusu Lan’s position is not as strong as Qinghe Nie’s, and I do not think direct confrontation will bring anything good. I would rather avoid anything that might lead to a new war.”

“Who would Gusu Lan side with?”

Looking away from the flowers, Lan Xichen stared at him with an unreadable expression.

“Is that your question, or your husband’s?”

“He has his opinion on the matter. I want to hear brother’s.”

“I can guess his thoughts on the matter and his opinion of me,” Lan Xichen noted with a hint of wistfulness. “Nie Huaisang is one to hold a grudge, and I… But it does not matter. To answer your question, I sincerely hope it will not come to a war. Of course, I would want to side with Nie Mingjue, because I believe he is right to treat his Excellency with some suspicion.”

Lan Xichen sighed, and returned his attention to the mulberry flowers.

“At the same time, I cannot base my choice on my feelings and preferences. Jin Guangshan has not yet committed any crimes, and he has offered help to many sects in the aftermath of the war, including our own. If I turn against him too easily after all he did for us, Gusu Lan’s reputation will suffer, which will impact the lives of all our disciples. Besides, our strength has simply not recovered yet from the Sunshot Campaign and the events in Nightless City, open conflict could destroy us. I hope you understand that regardless of what I want as a person, I often must make different choices as a sect leader.”

That last comment felt to Lan Wangji as if it might be about more than just the current political situation. There had been many instances where his brother had chosen to compromise rather than consider what would be truly just. Lan Xichen had turned a blind eye to what Lanling Jin did to its Wen prisoners, he had allowed and participated in the massacre in the Burial Mounds, and even now he was ready to let Jin Guangshan try to claim more power than he deserved. 

But Lan Xichen had also fought to ensure his brother was not punished by death for betraying their sect and standing with Wei Wuxian. He had organised this marriage that ensure Jin Guangshan could not force him to side against Qinghe Nie, and used it also to ensure that Lan Wangji would keep A-Yuan, that Wei Wuxian's son was protected. 

"Brother does what he feels to be necessary," Lan Wangji conceded. 

"And doing so, I please no one," Lan Xichen commented. "Huaisang and you would rather I openly side with Mingjue, while uncle and the elders keep telling me I should be more mindful of our relationship with Lanling Jin."

It sounded like a complex balancing act, and one Lan Wangji he was glad he did not have to participate in. It was hard enough to determine right from wrong once outside the shelter of Cloud Recesses, but having to do it while also needing to spare the feelings of greedy old men… 

"I wonder if we are too late to see the peonies in bloom," Lan Xichen suddenly remarked. "Actually, I wonder if anyone takes care of them now that Huaisang has left. Would you mind if we checked on them?" 

Lan Wangji nodded, accepting that his brother no longer wished to dwell on that unhappy topic.

"Thank you. Poor Huaisang will be disappointed if his brother allowed his flowers to die, he was so proud of them. It already pained him so much when he had to leave his birds here, he'll be heartbroken if the flowers are lost as well." 

They walked together a little while, only to discover that indeed, the patch of land that Nie Huaisang had once claimed as his own had not been tended. As they returned toward the buildings, Lan Xichen mentioned that they should see about getting Nie Huaisang involved with the keeping of their gardens in Cloud Recesses, to make him feel more at home. 

The conference itself went well. Lan Wangji had never particularly enjoyed such events, but once or twice some demonstrations of new techniques caught his interest. 

Everything that surrounded the conference was far less pleasant. However happy he had initially been to see his brother, Nie Huaisang quickly fell into an argument with Nie Mingjue when he discovered that not only had his garden been left without care, but his birds had all been released and probably died. In return, his brother had been furious to hear that Nie Huaisang had entirely dropped his practice of the sabre, and barely bothered with any sort of cultivation since his wedding. Nie Mingjue, in spite of Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen taking turn to play Cleansing for him, had turned a little more short tempered with each passing day. 

The visit intended to help his mood ended up having the opposite effect, until Nie Mingjue ended up snapping at Jin Guangyao the last evening, calling him a prostitute's son before all his guests. Jin Guangyao swallowed the infamy with a forced smile, but Nie Huaisang rose to his defence until Nie Mingjue was forced to drag him outside so they could continue that argument away from everyone. 

When Lan Wangji went to bed, his husband had not yet returned. In the morning Nie Huaisang was back, but hiding under a blanket as he announced that he refused to appear before his brother until he obtained excuses. Knowing how unlikely that was, Lan Wangji left the room they shared and headed out of the Unclean Realm, toward Qinghe. 

With both Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue so cross at one another, it was unlikely that they would be staying the few extra days they had initially planned, so if he wanted to return with presents for A-Yuan, he had to buy them that day. He had considered asking Nie Huaisang to come with him, but quickly decided against it. He did not want to deal with his husband's complaining. 

After several days of being surrounded with tension, that morning in Qinghe was a blessing. Lan Wangji enjoyed being away from all that anger, and mildly regretted not taking Nie Huaisang with him after all. It might have distracted him from that argument, and they could have looked together for that toy maker Nie Huaisang had mentioned. 

In the early afternoon, Lan Wangji returned to the Unclean Realm, satisfied with his visit of Qinghe. He had found some sweet looking pastries that should survive the return trip to Gusu, as well as a beautiful little porcelain rabbit. He had also, on an impulse, bought a porcelain bird for Nie Huaisang. It would not compensate for the pets he had lost, but hopefully the gesture would still be appreciated. 

The first sign that something was wrong was the absence of anyone guarding the door to the Unclean Realm when Lan Wangji arrived.

The second was the agitation as he stepped into the courtyard, servants running around with buckets of water, desperately trying to wash the floor, a few of them crying.

The third was the stink of blood, several red stains on grey stone, as if multiple people had been attacked and wounded.

The fourth and final sign of a problem was the sight of Jin Guangyao giving orders to the servant, pale as a sheet, his hands trembling, no smile on his face.

Jin Guangyao who cried in relief when he spotted Lan Wangji, and all but ran to him, his usually calm face distorted in anguish.

“Second Master Lan, at last! There’s been… you must go to the sect leader’s house. There has been an incident and your husband is wounded. Your brother is with him, but you would do well to quickly join them.”

“What happened?”

Jin Guangyao hesitated, his eyes darting anxiously toward the blood stained stones. He was shaking so badly that Lan Wangji wondered if he too had been wounded in that incident.

“Sect Leader Nie had a Qi deviation earlier,” Jin Guangyao whispered, leaning toward him. “He did not survive it. I fear Huaisang will need your support.”

[t3tsubaby]

Well idk if you're still bored in class (or not) then can I ask headcanon college au! (I'm not suprised if there are fangirls in college) of Oikawa meets a fem! S/O that is cold and emotionless? Oh and she could be also harsh if you meet her for the first time. Oikawa tries to flirt and charm her. And when he compliments her she just said "thanks" In a emotionless cold tone and walks away. How would he react that? But her true personality behind doors is unsure of her feelings and finds it difficult to deal with it.

I’m definitely totally not basing this off of my personality at all but this is such a good request tysm!! Also sorry this took so long I had some exams.

Oikawa meeting a cold fem! S/O

Genre: fluff? I think? very cute tho

Word Count: 1.1k

We all know Oikawa grew up with a “coldhearted” best friend Iwa who was and is the definition of tough love

By this, despite everything, Iwaizumi always cared for him, no matter how aggressive he seemed to be

Now despite all of what I just said, I think Oikawa would be kinda shocked that there’s a woman who isn’t charmed by him

There was that one instance that Kiyoko ignored him and he went in full denial mode, so I kinda feel like he would be like this but 10x worse

So you’re both in college and you’re looking to sign up for some clubs and you see that the volleyball team needs a manager

You thought it would be simple and you could not only make friends at your school but you could also make friends with people from other schools at games

You’ve always been called coldhearted and somewhat emotionless and you knew that university was the prime time to make lifelong friends

You considered it a win-win situation

That was of course until Oikawa popped up behind you, all bubbly and flirty(let’s pretend covid doesn’t exist)

He would lowkey kabedon you but just one arm at your side so it’s less creepy considering he’s literally a stranger at this point

“Ah what’re you looking at? Are you looking to be our manager? Now I can play volleyball and look at a pretty girl,” he said with a grin

You moved out of the kabedon and said a quick “Thanks” not smiling and walked away with the application sheet in your hand

Too stunned, Oikawa just stared at your shrinking figure walking away

Okay time skip to when you’re starting to be a manager and learning the ropes of the game

(For the story’s sake let’s pretend that all the Aoba Johsai boys are also on the same college team)

The team teaches you the basic rules, positions, and anything else you need to learn, you are taught by the coach or the internet

You have a journal and a section is dedicated to each player, which you’re able to easily analyze and figure out strengths and weaknesses

And the team absolutely adores you for this

They buy you snacks and do homework with you

And throughout all of this Oikawa’s flirting never stops

And you continue to give no response or a one-worded reply

Oikawa even goes to the lengths of asking his friends how to get you to talk to him

Iwaizumi tells him “Stop bothering her and focus on practice and not hurting your knee,” while dragging him back to the court

The rest of the team agrees and you continue on your managerial duties

You’ve already noticed his knee injury and make sure to keep an eye out for him secretly to make sure he isn’t overworking

Okay so now let’s fast forward to a game

The team is very protective of you because everyone tries to flirt with you because you’re that pretty

You all walk into the gym and are faced with the other team

The boys go ahead and start warmups and you’re approached by the captain of the other team, who just so happens to be your cousin!

You guys start talking and you’re laughing and enjoying speaking to him as the rest of the team stares in shock

Emphasis on kawa because his jaw is actually on the floor

He comes up and grabs your wrist and pulls you a foot away

“Nobody takes my y/n, go back onto your own turf,” and he sticks his tongue out

Before you get a chance to explain he pulls you to the bench where the coach is and sits you down

“Nice and safe now right y/n. I saved the day, for that, I deserve maybe a kiss on the cheek?” he asked with a subtle wink

“No. Go back to warm up, the team is waiting. If I see that your knee is hurting, I’ll bench you for the entire game,” you replied, not even batting an eye at his question.

“Can I get a kiss if I play the whole game without hurting my kn-”

“No. Goodbye,” you shooed him off.

During the game, Oikawa felt his knee feel weak as it pulsated and throbbed but decided to keep his mouth shut and make sure he didn’t show any pain on his face.

The game ended with you guys winning and you all decided to go celebrate with some shave ice

You thanked the other team and said goodbye to your cousin, expecting Oikawa to drag you away but to your surprise, he wasn’t there, nor was he even in the gym

You told the rest of the boys to wait outside and decided to look for Oikawa

After walking around for a bit you noticed a barely lit hallway and saw him curled up into a ball against the wall, crying  with his head on his unhurt knee and the other one sticking out

With a closer look, you could see the redness and imagined how much he was hurting

You slowly sat down next to him and pulled out a rapid ice pack

After breaking it, you wrapped it in a towel so it wouldn’t be as cold and gently placed it on his knee

With the change in temperature, Oikawa lifted his head and noticed you tending to his injury

He didn’t say anything, feeling guilty

“Y/n, I’m sorry, I should’ve told y-”

“Shut up,”

You both stayed quiet until you put your hand in his to provide him some comfort

“Y/n seriously I’m so sor-,”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up,” you cut him off again. Worried you were being too intense, you put your head on his shoulder.

He smiled and put his head on top of yours, but planted a kiss before doing so

“Does this mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend y/n,”

“Maybe if you ask properly,”

He started blushing and used his unoccupied hand to cover his face in embarrassment

“Y/n please be my girlfriend,”

“Okay whatever,” you replied, also feeling embarrassed but smiling

He smiled and leaned his head on yours again

“Thank you for caring for me, I hope to make you happy forever,”

You squeezed his hand, unsure of a reply but Oikawa knew you reciprocated the same feelings.

BONUS:

After 10 minutes of waiting around, Makki decided to go look for you and Oikawa because they were hungry and wanted to leave.

They stuck together and looked around until they saw you two sleeping and holding hands

Groaning, Matsukawa handed $10 to a grinning Iwaizumi who just said “Knew it.”

I hope you enjoyed it!! I may have gone a bit overboard but it was such a cute prompt I just kept on going on with it.

[choleraciemna]

Speaking Honestly

2.

Tulsi guessed he's probably cleaning himself somewhere. Washing all the crud she said. I recall that sight. Sage covered with blood all over. Bright red on his lips. Dry and dark on his chest. Dripped from a wound that no longer exists. There is just a little spot of clean skin, smooth and unbrocken. Where Zenith pierced him. I reflexively clench my hands around the scabbard.

I thought I'd be sick of even seeing that sword again. I saw it going to take Sage's life. But when it appeared in Tulsi's hands I felt some strange relief. Like finding a lost piece of puzzle on the floor after hours of searching. And when she handed it to me, when I took it and promised to return it to Sage... it felt just right. It's weight calms me some unexpected way, makes me feel like everything's back at it's place. Good feeling not going to lie. Last days everything became a complete mess.

I catch myself imagining Sage again, his beautiful silver hair drenched with dark blood, his eyes hidden under that mess. I could not meet his gaze no matter how much I wanted. This memory hurts. What a fool I am to daydream of scary and painful memories. All I need is just concentrate and remember where that pool is. That one Sage had shown me earlier. With his eyes shining as always when Sage shares some place he likes. I bet he came there. The only problem is I'm not sure at all how to get there.

Speaking honestly I'm not even sure where I am now. The castle is much more big and tangled if you're not sneaking with Sage. He definitely has some unfathomable talent on finding spots and shortcuts. I can't help but stop and smile. Sage surely would laugh if I put it this way in front of him. UnFATHOMable talent for hide and seek in Fathom tower. He'd chuckle and give me THAT leer. Uh. Really, will he ever look that airily in front of me again? Will I see him smiling sheepishly, laughing carelessly the way he used to? That special his own way, so boyish and genuine. The most ennoying and adorable way I ever saw. I need to see him immediately.

Two things happen at the same time. I hear a splash and I almost fall down with my feet hooked in something laying on the floor. The last moment I manage to balance and stabilize. And this is when I see dirty clothes and pieces of armor thrown all around and a mysterious turquoise light reflecting on the seilings and one remarcably tall and also remarcably dirty boot curled under my feet. Looks like lost in my thoughts I somehow found my way to that pool I was looking for. And I guess I recognise those dirty pieces on the floor around. I pick them one by one coming closer to where the splashes were heard.

And am I not prepared for what I see. Not at all. Nobody could've blame me though. Sage is undressed with his marvelous hair unbraided, his skin wet, his eyes shining and his fangs sparkling in a pleased grin. He looks so naturally, so casually. Water drops on his chest and stomach shine and time after time suddenly tricle down the relief of his well toned muscles accentuating it with wet tracks. I wish I could draw him like this.

I shake my head and notice an impressive exhibition of uncorked bottles beside Sage. His ears perk as he raises to face me grinning wider. I can't help starting. No fresh wounds, only old scars. Without his red coat I can see more of those scars. They cross his body here and there like some cruel tracks of his past adventures.

And he's got more of those twin catlike stripes. A pair of strypes on his shoulder, another pair crossing his bicep, one more above his hip bone... Heck, I must stop staring. Sage smirks friendly. He says I finally found him, he offers me a drink. And I just stand there like a fool silently marvelling his features, learning them by heart. Till he asks what's there with my face. Damn.

He asks if I like what I see. I meet his eyes confidently.

"Uh, just thought it's a little strange"

His pupils pierce me.

"What's strange?"

"To think of it I never got to see your shoulders before. I mean I see your niples every day. But I never saw your shoulders till now. Isn't it a bit uncommon?.."

Sage burts into laughter.

"You can also show me a little more of you... Or just enjoy the water. It's really nice. And despite the fact you weren't in a hurry there are still some drinks left"

He notices all the things I carry.

"Oh, looks like you found my trousers, thank you, just put them... somewhere"

He shrugs and laughs genuinly.

I lower my burden slowly and carefully. Caring to place the scabbard with Zenith where it won't drop to the water. Then I pick some piece from that dirty pile and throw at him. I fail and it goes underwater with a popple.

"Hey!" Sage dodges giggling. "I meaned put it, not give it to me immediately!"

I pick another piece wich appears to be one of his boots.

"You're certainly glad to see me"

I throw better this time.

"Ouch!" He's clearly enjoying it.

"Better save your breath. An ancient relic couldn't kill me and now you try to finish the work with my old boot?"

That's it. I have no idea how I manage to get close to him in no time.

"You!.." My both fists land on his flat pecs. This time I hit him with no jokes. I can't even understand why suddenly my vision's gone so blurry. Why do my eyelids sting. What shakes me from inside. Why is my face all wet.

Tears burn their paths down my cheeks and futher down his chest. Sage holds me as tight as if one's life depended on it, his face concerned and guilty. He pats my back and holds my nape digging his fingers into my hair. He presses me to himself like he's going to crash me. I really don't mind.

"I thought you were dying for real" My hands graze his chest helplessly.

"I thought I was loosing you" I touch his neck, the damp curling strands of his hair falling down his collarbones.

"...so much blood. I had no idea one can survive loosing so much blood" I pet the thin scar on his jaw, my fingers trembling. Sage shivers. He closes his eyes. I pet his cheekbones with feather light touches. I think I stopped crying finally. But then it bursts out of me unstopable like some huge wave.

"Sage, Sage!.. You're alive... Unhurt..." My voice traits me. Simply dies in my throat. Only pathetic sobs left, weak and low.

Sage grips me silently holding his breath. He waits two heartbeats after I quiet down completely. Then his warm lips reach my forehead, touch my closed eyelids gently. Sage kisses lightly my wet lashes and the thin sensitive skin below my eyes. So very carefully. And then meeting no objections his lips press my cheeks just a little harder and warmer. Sage's mouth wanders all over my face gethering tears. The tip of his tongue is hot and almost dry.

I realise what the sound is. A very low purr soothing me, enveloping me in the most intimate, the most tender, the happiest feeling.

I could never tell how much time passed. Guess, I could've spent the rest of my life like that.

"Your feet!.." Sage whispers sharply.

At first I don't get what he's saying at all. Then I look down to see both of us standing in the pool ankle-deep. I notice Sage's long supple tail curling around my thighs. And unlike Sage I'm still fully dressed. My shoes are completely underwater. I look down and chuckle sheepishly.

"Let me!.." Sage loosens his grip on me to help me sit on the edge of the pool. Then he holds my left foot like some precious thing and takes off the shoe. He pours water out of it and puts the shoe on a dry spot near abandoned pile of his belongings.

"I can carry you from here right to your bed since your boots are all wet" Sage smirks at me repeating all the actions with my right shoe.

"What about your wet... everything?" Both of us chortle.

"Well... I'II think of it later. After we share this nice warm bath maybe" His big pointy ears stick out in different directions asymmetrically.

"You see, the water's quite perfect."

[fenth-eiria]

Things I want drawn on my birthday Pt.1!

Elder Cadia : That’s the key slice of truth we need to complete the entire truth pie.

The Librarian: Ooh, can we get some actual pie?

Elder Cadia : I like the way you think.

The Librarian: Hey, you want a tarot reading?

Elder Cadia : Those are Pokemon cards.

The Librarian: You got a magikarp.

Elder Cadia : ...

The Librarian: It means 'fuck you'.

The Librarian: I’m 80% awesome 20% water and 100% handsome.

Elder Cadia : That’s 200%.

The Librarian: I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.

Elder Cadia : Do you even know what an amulet is?

The Librarian: Of course I do! I eat amulets sometimes. I like the ones with cheese and onions!

Elder Cadia : The Librarian, those are omelettes.

The Librarian: Oh. Then I’ve got nothing.

The Librarian: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why.

Elder Cadia : Only if you also don't ask why.

Elder Cadia : *pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag*

The Librarian: ...

The Librarian, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

The Librarian, holding a fork: You know your talking a lot of shit for someone who has 2 perfectly good eyeballs each cost about $16,000 on the blackmarket.

Elder Cadia : ....

The Librarian: *lip smack*

Elder Cadia : A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it.

Elder Cadia : And I started thinking.

Elder Cadia : Like, it was just trying to get food.

Elder Cadia : What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck?

The Librarian: Are you ok?

Elder Cadia : I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night.

The Librarian: All I drank was Redbull!

Elder Cadia : How many?

The Librarian: Eighteen.

Elder Cadia : Come on, The Librarian! How any times do I have to apologize?

The Librarian: Once!

Elder Cadia : ...No.

The Librarian: I think it’s time I get my life in order.

Elder Cadia , narrating: But they did not get their life in order. In fact, they got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

Elder Cadia : Can I have some water?

The Librarian: *starts chugging their water bottle*

The Librarian: *chokes from drinking too fast*

The Librarian: *spills water all over themself*

The Librarian, coughing: I don't have any water.

Elder Cadia : That sounds like a terrible plan.

The Librarian: Oh, we've had worse.

Elder Cadia : What do you have?

The Librarian: A KNIFE!

Elder Cadia : NO!

The Librarian: *holding a salt packet* It’s just a little sodium chloride.

Elder Cadia : Actually The Librarian, it’s salt.

The Librarian: That’s what I said, sodium chloride.

Elder Cadia : Uh The Librarian, that would be salt.

Elder Cadia : *takes salt packer from The Librarian* This is iodized table salt, which in addition to sodium chloride contains anti-caking agents and potassium iodate, which is added to prevent iodine deficiency. So not only are you being overly pretentious by insisting on using scientific terminology for everyday items, you are factually wrong. Your arrogance is your downfall, you annoying little shit.

The Librarian: Here you go, Elder Cadia , a nice hot cup of coffee!

Elder Cadia : It's cold.

The Librarian: A nice cup of coffee.

Elder Cadia : It's horrible!

The Librarian: Cup of coffee.

The Librarian: Cup of coffee.

Elder Cadia : I'm not sure if this even IS coffee.

The Librarian: C U P.

Elder Cadia : I made tea.

The Librarian: I don't want tea.

Elder Cadia : I didn't make you tea. This is my tea.

The Librarian: Then why did you tell me?

Elder Cadia : It's a conversation starter.

The Librarian: It's a horrible conversation starter.

Elder Cadia : Oh, is it? We're conversing. Checkmate.

The Librarian: Elder Cadia , you risked your life to save me!

Elder Cadia : And I’d do it again! And perhaps a third time! But that would be it.

The Librarian: Elder Cadia ...

Elder Cadia : Oh no, 'Elder Cadia ' in B flat.

Elder Cadia : You're disappointed.

The Librarian: What is this!?

Elder Cadia : That’s the weight of guilt. Give in to the nice side. Help those unfortunate, and make the guilt go away, my friend.

The Librarian: Ow! Make it stop!

Elder Cadia : Surrender to your kindness, The Librarian. It’s nice to be nice.

The Librarian: Your guilt is strong, my friend. But it is no match for the power of my selfishness!

Elder Cadia : *in a jail cell* What about my Miranda rights!? You’re supposed to say I have ‘the right to remain silent’”! NOBODY SAID I HAD THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!

The Librarian: *in the cell next to them* You have the right to remain silent, what you lack is the capacity.

The Librarian: I have a new hoodie.

Elder Cadia : Wrong.

Elder Cadia : We have a new hoodie.

Elder Cadia : I found a note in one of my old word .docs that said Note to self: Get revenge on The Librarian.

Elder Cadia : Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for.

Elder Cadia : But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it.

The Librarian: Hmm... I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either.

Elder Cadia : I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though.

The Librarian: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it.

Elder Cadia : Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

Elder Cadia : Who's in charge here?

The Librarian, shrugging: Usually whoever yells the loudest.

The Librarian: Isn’t a bit dangerous?

Elder Cadia : The Librarian, please. We’ve in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt.

The Librarian: ...

Elder Cadia : Okay, we sometimes escape unhurt.

The Librarian: ...

Elder Cadia : Alright, we escaped unhurt once... Then we hurt ourselves in the way home.

The Librarian: Are you an ‘arr’ pirate or a ‘yo ho ho’ pirate?

Elder Cadia : I’m a ‘I’m not paying $600 for photoshop’ pirate.

The Librarian: Why are you like this??

Elder Cadia : I used too much "No More Tears" shampoo as a kid and I haven't felt a single emotion since.

Elder Cadia : Dearly Beloved, we are here today to remember The Librarian, taken from us in the prime of life; when they were crushed by a runaway semi, driven by the Incredible Hulk.

The Librarian: Aww, you knew my favorite cause of death.

Elder Cadia : The Librarian! I thought you were dead!

The Librarian: No, just in deep cover.

Elder Cadia : ...But it was an open casket.

The Librarian: It was very deep.

Elder Cadia : *holding a salt packet* It’s just a little sodium chloride.

The Librarian: Actually Elder Cadia , it’s salt.

Elder Cadia : That’s what I said, sodium chloride.

The Librarian: Uh Elder Cadia , that would be salt.

The Librarian: *takes salt packer from Elder Cadia * This is iodized table salt, which in addition to sodium chloride contains anti-caking agents and potassium iodate, which is added to prevent iodine deficiency. So not only are you being overly pretentious by insisting on using scientific terminology for everyday items, you are factually wrong. Your arrogance is your downfall, you annoying little shit.

Elder Cadia : You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

The Librarian: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

The Librarian: We just ate. Why are you making pancakes?

Elder Cadia : For the dogs.

The Librarian: Why are you making pancakes for the dogs?

Elder Cadia : They don't know how.

The Librarian: So, what are we doing?

Elder Cadia : Wasting our lives.

The Librarian: I meant for lunch...

Elder Cadia : I know every song to ever exist it doesn't matter if it's from the past, present or the future.

The Librarian: Oh yeah? Then continue this.

The Librarian: I don't cook I don't clean-

Elder Cadia : So let me tell you how I got this ring.

Elder Cadia & The Librarian: .....

Elder Cadia & The Librarian: GOBBLE ME, SWALLOW ME-

Elder Cadia : What are amphetamines?

The Librarian: Drugs that can go on land and water.

Elder Cadia : Ohhhh.

The Librarian: How do tall people people possibly sleep at night when the blanket can't possibly cover you?

Elder Cadia : The Librarian, it's four o'clock in the morning.

The Librarian: So, you can't sleep, huh? Is it because of the blanket?

Elder Cadia : I know this isn’t going to end well and I don’t care. So don’t you try and stop me, The Librarian!

The Librarian: I wasn’t stopping you. I was asking if you had a spare camera so I can record this.

The Librarian: Don’t preach to me about romance, Elder Cadia . I had a three-way in a hot-air balloon.

Elder Cadia : *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?

The Librarian: Yes?

Elder Cadia : We’re in too deep.

Elder Cadia : The Librarian! For the love of god, please turn down that music. I have a hangover.

The Librarian: *blasting the mii theme at full volume* That sounds like a you problem, not a mii problem.

*Elder Cadia falls over*

The Librarian: Elder Cadia ! Are you alright?

Elder Cadia : Is that you, God?

The Librarian: What?

Elder Cadia : It's just, you sound a lot more like The Librarian than I expected.

The Librarian: Truth or dare?

Elder Cadia : Truth.

The Librarian: How many hours have you slept this week?

Elder Cadia :

Elder Cadia : Dare.

The Librarian: Go to sleep.

Elder Cadia : I don't like this game.

Elder Cadia : If it’s any consolation, they got me here on a very misleading text message.

The Librarian: Technically, you are about to be screwed in the biology room.

The Librarian: What are your three best qualities?

Elder Cadia : I’m hot, I have soft hair, and sometimes I cry because I love my friends.

The Librarian: What’s sexting?

Elder Cadia : I'm not having this conversation with you.

Elder Cadia : *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Elder Cadia : *turns around and helps The Librarian through it* Breaking and entering is wrong The Librarian.

The Librarian: Okay.

The Librarian: I thought you were going to give me a book recommendation or something.

Elder Cadia : *laughs* Book recommendation? I can’t read!

The Librarian: Alright, listen up you little shits.

The Librarian: Not you Elder Cadia . You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.

The Librarian: Someone’s trying to break in. Call the cops!

Elder Cadia : *loads shotgun* I got this.

The Librarian: Last week you fell up the stairs, what do you mean-

*Elder Cadia sends more than 5 messages in a row*

The Librarian: I ain’t reading all that.

The Librarian: I’m happy for you tho.

The Librarian: Or sorry that happened.

Elder Cadia : *is visibly upset*

The Librarian: Elder Cadia , what happened? I haven't seen you like this since you found out candyland wasn't an actual country.

Elder Cadia : It’s nice to be wanted, you know?

The Librarian: Not by the law!

Elder Cadia : So what do you have planned for the future?

The Librarian: Lunch.

Elder Cadia : No, like long term.

The Librarian: Oh...um, dinner?

Elder Cadia : We’re all in this together. If one of us falls, we all fall. Nobody is expendable on this team.

The Librarian: Sounds fake but ok.

The Librarian: Just be careful, Elder Cadia !

Elder Cadia : *heading out the door* I'm always careful, The Librarian!

Elder Cadia : It's everything around me that's careless.

The Librarian: How are you today?

Elder Cadia : Please don’t make me think about my life.

Elder Cadia: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.

The Librarian: That’s a snake.

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Riding Aside

Chapter 17

Elizbeth’s father, Captain von der Decken, had recommended allowing two weeks to sail to Corona, even if they weren’t stopping anywhere else.  The Captain of the ship they hired to take them had promised them to do his best, but the winds weren’t always favorable this late in the summer.  

Elizabeth settled right into her cabin and acquainted herself with the crew.  She tried to get Inga involved, but after only a few minutes of feeling the ship rocking, the princess understood why her mother might have avoided traveling by ship so much.  Elsa made Inga go up to the open deck as much as possible, but she was still mostly too miserable to talk much.  Frederick, on the other hand, found every minute of the voyage thrilling, and quickly learned all about sailing.  He was disappointed the evening when they learned that they were nearing Corona, and would make port the next morning, nearly three days early.

Their ship arrived at the entrance to Corona's harbor at dawn.  The sky was just starting to get light, so they had to wait an hour until the harbor master brought out a pilot to help them dock. After the ship was secured and all papers signed, the crew quickly unloaded everyone’s belongings.

Inga slowly started feeling better once she stepped onto dry land.  She looked around in a daze.  The city was larger than anything Inga had seen, and the castle was taller. There were mountains in the distance, but near the city there were only low rolling hills. 

Elizabeth seemed to know everyone at the port by name, and quickly found a cousin of hers who had shown up with his wagon to take her to her own house.

"Inga," Elizabeth asked from her cousin's wagon, "would you like to come with me to meet my mother and sisters?"

"Um, I suppose?" Inga hesitated, not really feeling up to conversation yet. “Frederick, what about you?”

"I think I'll follow the porters straight to the castle," he told her. "I'm sure we'll meet up later."

"Elsa? Do you mind? I don't suppose you'd want to come along."

"Thank you, but I should stay with Frederick," her aunt replied.

"Oh, of course," Inga sighed.  "All right, Elizabeth, I'm coming.” Inga remembered to smile in spite of still not quite having recovered from her seasickness. She reminded herself that she had wanted to see new things and meet people, and this was what she was doing.

Elizabeth's family home was a bit of a distance uphill, just far enough from the noise and clamor of the harbor. Three teenage girls ran out front at the sound of the wagon approaching, and a woman stepped out the front door a moment later. 

Elizabeth hopped out of the wagon before it had completely stopped, and reached out for Inga to follow.  Elizabeth’s sisters eyed Inga curiously. Their sister had written to them that she would be traveling with the Prince and Princess, but Inga realized that she was wearing a rather plain travel dress, and perhaps she didn’t look the part.  Elizabeth ran to the door to hug everyone as her cousin unloaded her things. Inga stood at the gate to the small front garden. 

“And who is this?” their mother asked, gesturing at Inga.

“Oh! Sorry,” Elizabeth gasped. “This is…” She paused and went back to the gate.  “Inga,” she whispered, “is it okay if I introduce you that way?” 

“Yes,” the princess laughed, “that’s just fine. I’ll have enough formal introductions at the palace later.”

Elizabeth led her to where her mother and sisters were standing. “This is Inga, the one I told you about in my letter.”

Inga was then introduced to Mrs. von der Decken, and Elizabeth’s sisters Ruth, Diana, and Arianna.  The girls peppered the princess with questions until their mother invited her in for some breakfast.  Inga followed them into the front room, where they offered her a seat next to the window with a small table next to it with a lace tablecloth. Inga looked through the lace curtains to the street.  

“Coffee?” her mother asked.

“Yes, please,” Inga replied, taking the cup.  She had barely eaten on the ship, and now she was starting to feel hungry again.  One of Elizabeth’s sisters brought her a plate of bread and pastries, and she cautiously took a piece of plain toast, taking some bites to help settle her stomach. 

“So, Inga?” Ruth, the oldest of Elizabeth’s sisters asked her. “What do you think of the city so far?”

Inga swallowed a slightly larger chunk of pastry than she meant to so that she could answer. “I haven’t really seen it, not yet.  It was hard to get my bearings on the way here from the harbor.  It’s very different.”

“You should see the countryside,” suggested Diana, the one who had brought the pastry plate earlier.  “Do you ride?”

“Yes,” Inga confirmed. “And it would be nice to go on a ride while I’m here, especially since we have a few extra days.”

“Indeed,” replied their mother. “I’m quite surprised what good time you made getting here.  And my husband wrote to me that the winds were with them on the way to Arendelle as well!  Amazing luck.”

Inga wondered if it had been luck, but kept the thought to herself.  She took another bite of her pastry.  Elizabeth’s cousin had left with his wagon shortly after her belongings had been unloaded. Every few minutes another wagon or someone on horseback would pass by, and there were lots of people coming and going on foot.

“Inga?” Elizabeth called out, startling the princess a little.  “Inga, did you doze off? Maybe a ride wouldn’t be the best idea this morning.” 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I was looking outside.  It’s fascinating.” Inga hadn’t fallen asleep, but she also hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. “I would like to see the countryside.”

“You’re sure?” Elizabeth pressed. “If you think so, you could borrow Arianna’s horse.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Inga hesitated. 

“No, it’s fine!” Arianna insisted, still looking somewhat awed at having a real princess in her family’s front parlor.  Arianna and Diana set about clearing the plates from the parlor as soon as they had finished.  Ruth decided to stay home with her younger sister, while Diana insisted on coming along on their ride.  

Once Elizabeth and Diana had changed into riding clothes, Inga followed them around the corner to the stable where their horses were kept. Since the family was all girls, they only had side-saddles, and Inga went along with it, thankful she had been taking lessons, but she was still feeling tired enough that she would have preferred a regular saddle, especially since she was wearing her travel dress, anyway. 

They rode directly out of town across the bridge to the countryside. Inga kept up easily enough at first as they rode along the far shore, and she listened to the sisters as they caught up with whatever hadn't been worth including in their letters. 

"Do you really think Mother will want to sail again?" Diana asked. "It's been ten years, and that time it was only because her sister was getting married in Wesselton."

"Well, what's the alternative?" Elizabeth sighed. "Wait two years until Lars gets a chance to visit Corona again? Elope?"

Her sister laughed.  "You don't think he'd change his mind, do you? Besides, Uncle Leopold is an attorney, and worst case you'd get a nice Breach of Promise settlement."

Elizabeth glared at Diana. 

Inga looked confused. "What do you mean by that?" 

“Don't you have Breach of Promise laws in Arendelle?  What do you do if a young man decides not to marry you after you get engaged to him?” Diana asked Inga.

“Oh, well, I suppose we do…” Inga thought for a moment. “Yes, I remember reading about that in one of the law books.  But I don’t think there have been any legal settlements recently.”

Diana giggled. “Well, I suppose there are a lot of oldest children born early there.”

“Diana!” her sister exclaimed.

“Someone’s blushing,” Diana teased, looking at Elizabeth. “You were happy enough not to have a wedding date settled before, you know…”

Inga could feel herself blushing sympathetically, and was glad neither sister was looking at her.

Elizabeth sputtered. “What?  NO!  We haven’t… I haven’t… not yet… I mean… No.  Stop!”

“Fine,” the younger sister declared. “I believe you. I was just teasing.” 

“If you dare say anything in front of Mother-” 

“Aunt Clara’s farm is nearby,”  Diana interrupted. “Let’s go visit her.” 

“One word about this in front of Aunt Clara, and I swear…”

Diana laughed as she galloped her horse ahead, and Elizabeth sped up to catch up with her, disappearing from view where the shore curved ahead.

“I’ll catch up,” Inga called out, not sure if they heard.  Her horse was still trotting along.  She got it into a canter, and wasn’t sure how fast she should go, since she had no idea where Elizabeth and her sister were going.  

“Hilde!” a young man called out, and she heard another horse coming from a road nearby. The horse suddenly appeared, and her own horse bucked, and the next thing she knew she was in the water.

Inga stood up, happy at least to be only a little more than waist deep in water and unhurt, and very glad to be wearing her travel dress without too many layers of skirts.  She was still completely drenched, and plodded to shore.  A young man was standing holding both his horse and hers, which was still trying to buck a little, but calming down. He was staring at her. 

“Hello,” she grumbled as she stepped on to dry land. 

“Hello,” he replied hesitantly. “I’m sorry about that.  Can I do anything?”

“Well, it’s my own stupidity for riding sidesaddle,” she groaned.  “My father was right.” She looked at the now calm horse and at the saddle, and proceeded to begin unstrapping it from the horse, all the while muttering the words she overheard her father saying when he first saw the sidesaddle hanging in the castle stables. She wasn’t supposed to have heard, and most of the words were ones she wasn’t supposed to even know, let alone speak, but she was certain nobody would understand her here.  

The young man raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re from Arendelle, aren’t you?” 

“Huh?” Inga looked up briefly from working on the saddle, then had to wipe some soaked hair out of her face. “Is it that obvious?”

“My father taught me a few of those words,” he laughed, a bit embarrassed. Inga suddenly thought he looked almost more like a boy just then, though she could tell he hadn’t shaved that morning. “He told me never to say them in front of a lady.” 

“Ow!” Inga felt her knuckle get pinched by the buckle she was unfastening, too distracted by this stranger. Immediately she put the hand to her mouth rather than swear again. “You’re lucky I’m not a lady, then,” she told him as she went back to undoing all the straps. “So, your father is from Arendelle?” 

“No, but he visited once.  He’s visited a lot of places, though…” he was almost starting to ramble, but stopped himself watching Inga finishing up with the saddle.

She lifted it off the horse and nearly threw it on the ground, looking around for any sign of Elizabeth and her sister. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked again.

“Um, no…” she hesitated. “Well, yes, can you give me a lift up to the horse?”

“Are you sure?” He looked concerned.  “What about the saddle?” 

“Leave it,” she groaned.  “I’ll have much better luck bareback.” 

He shrugged and gave her a boost up to the horse. The horse seemed confused by someone sitting without a saddle, but Inga managed to calm it. She looked down at the saddle, and remembered it was borrowed from Elizabeth’s family.

“Ugh,” she sighed, then looked up at the young man. “That’s not my saddle.  I need to return it, but I really don’t want to be carrying anything right now.  Maybe one more favor? Could you hand that up to me?” 

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I could return it for you.  Where are you staying?” 

“Well, the stables…” she paused, trying to remember if there was an address. 

He laughed. “Stables? You’re staying in the stables?” 

“No,” she glared.  “I’m trying to remember. I only just arrived.  I borrowed this horse from my friends, well, not exactly.  One is a friend, and then her sisters... I only just met them, and I’m not sure if I like-” she heard herself rambling.  “Sorry.  The stables.  They weren’t too far from the harbor… It belongs to the family of Captain von der Decken, I don’t know if that helps.”

“I can ask if anyone knows them,” he offered.  “I’m sure I’ll be able to find the right place.  Are you heading back now? I can make sure-”

“No, I should continue this way and find my friend and her sister.” She looked ahead, and hoped that they hadn’t taken any turns up ahead. “Thank you, though. For holding my horse, and returning the saddle for me.  Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“No, no, please, no problem at all,” he insisted. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yes, just fine.  Thank you again, but now I really need to find my friends.”  Inga rode off.  

She heard the young man’s voice behind her. “Hilde! There you are!” 

After several minutes, she saw Elizabeth on her horse waiting where two roads met. 

“Inga!” Elizabeth gasped. “You’re soaking wet!  And where is your saddle?” 

“Sorry,” Inga replied. “I didn’t see a crossroad, and the horse got startled by another rider, and I got thrown into the water.  I took the saddle off, but he’ll return it to your house.  At least, he said he would. If he doesn’t, I’ll pay for a replacement.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Elizabeth looked at her. “At any rate, Inga, you need to change clothes.  I told Diana you might have gotten lost and to just meet us back home, so we’ll go back to town.  You could get a new dress, you know.  This is a good excuse.”

“I brought plenty of clothes,” Inga protested as they turned to return to the city.

“I saw your trunk on the ship,” Elizabeth almost scolded her. “You really didn’t bring that many clothes, and we’ll be here for at least a week and we’re going to the Coronation and the Banquet.  Plus, I don’t know, but I expect your aunt has some more plans for you.”

“But…” 

“If it makes you feel better,” Elizabeth cut her off, more gently this time. “I’ll be taking you to my grandfather’s shop, so you’ll be doing us a favor by patronizing our business.  How’s that?”

“Oh, fine,” Inga relented "but you’re starting to sound like my mother."

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: It's Raining Men (16x04)

Jeez what a dark episode title, given what happens in this hour of TV!

Cons:

What the heck is this show trying to do with the character of Tom Koracick? It makes no sense. I have been so staunch in defending him over Owen, but it's like they made a decision that Owen is going to be the good guy now, so they have to make Tom a ridiculous jerk in order to compensate for that. It's not funny, it's not clever, it's frustrating in the extreme! Setting aside the love triangle of it all, Tom was a multi-faceted character whose love for Teddy was actually quite sweet and charming. And now he's pretty much a villain and everyone hates him. He antagonizes Owen, and tries to prey on a scared family in order to drum up good publicity for the hospital. There's a moment of nuance when Schmitt calls Jackson to task, but for the most part Tom is just an unimaginable asshole here. I don't like the direction they are taking this character at all.

Also, Bailey's pregnant now too? I feel like they've run out of ways to add drama to the lives of these characters, so they're just giving everyone a baby story-line. Please don't let Maggie or Meredith or Jo get pregnant, I seriously couldn't take it right now.

With this whole Bailey being pregnant thing, we get a somewhat satisfying explanation for why she's been so emotional recently. But even so, I feel like the confrontation between Meredith and Bailey was lacking something. Meredith is apologetic about the publication, and that makes sense. But Bailey fired her, and Meredith still believes that she did the right thing. I feel like it would make sense for Meredith to be the tiniest bit resentful of Bailey's role in all of this. But that's one aspect of this situation that nobody seems to be focused on at all! I find that frustrating.

Pros:

I continue to be delighted by Alex and Richard working at this disadvantaged, chaotic hospital. Owen, who is taking time off because of Koracick, and so that Teddy can work and Owen can stay home with the kids, ends up getting roped in to working with Alex for the day, and then accepts a job to work at the hospital with them. As I said, I hate that we're just supposed to accept Owen as the good guy and Tom as the jerk, but I do like the idea of Grey Sloan continuing to lose doctors to this new hospital. As chaotic as it is, you can tell that Richard and Alex are having a good time trying to make a difference, getting their hands dirty and doing what needs to be done.

As I said, the title of this episode is brutal. Basically, a stowaway on an airplane falls out of the sky and crushes a woman. She and her new boyfriend are both rushed to the hospital. The guy is mostly unhurt, although covered in blood, but his girlfriend dies on the table. The story is about the futility of life, about how everything is so unfair, and random, and sometimes men literally fall out of the sky and crush you to death. How do you protect against that? You can't. Stuff just happens. And yet, out of that, we get the moment of Link confessing his love to Amelia. I love that there's a goofiness to it, as Amelia is laying on top of Link like a compression blanket, something he used to do for her but doesn't anymore because of the baby. We see that Amelia is a little freaked out, but she doesn't bolt. I know that there will be drama, because there always is, but it seems like maybe Amelia is going to stick this one out and try for some real happiness. I'll admit I'd be happy to see that.

So it's annoying that Tom has turned into a cartoon bad guy, but there was one moment with this plot thread that I thoroughly enjoyed. Jackson is playing the smug hero here, as he gets a kid a pro bono surgery and doesn't let Tom get his publicity out of it. On the surface, even if Jackson is being a bit of a tool, you agree with his perspective. The family was clearly uncomfortable with the media attention, but were willing to go through it for the free surgery. Jackson makes them feel more comfortable. The surgery goes great. But then Schmitt points something out - the publicity could really have helped out a lot of people's careers. Jackson is financially secure and his career is already made. But what about the reputation of the hospital as a whole? What about other people's careers? Jackson can afford to be magnanimous, but things aren't always so simple.

The big plot thread of the week is obviously Meredith's incendiary article. She wrote a list of problems with the health care industry as ideas for an article she could write, but the publisher just takes the whole list and publishes it with a headline that makes it seem like Meredith is attacking Grey Sloan Memorial in specific. There's so much juicy material to come out of this, and I loved seeing the various reactions to the news.

Obviously, Bailey is crushed and angry. Meredith is upset that her words are being taken so wildly out of context. Alex is amused. Jo is a little miffed because she's just been made an attending at the hospital, but she agrees with Meredith's points. Helm is still hero-worshiping as usual. DeLuca is trying to support his girlfriend while not associating himself directly with what she wrote. Amelia is a little angry but mostly letting it go. I love how many different reactions there are, and how each perspective is more or less understandable. Meredith is being reckless as regards her personal career, but she's not wrong morally about big pharma, etc. DeLuca is trying to play the middle, and while Meredith is a bit out of line to go off on him the way she does, I can also understand her frustration with his waffling. Bailey, as we've discussed, is obviously hormonal, but even without that as an excuse, I do understand why she would be less than jazzed about Meredith's behavior, and why it would feel like such a personal betrayal.

I must give a shout-out to the Cristina cameo - a text from her to Meredith: "Move to Switzerland before Bailey murders you in your sleep." I understand why they don't do that stuff more often, as it would just draw attention to Cristina's absence, but it is nice to hear something from her every once in a while.

And that's that - another busy episode, with mostly enjoyable developments. I'm irritated as all hell with what they're doing to poor Tom Koracick's characterization, but at least there wasn't more Maggie/Jackson nonsense this week. I like Jackson's new girlfriend!

8/10

[theangelssecondwing]

Chapter 13

We spent the majority oft he morning in bed, dozing in each other’s arms. I let my fingers trace the outlines of his muscles, smiling to myself.

Sephiroth sighed softly. „I honestly never thought that intimacy could feel this… good.“

„Oh?“ I opened my eyes to look at him. „Did you have many lovers before me?“

„I wouldn’t exactly call them ‚lovers‘, but I did have the occasional fling during my teens. They were rare, though, and it never felt quite right. I mean, sure it was nice, but nothing I couldn’t do with my own hand.“

My face metaphorically caught fire at that last sentence, the image of Sephiroth pleasuring himself appearing before my inner eye.

„However“, he continued, interrupting my thoughts. „I have felt what I feel for you once before. When I was… twelve, I think.“

„Oh.“ Shit. Shit shit shit. There was someone else? Who was that person? Were they from Midgar, too? Maybe even employed at Shinra Corp.? What if they showed up again?

„Tell me about them“, I asked in a murmur.

He smiled, a fondness in his eyes that made my heart ache. „I didn’t find out what her name was for a long time. In fact, I only saw her once, very briefly and from a distance. She was about my age… maybe a year or two older. Dark brown hair. Chubby, bur very cute. She didn’t notice me because she was talking to Rufus Shinra.“ He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. „For years, I kept my eyes peeled, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, though I had no way of knowing what she might look like after a few years passed. But she haunted me dreams. I am… quite embarrassed that I didn’t make the connection right away, but when I saw that photo of you with Rufus, everything clicked into place.“ He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me. „It was you. It was always you.

Now my heart ached with the overwhelming love I felt. „If only I had turned around back then.“

„Indeed.“

I chuckled. „A few months ago I thought that you were so far out of my league and was baffled that you would even look at me. And now this…“

He kissed me again. „Now it’s your turn. I know that you were a virgin up until that night in Costa del Sol. But there’s more to relationships than that. Was there anyone else before me? Any crushes, or significant others?“

„None“, I replied. „I kept thinking that something might be wrong with me when I made it through puberty without heartbreak.“

„Nothing“, he whispered. „There’s nothing wrong with you.“

Around afternoon, the doorbell rang. I quickly slipped into my clothes and went to open it, only to find a tall man with a long black ponytail on the other side. He wore an expensive designer suit and seemed to be a very serious, clean-cut type. But the most striking feature was the tilak on his forehead.

„Can I help you?“, I asked warily.

The man pulled out an ID. „Good afternoon, Ms. Hunter. I’m Tseng, from the Turks. May I come in for a moment?“

I gawked at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, before remembering my manners. „Of course. Come on in.“ I led him into the living room. „Please, have a seat.“

He sat down on the couch. „Are you alone here at the moment, Ms. Hunter?“

„No offense, but I wouldn’t have invited you in if I were alone. Sephiroth is in the bedroom.“

Tseng nodded in approval. „Good. So you know the basics of keeping yourself safe.“

The corners of my mouth twitched upwards. „Did you assume you’d have to talk to me about stranger danger?“

„You’d be surprised at how many adults still seem to need that talk.“ His voice was without humor. „So let’s get down to business: We, meaning the Turks, are under orders to make sure that neither Professor Hojo nor any of his subordinates approach you again. We have assigned a lower ranked member of the Turks to your case. The higher level members such as myself will only get involved if an incident occurs that is outside oft he assigned agent’s abilities. The person tasked with protecting you will not interact with you or interfere with any of your daily engagements unless necessary. The purpose of my visit is to see if you have any questions or concerns and to put those to rest, to ensure a successfull collaboration.“ His dark brown eyes met mine. „So?“

„Uhm.“ Damn. Now that I was put on the spot like that, I couldn’t think of any questions.

„I for one would like to know how the Turks plan to handle Cora’s privacy. Do you plan on watching her while she’s at home as well?“

Tseng and I turned our attention to Sephiroth, who had stepped out of the bedroom fully dressed and with his usual carefully neutral facial expression.

„An understandable concern. We have discussed the matter with the building’s security personell as well as the landlord, so they will keep an eye out for any suspicious people lurking on the premises, and will notify us of any strange occurences. This way, we can ensure Ms. Hunter’s safety without encroaching on her personal space too much.“

I paused for a moment. „…that’s quite a lot of effort to protect one person.“

„It would be if you were just any person. However, your family’s wealth and status as well as your connection to the Shinra family make you important enough to be considered a VIP, so we treat your case accordingly. Is that all you wanted to ask?“

„It is for now“, I replied, bravely masking how overwhelmed I was.

Tseng got up and shook my hand. „I assure you that the incident with the professor won’t repeat itself while we are involved. Good day, Ms. Hunter. Sephiroth.“

I felt burned out after Tseng left, so I just sank down on the couch and buried my face in my hands.

Sephiroth sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. „What’s wrong?“

„Maybe Hojo is right“, I muttered. „Maybe I am not good enough for you. Too… genetically inferior.“

He tensed up. „What are you talking about?“

I took a deep breath, hoping to fight down the hot tears gathering in my eyes. „You are so strong, Sephiroth. You never… you don’t need anyone to worry about you. There’s nobody who can match you in strength. Me, though? My childhood friend felt the need to hire professional spies and assassins to babysit me because I can’t even defend myself against one scrawny middle aged man.“

I wiped my eyes with my sleeves like a child, but as hard as I tried to keep my composure, the last part only came out stammered between sobs and hiccups.

Sephiroth’s arms tightened around me. „Cora. Look at me.“

I looked up, but his face was blurred thanks to my tears and the salt-stains they had left on my glasses.

„I was not born a fighter“, he said once he made sure that he had my undivided attention. „I started combat training as soon as I was able to walk. Of course you aren’t as strong as me. You never had to be. You had a family that loved you and kept you safe.“ He paused for a moment, as if he had revealed too much. Then he continued:„I know this is very stressful for you, and it‘s understandable that you are overwhelmed, and that you feel helpless. But you are not inferior just because you don‘t fight. Okay?“

„O...okay“, I sniffled, rubbing my reddened eyes to drive away the last few tears.

„Good.“ He kissed my forehead. „It‘s okay. Nobody will harm you anymore.“

The doorbell once again interrupted our intimate moment. „Who is it this time?“, I mumbled, irritated. Then I got up. „I‘ll go have a look.“

When I peeked through the peephole at the front door, I found Angeal and Yui standing on the other side. I opened up. „Hey.“

„Cora!“ Yui flung her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. „Sorry that we‘re only now checking up on you, but the doctors at the hospital said that three visitors were already pushing it and that you needed to rest.“

Angeal looked me over. „How are you feeling? You were pretty out of it when Sephiroth and I came barging into the lab to save you.“

„I wrote a very strongly worded mail to the president about the incident“, Yui added. „He assured me that he would take disciplinary action against Hojo.“

„Guys, guys. Calm down. I‘m okay. Still a bit shaken, but otherwise unhurt. And now come in, we can‘t keep standing in the doorway like that.“ I ushered them in, to the living room, where Sephiroth was waiting.

„Hi, Sephiroth“, Angeal greeted casually. „Have you brought Cora up to speed on our investigations yet?“

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. „I was actually planning on waiting with that until tomorrow.“

„Well, we might as well discuss it now. Seeing as we‘re gathered here anyway“, I piped up. Once everyone had sat down, I took my place next to Sephiroth again. „So? What did you find?“

[flowers-creativity]

So Red a Colour

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: d’Artagnan (Charles), Constance Bonacieux,  Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay), Dr. Lemay, Anne d’Autriche, Louis XIII de France Warnings: Violence Summary: Old ghosts rear their head at the sight of the colour red and a body falling to the ground ...

Or: d'Artagnan tries to save Constance from attackers but his gamble to free her almost has disastrous consequences for both of them.

AO3 link

It was a normal day guarding Their Majesties. Just a small outing – the King, a servant by his side, the Queen, accompanied by Constance and a servant girl, so four Musketeers were deemed sufficient for their security. They had taken a short ride in the woods beyond the Palace gardens and then had returned to a pavilion set up in a particularly nice spot – really, how anyone could make such a distinction in the lush environment of the Palace grounds was beyond him, but apparently it was indeed a very nice spot – to take some refreshments. All in all, it had been a boring but very enjoyable day. There even was no sign of Rochefort or anyone else who could darken the mood.

d'Artagnan could not suppress a satisfied smile as he looked over to Constance, and her eyes sparkled over the edge of her fan as she met his gaze. He marvelled at being able to do this again. It was not what he wanted, and he knew, he knew, neither was it what she wanted, regardless of her words to the contrary. But he could live with being her friend if he could not be anything else.

An elbow hit his ribs, and he winced. “Hey!”

“Stand watch now, make moon eyes at our lovely friend later,” Athos drawled to the sound of Aramis and Porthos snickering.

The Gascon rubbed his side and glared at his friends. “I was not--”

Porthos snorted. “Nah, you certainly weren't. You were just thinkin' deep thoughts and not noticin' you were starin' at Constance.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure he's able to stare at Constance and still – no, never mind, I think staring at Constance precludes the danger of any deep thoughts entering his mind pretty effectively,” Aramis returned the banter, lazily playing with the end of his mustache and offering a charming smile to Constance when she looked over to them, her attention drawn by their conversation.

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and resolved to just ignore their teasing for now. It was good background noise, at the least, given how uneventful the day was turning out.

Of course, it always was a normal day guarding Their Majesties until it wasn't.

It was a split second between Athos' shout: “Down!” and the crack of a musket, and a ball tore through the fabric of the pavilion above the King's head just as he ducked. Porthos shoved him to the ground, crouching over him, as d'Artagnan did the same with the Queen. There was another burst of noise, and two more balls came whistling past but went wide of anyone who might have been their target.

Athos sprang back up. “Aramis, with me! Porthos, d'Artagnan, take Their Majesties back to the Palace, now!” he ordered, already sprinting towards the direction the shots had come from before he had even finished the sentence. Aramis was on his heels a moment later, and Porthos and d'Artagnan scrambled to their feet and helped the King and Queen up. They led them back to the Palace, all but tugging them along by the hand, a lack of decorum that never would be appropriate in any situation but this one. Constance and the servants were left to follow by themselves though d'Artagnan spared a look back at them a few times. Constance was pale but keeping up gamely, lending a hand to the servant girl when she stumbled.

They were almost there when a group of men burst from the edge of the trees, racing towards them. Porthos' eyes met d'Artagnan's, then he gave a wordless bellow and drew his sword. No use trying to outrun them, and d'Artagnan followed suit, both Musketeers taking position in front of the others, shielding them with their bodies. Steel clashed, and d'Artagnan lost himself in the familiar movements, honed in hours upon hours of training with Athos and his friends, as chaos descended. His sword found an opening in his opponent's defense, and he went down hard. He pivoted, intercepted a blade coming at him from the side, backed up a step until he felt his brother's presence behind him, bound the attacker's blade with his own, drew his main gauche, stabbed it into the man's side, that's another one down. He tried to keep everyone in his field of view, the King and Queen were behind him, there's another one coming at him, and he met him with a quick stroke of his sword, the strength of the hit reverberating up his arm. This one was better, and he was trying to herd him off to the side, separate him from Porthos, but d'Artagnan was fast and danced around him, pulling back and then dashing forward, the man opposite him cursing up a blue streak as he was forced to give ground to the whirlwind attacking him. Thrust, parry, again and again, and finally, there was an opening, and his sword found it target again--

d'Artagnan stood still, breathing hard. No one else was coming at him, and after a moment, he dared to look around. The King and Queen were clutching at each other behind Porthos' broad back, and the servant was on the ground, broken eyes staring into the sky. The young servant girl was next to him, cowering in fright but seemingly unhurt, and Constance--

A sharp cry rent the air. Constance was held by a man, flanked by a second, and they were pulling her away. She was struggling in the man's grip but it was futile. d'Artagnan hesitated for a moment – he knew his duty. One glance decided him, though, as he saw men come running towards them, most of them in the Palace Guard's uniform but a few Red Guards among them, and there was even Musketeer blue flashing between them. He threw himself around and took off after the two men.

He could hear Porthos call his name, he knew Athos would be angry with him, but it didn't stop him. He was gaining fast on them, Constance was still struggling and slowing them down. But there was a knife in the hand of the man holding her, he saw when he was close enough, and it had already torn through the fabric of her dress and was scratching thin red lines in her pale skin with every movement.

The men stopped just as he was close enough to pull his pistol, though he did not know if he could shoot without endangering Constance, and turned around to face him. The man pulled Constance close, his face pressed into the wild hair that had tumbled from her hairnet. “Stop, Musketeer!” he called out.

d'Artagnan slowed down, still taking a few steps towards them, his pistol extended and pointed at the man holding Constance. “Let her go!” he demanded.

The man smiled unpleasantly. “I don't think I will,” he replied. “We've not got what we came here for but the Queen will probably still pay handsomely for her lady. Or her husband will.”

d'Artagnan shook his head. “You have no leg to stand on.” His eyes sought Constance's gaze, silently asking for her forgiveness as he continued: “She's not one of the Queen's ladies – just a commoner, a nobody.”

“Is that so? Then why's she so close to the Queen and not dressed like a servant?”

“The Queen likes having one of them around.” d'Artagnan swallowed – his words were untrue and also treasonous, slandering Her Majesty like that, but it would be worth it if they bought Constance's freedom. “It makes her feel generous and grand, and they amuse her. You'd have more success pressing her for money capturing one of her lap dogs.”

The man sneered. “Well then.” Something cruel flashed through his eyes, and in this moment, d'Artagnan realised he had made a mistake. “I guess she's useless, then.”

Constance, wonderful, courageous, foolish Constance, chose just this moment to act, stomping down on the man's foot and throwing back her elbow into his throat. But his hand holding the knife was already in motion, and the blade found her side and plunged into it.

“No!” d'Artagnan shouted and sprang forwards. His hands grasped her, tearing her from the man's grip, and there was a spray of bright, thick red gracefully following the arch of her fall to the ground … He was on top of the man, and he didn't know where his pistol was, his rapier, anything, but his fists met flesh, and a sob tore from his throat as he hit the man again, and again. His mind was full with that bright, terrible red and the image of a body falling to the ground, his vision blurring.

Suddenly, pain erupted in his back, racing up to engulf his torso, and he fell forward on the man below him. His limbs were suddenly numb and heavy, refusing to work, and darkness rose swiftly to swallow him.

It was a second pain that brought him back from the darkness, and he bucked wildly against it, crying out. Strong hands on his shoulders were pinning him down as he scrabbled at the surface he was lying on, fingers scratching over wood.

“Calm, d'Artagnan,” a voice said above his head. “You're alright, don't fight it. I know it hurts but Lemay will be finished soon.” It took his sluggish, half-panicked mind a moment to recognise Athos' cool voice, calm as ever, even though there was some underlying worry and tension in his tone.

With effort, d'Artagnan stilled his movements and opened his eyes. He was lying on his belly on some wooden surface, maybe a table. The intense agony that had pulled him back to consciousness had died down to a band of burning pain around his lower back, and he could feel other hands besides those belonging to Athos on his body, at his hips and legs. When he lifted his head, Athos' face swam into view. The older man was crouched in front of him so their faces were at the same height, and he gave him a tight half-smile. “Welcome back,” he said in a low voice.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan rasped, his voice hoarse and painful in a dry throat. “Wha--” Craning his head around, he saw Dr. Lemay standing beside him, and further away, towards the end of the table, was Porthos, so it had to be his hands on this legs.

Athos gently grasped his head and turned it around again. “Let the doctor finish, lad,” he said strictly, “before you bleed out on us. I'm glad you're back with us but you need to keep still.” Looking over d'Artagnan's head, he nodded at Lemay.

D'Artagnan tensed when the sharp prick of a needle piercing his skin shot through him but Athos had him by the shoulders again, and there was no way he could get away from the pain, so he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He tried sorting through his murky memory – he didn't even remember how he had been wounded … When the realisation of what was wrong with the picture he'd found hit him, his head shot up; pain sliced through him as the sudden movement jerked at Dr. Lemay's needle and jarred his wound but he paid it no heed. “Aramis?” he asked tremulously.

Athos shook his head with something like exasperated fondness. “Keep still,” he ordered again. “He's fine, he's--”

“Oh my God, no,” d'Artagnan interrupted him, a memory asserting itself – a body falling, red, red blood in the sunlight … “Constance,” he moaned. “He killed her.” His eyes filled with tears, a trembling taking over his limbs. “And it's my fault.”

Athos jerked, raising his head to glance at someone over his head, then squatted down before him again. He took his chin into his hand, a thumb stroking over his cheek to wipe away the first tears rolling down. “No, d'Artagnan,” he said, his voice calm and strong. “She's not dead.”

“But--” d'Artagnan looked up at him as hope and despair warred within him. “He stabbed her.”

The older Musketeer nodded. “Yes, she was hurt. But she is alive,” he assured him. “Aramis is with her. She will be fine.”

“Athos,” the young doctor's voice interrupted him. Athos looked up at him, nodded, then met d'Artagnan's eyes again. “Now, please lay still,” he repeated. “It will be over soon.”

d'Artagnan attempted to nod but found that the tremors running through him were getting stronger. He blinked, dark spots starting to appear before his eyes. “Athos--” His voice was thin and strange.

“d'Artagnan!” Athos barked and grabbed his shoulders. “Don't--”

But d'Artagnan never heard what he said next as he was pulled under again.

This time he surfaced slowly, adrift in the shallows of unconsciousness for what felt like ages. There was no pain, just a curious heaviness weighing him down. He probably would have remained that way, except for the fact that someone was – rather annoyingly – tapping his cheek and calling his name.

“Come on, d'Artagnan,” the voice said, “You've slept long enough. Open your eyes for me, will you?”

He furrowed his brow and tossed his head weakly to get away from the touch.

“That's it, come back to us,” the voice continued to wheedle and press him. “If you open your eyes, I will stop, I promise.”

It felt like a monumental effort, but he dragged his lids upwards to half-mast. The image above him crystallised into Aramis' face, and for a reason he could not remember right now, a wave of relief washed through him. His eyes threatened to slide shut again.

“Ah-ah-ah.” Aramis shook his head at him. “I need you to stay awake for me for a bit.”

d'Artagnan frowned up at him and opened his mouth, a weak cough escaping before he found his voice. “You pro--” he coughed again, “you promised.” The words were slurred and barely audible but he hoped his annoyance at the pestering was still perceivable. He just wanted to sleep until he no longer felt so heavy …

Aramis' eyes danced with laughter. “I promised to stop tapping your cheek, and I'm keeping my promise,” the medic replied, and there was a snort in the background that sounded a lot like Porthos. “Come on, lad, I know you must be thirsty.” He gently raised d'Artagnan's head and made a gesture to someone else. A cup appeared in his field of vision and was placed against his lips, and despite his exhaustion, he opened his mouth eagerly. He hadn't noticed it before but his thirst was roaring to life with a vengeance at the sight and smell of the fresh water in the cup.

“Careful,” Aramis cautioned as he tipped the cup to his mouth, but despite the warning, d'Artagnan nearly choked on the first sip and erupted into a series of coughs that left him out of breath. A terrible ache was waking up in his back, and his head spun.

Aramis frowned at him compassionately, taking the cup away, and a hand – he did not know whose – rubbed his back between his shoulder blades, first alerting him consciously to the fact that he was not on his back but on his side. Aramis waited until he had recovered, then cupped his cheek again and returned the cup. “Let's try that again, shall we?” he said patiently. “Slowly, this time.”

With effort, d'Artagnan managed to do as he was told, and he was rewarded with the most wonderful feeling of cool water sliding down his throat. After a few sips, he let his head fall back and breathed deeply. The water had chased away some of the dryness in his throat and the fuzzy feeling in his head – though far from recovered, he felt as if he could at least manage to stay awake for a bit longer.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to give Aramis a smile. It felt as if he was succeeding partially, at least.

The medic returned the smile. “You're welcome,” he said brightly.

He seemed content enough to let d'Artagnan get his bearings, now that he didn't threaten to slip back into unconsciousness right away, so the younger Musketeer did just that. “Athos? Porthos?” he finally asked.

At the question, the hand on his back returned, and Athos' voice behind him said: “We're here, d'Artagnan.” At the same time, heavy steps indicated that Porthos had taken a more physical approach to answering the question, and indeed, the large Musketeer appeared beside Aramis a moment later, pulling a chair up to the bed and dropping into it. “There you are,” he greeted him with a fond smile. “'bout time, lazy bones. How're you feelin'?”

d'Artagnan considered for a moment to give his usual answer, but besides the fact that his friends would never believe him, he had to admit to not feeling particularly fine right now. “Tired,” he answered. “'n my back hurts. How ...” He moved his hand towards the spot on his right lower back that was aching so fiercely but before he could reach it, Athos caught his hand and returned it to his hip, keeping his hand on his wrist and easily preventing him from any further movement. “I don't 'member ...”

“You don't remember being shot?” Athos asked. When he shook his head, he felt his mentor giving his wrist a short squeeze. “I'm afraid we cannot help you there, either. When we arrived at the scene, Constance and you were alone. There was no time to search for the perpetrators, we had to take care of you first.”

Aramis nodded. “Your unique brand of luck still holds true, my friend,” he informed him wryly. “Dr. Lemay says the bullet did not hit anything vital, which is a miracle in itself. Still, you were bleeding badly, and Constance was not much better off.”

d'Artagnan squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily overwhelmed by the memory of all that red covering Constance's lithe frame. He felt Aramis' hand at his face again and forced his eyes to open. His friend was studying him with worry in his dark eyes. “Is the pain very bad? I can--”

d'Artagnan quickly shook his head. He knew Aramis' pain draught would send him under again, and he found that he wanted to know all that his brothers could tell him first. “Constance, is she--?” he asked, half afraid of the answer, though he remembered well enough that Athos had told him that she lived.

“She is alright,” Aramis reassured him. “The wound was not a dangerous one, she was just also losing blood and in shock – I stitched her up, and she is doing well. Maybe you'd like to see her?” He waited for his weak nod before looking at Porthos. Without a word, the dark-skinned man got to his feet and left the room.

d'Artagnan blew out another relieved breath. He would probably feel afraid for her until he could see her with his own eyes – and guilty, he definitely felt that – but Aramis' answer helped quiet down the anxiety somewhat. Suddenly, he started. “The second man!” he exclaimed, then gasped at the pain radiating through his back at the sudden movement.

“Shhh, calm,” Aramis murmured, stroking his hair back from his forehead, and Athos gave his wrist another squeeze. It was the older man who asked: “A second man? What do you mean?”

d'Artagnan closed his eyes for a moment to ride out the pain, then opened them again and turned his head to squint in Athos' direction, though he could not really see his face, sitting behind him as he was. “They had Constance and were pulling her away,” he replied, “but when I started to talk to the one holding her ...” Shame burned his cheeks red. “I completely forgot to pay attention to him. Maybe he was the one who shot me. And the one who had Constance – he was gone, too?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Athos said. His tone did not give away what he was thinking about d'Artagnan's explanation, and he wished he could see his face properly. Would he ever feel secure enough not to fear to disappoint him? “Constance only could tell us what happened up to the point where she was injured, so I suspect there will always be a gap there if you don't remember everything.”

Aramis delicately picked up d'Artagnan's hand, which Athos surrendered readily, and brought it forward. “Do you remember why your hands look like you beat up a whole band of thugs?” he asked.

d'Artagnan felt his eyebrows rise in surprise when he saw the bandages wrapping his knuckles. “Not a whole band,” he said sheepishly. “Only the one who had stabbed Constance.” He freed his hand from Aramis' grip and used it to rub across his face. “I pulled her off him after that, and then--” He swallowed, again remembering the red, red, red, and Constance's body falling bonelessly. “I don't—I don't really know, I only saw her blood, and then I was hitting him, and then—then pain and darkness ...”

“Well, we can assume that you were shot then,” Athos surmised, “and the second man presumably came to collect your opponent so they could flee together. It is a good thing none of them stopped to make sure you were dead.”

d'Artagnan nodded miserably. It was just luck he hadn't gotten himself and Constance killed …

Aramis patted his cheek. “Don't make such a long face,” he chided lightly. “You did what you could, and you'll both be fine.” He collected the water cup again and brought it forward. “Now, be a good patient and have some more water, will you? You've lost a lot of blood, so you need it.”

Before d'Artagnan could decide whether he wanted to argue his failure or whether the cool water was the much more pressing need, Porthos came back, supporting Constance with a strong arm around her waist. He carefully deposited her on the chair next to Aramis and then stepped back.

D'Artagnan forgot about everything else and just drank in her sight, feeling the last lingering fear that she was dead after all, that he had caused her death, slip away. Her fair skin was even lighter than normal, with dark bruises under her eyes, and he could see that her corset was not cinched tight around her small waist like usual but just laced tight enough that her dress would not slip, and there was a bulky padding beneath it on her left side. But she was smiling at him and reached out a hand to stroke over his shoulder. “I'm so glad you're awake,” she told him. “I've been worried.”

He caught her hand and pulled it to his face, pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “For everything.”

“What?” She arched an eyebrow at him – different than Athos but just about as eloquent. “Everything?”

“For what I said – you know it's not true, Her Majesty loves you,” he tried to explain, “and you—you're everything, Constance, you could never be a nobody. I was just hoping he would let you go when he realised that he had nothing to gain from you.” He snorted bitterly. “And look how that turned out.”

He almost suspected that she'd slapped him if he wasn't injured. “You're an idiot!” she said, exasperated. “Of course I know that you didn't mean a word you said.” Then her eyes softened, as did her voice when she continued: “And never apologise for believing that people can be something other than cruel.”

d'Artagnan tried to smile, for her, and squeezed her hand. “I still think I should put my belief in the goodness of man into someone more worthwhile,” he murmured. “Not in masked men attacking the King and capturing women.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Probably, yes,” she agreed.

d'Artagnan felt his smile grow a bit stronger. He brought her hand to his cheek, relishing the touch when she cupped his cheek, a thumb lightly tracing his cheekbones. “I'm so glad you're alright. I thought he had killed you.”

Constance was quiet for a moment, then she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his forehead. “I'm alright,” she whispered, “I promise I'm alright.”

He hummed, closing his eyes. The heaviness that had hovered at the edge of his perception for all the while he had been awake was settling into his body again, and he thought he could go to sleep like this again, with her hand on his cheek, her voice in his ears.

Soon, too soon, though, her hand vanished, and he gave a short, low whine at the loss of her touch. Porthos laughed, and d'Artagnan forced his eyes open again to glare at his brother.

“Oy, don't you gimme that look,” Porthos said, unabashed, as he was helping Constance up. “And don't mope, Constance still needs her rest, too.”

“I don't mope,” d'Artagnan retorted indignantly, though he then looked to Constance a bit contritely. “I'm sorry.”

The young woman sighed. “There's nothing to apologise for,” she returned firmly. “Now rest, and get better soon. I'll come visit you again, alright?” With a last smile, she allowed Porthos to lead her out of the room.

Aramis leaned forward and brushed his hair back, checking his temperature with a hand on his forehead. “Alright, I'd say that's good enough for today,” he said resolutely. “Now you'll have some more water and then some of my pain draught, and then you can go back to sleep.”

d'Artagnan nodded and quietly accepted Aramis' help in drinking the water and the foul-tasting medicine, then settled back down. Soon enough, he drifted off to sleep – and his dreams were blessedly free of the colour red.

[superparadise-ghost]

this post is so self indulgent but really I’m only gonna be on this bitch of an earth for a short period of time so that’s perfectly fine with me. anyway probably don’t bother reading under the cut unless ur interested in my OCs Rhys and Adrien, or angst

They told me drink till she's pretty enough. His tongue feels numb. Rhys isn’t used to the sensation. He isn’t sure he likes it so much, either. But the cup in his hand, filled for the fourth time tonight, is not empty yet. And Rhys won’t waste the plum-purple liquid swirling inside of it, because at least his head feels full. Drink until she's the wine on your tongue. Adrien is across the room, and Rhys can’t stop watching him. He’s laughing a little louder than usual, eyes half-lidded. He swirls his own liquid around in a crystalline bottle, glittering under the dim lights. His skin shines with sweat, because that’s what happens at parties. You get hot and sweaty. Bothered. Nostalgic. Another mouthful of the purple liquid runs down Rhys’s throat. Kiss to forget, sleep when you're dead. The cup feels too light and loose in Rhys’s hand, too much like nothing in his fingers. He drops it, the tips of his nails tingling to match his tongue. He doesn’t want any more of that liquid, not now that his head is throbbing with that feeling, and he can’t bear the thought of anymore. He stands up and leaves Miranda on her own, curled up and asleep on the couch. Adrien must see him out of the corner of his eye, because he turns around and waves loosely. His eyes are deep, rich and full of something shiny. “What’s up, Winters?” Rhys thinks he says. He can’t quite tell. He doesn’t know much right now, so he doesn’t answer. His gaze sweeps left and right to see who’s with Adrien— Bella stands off to his side, busy chatting with Drew, and some boy from the Hermes cabin is leaning much too close to Adrien for Rhys to feel comfortable. Without knowing quite what he’s doing, Rhys grabs Adrien by the back of his neck and presses his lips to Adrien’s. All too quickly, there’s a hand on Rhys’s chest and muggy air on his face. Adrien grips his arm and steadies. “I think you need to go outside. Fresh air,” he says. Rhys lets him drag him out of the door, throat burning and eyes feeling similarly painful. Love while you're young and it matters The air outside, under the satin sky and pricks of silver light, is cool and still. Rhys almost falls when they first make it out, and groans. “Can’t we go back in?” He says, but he thinks his words are slurred a little. He wants to be back with the people. He doesn’t want to be left behind. “You need some fresh air,” Adrien repeats. Rhys closes his eyes so his head won’t throb as much, and leans heavily on Adrien as he’s guided gently to... somewhere. They sit down firmly on a level piece of wood, and later, Rhys will realise it’s a pier. He opens his eyes. The night is dark enough to be comforting, just a little. “It’s cold,” Rhys whispers, teeth chattering. He’s never been brave against New York’s temperatures— not when he was raised in one of the world’s hottest countries. Adrien wraps an arm around Rhys’s shoulders and pulls him towards him. Rhys presses further into him. He’s warm. “I—“ “Don’t talk yet.” Rhys wants to stay quiet. He doesn’t want to talk about what he just did. In front of everybody. He feels sick. They told me breathe her like second-hand smoke Adrien smells like artificial grapes. It’s almost as intoxicating as the liquid in Rhys’s system, pulls him under and makes him bold. Makes him think he should do that again. It would be nice. But Rhys doesn’t. His head is too heavy to lift. And Adrien didn’t like it. Clearly. “You can talk now,” Rhys croaks. His chest feels tight and strung. Adrien sighs. “Why’d you do that, Rhys?” His hand cards through Rhys’s hair like this is what casual friends do. Like this is something friends who made a huge mistake in falling in love last time do. “I wanted to.” Rhys replies. “Had to. Really wanted to.” Adrien is quiet. Rhys grits his teeth, and pushes Adrien away, full of irritation and loneliness. “You act like you weren’t expecting it!” He snaps. “Like all... like we never happened! Like you never, you know, fucked me over?” “Rhys—“ “Save it. Just shut up. Okay? I’m going home.” Rhys marches off, stumbling a little, and barely makes it to the Hecate cabin before he starts to cry. Let her stain your hands and seep in your clothes The next morning, Rhys doesn’t want to get up. Lou Ellen’s dull voice urges him to get ready for breakfast, but Rhys knows Adrien will be in the dining Pavillon. He doesn’t want to see Adrien right now. “I’ll get up later,” Rhys promises. Lou Ellen grumbles something incoherently, and slams the cabin door behind her. Rhys groans pitifully into his pillow. It hurts. Actually, it fucking burns. His heart can’t take it. The feel of Adrien’s cheeks won’t leave Rhys’s hands and his lips still buzz. There’s no getting rid of this boy— no matter how hard Rhys tries. Dance to remind yourself that you're dying It’s midday when Rhys feels like he should probably do something with the day. He swallows his regrets and slides out of bet. Gets changed, half-heartedly runs a comb through his hair, wipes the sleep from his eyes and takes a deep breath. His half-built confidence crumbles like building blocks kicked by an angry child when he opens the door to find Adrien, fist raised as if to knock. “I really need to talk to you.” Rhys is sick of dancing around his problems. He scowls, steps back, folds his arms. Hopes he looks fine, unhurt, unharmed. Hopes his lie is good enough. And honey that I'm no different “I’m sorry,” Rhys mutters quietly. Adrien steps inside the cabin, shuts the door quietly behind him, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Don’t be.” He bites his lip. “I liked it.” “You— what?” Adrien looks up again and smiles, the same way he smiles to make Rhys feel like he’s a star. “I liked it.” Rhys goes to move forward, to grab Adrien’s chin and kiss him again, but Adrien slips out of the door and saunters away before he gets the chance. Cause we're always waiting to kiss til the sun's down. By the time Rhys gathers his courage once again and manages to find Adrien, the sun has started to set. Adrien is sitting on the pier again, swinging his legs, dragging his toes slowly through the water. Rhys lands heavily next to him. “You ran again.” He cracks his knuckles one by one. “I thought you promised not to do that again.” “I promised not to break your heart.” Adrien turns to him, his lips turned up in his signature smirk. He grabs Rhys’s hand and squeezes it. “Stop cracking your knuckles.” “It’s a coping mechanism.” “It’s bad for you.” “Nah.” Adrien huffs soft laughter through his nose. Rhys feels proud that he could make him even giggle a little. “We should go to dinner,” Rhys suggests, with no heart to it. Adrien runs his thumb over Rhys’s knuckles and hums. “Nah,” he mocks. Rhys elbows him and snorts. “Lame-ass,” he whispers affectionately. Adrien bites his lip again. Rhys can’t help it. He draws Adrien closer with a hand on his cheek, and kisses him as hard as he can. Adrien kisses back. He tastes like ice, nostalgia and grape bubblegum. Rhys melts. Never looking into each other's eyes. It goes like this for weeks. Rhys is happy, for the first time in so long. They tell nobody, afraid of the comments of ‘don’t you remember what happened last time?’. At dinner, Rhys can only muster the confidence to link his pinky with Adrien’s while the boy tells a story with his other hand, exclaiming loudly with bold yells. He smiles through it all. He loves it. It feels new and exciting, just as it did last time. Rhys is atop the waves, floating and letting the water rush under his body but never dipping below the surface. He loves Adrien. But when he says it, his eyes always look somewhere else. He’s afraid of what he’ll see if he meets Adrien’s gaze. If you are the Hollow, then I'll be an echoing sound. Nightmares come often for Rhys. He wakes in cold sweat every other night, gagging or choking, and Lou Ellen always tells him to ‘go to the infirmary’. He never goes to the infirmary. He always goes to the Aphrodite cabin, and taps on the window gently. Adrien is never the one to lift the glass open (he’s too busy sleeping), but the second Drew sees Rhys, she shoves her brother awake, because Drew is not blind to what is going on. They run from the harpies and find themselves in the same place every night— the old treehouse with the broken ladder and strong hammock. Rhys’s face is stained with tears and his breathing is still laboured when Adrien pulls him into the hammock and they just lay there, one terrifyingly warm body on top of a biting cold one. Lay there until Rhys’s eyes can no longer stay open and his heart has stopped hammering in his chest, lay there until the images of Daniel and his father swimming in their own blood are gone. Burned out. If you're darkness I'm drawn to the night. Rhys wakes every morning back in his cabin, blankets folded at the corners and tears wiped from his cheeks. Are we nothing but swings in a park? His feet are bare and probably dirty when they brush on the grass. Back and forth, back and forth, until Adrien forgets that he’s sitting on an old, plastic swing and forgets about the whispering rumours at camp that plague his head and riddle his heart. He doesn’t hear Rhys at first. He keeps his eyes shut tightly and keeps pushing himself back and forth, back and forth. It isn’t until he slows down for breath and feels a hand on his thigh does he realise he isn’t alone. “You okay?” Rhys whispers, blue eyes flooded with concern. Adrien digs his foot into the dirt to bring himself to a complete stop. “Sorry,” he whispers back. He grins, and pretends he wasn’t doing all he could to forget where he was. Who he was. Rhys doesn’t know about what those campers say. Doesn’t know what they hiss behind their hands. Adrien doesn’t want him to. He’s been through enough already. Just kids hooking up in the dark. “Just... tell me you’re okay.” Adrien leans on the chain of the swing and scoffs. “Of course I’m okay,” he says, softer than he thinks. Rhys looks unconvinced, but Adrien knows he won’t press further. Rhys isn’t that kind of guy. Rhys is everything to him. “How’d you get so far from camp at this time of night?” Rhys asks, threading their fingers together. “I get what I want. It’s my thing.” Rhys grins softly. Adrien’s stomach clenches with the feeling of love, love, love and he smiles back. “Right.” Rhys grabs the chain on the other side of Adrien and brings them together, bringing his lips up to Adrien’s to close the distance between them. He tastes sweet, like vanilla bean, and honey, and loneliness. Adrien’s hand moves to Rhys’s knee, which makes it hard to stay on his little plastic island. It’s awkwardly positioned and kind of rough and Adrien can’t see a thing, but it’s everything. It’s the whole world to him. It’s Rhys. Rhys Winters. It’s warm. Adrien melts. Hiding from war, we claim to fight for. Word around camp is that another war is brewing. Bella gets reckless and tired all at the same time with every day that passes, bags appearing under her eyes and cheeks sinking. The sun gets weaker, too. It’s the middle of Summer, but everybody’s wearing coats and boots. Adrien is scared. He doesn’t know what Apollo thinks he’s doing, but he better cut it out, and he better turn back into a god before Adrien loses his best friend. “It fucking scares me.” Adrien tells Rhys one day, staring down at Bella with fear in his eyes as she sleeps with tears in her lashes. It’s the middle of the day. “I know,” Rhys replies. His hands are warm, at least. But the sun is getting so small. And Bella is getting so close to death. A week later, Will crumples to the floor during lunch. Nico grabs Adrien by the wrist to tell him ‘their lives are getting so hard to see’. Will does not wake up for days. One another.

Through it all, Adrien trains harder and harder. He shoots arrows until his fingers are bleeding profusely and his arms ache. Spars with Rhys until he can’t feel his legs.

One afternoon, when Bella is watching over Will with glazed eyes, Adrien grabs Rhys face and kisses him while he cries. “It’s okay.” Rhys speaks like he’s making a promise. But his heart beats too fast beneath Adrien’s head. “They’ll be fine.” The next morning, the camp wakes to an emergency siren. War is here. You're like fireflies trapped in a jar. War ends. They barely lose anyone, but still— Adrien watches them bury a little boy named Jack, parentage undetermined, and a teenage girl named Wendy, from the Demeter cabin. But he doesn’t think too much about it, because Bella’s skin is glowing and her eyes sparkle and her cheeks are full again. Nico doesn’t watch her cautiously anymore. “I can’t be killed,” she always says. Adrien laughs. “Sure.” Summer returns and things go back to normal. Until they don’t. You're a prison without any bars. Camp runs smoothly around Adrien, but he feels like his own life won’t stop hitting bumps. At first, it’s small things he can fix— learning how to separate Lacy and Mitchell when they start to scream at each other, finding pills for the migraines that are getting more frequent. At first, it’s easy to deal with. But things get harder. Adrien’s father is diagnosed with MND, and Adrien can’t get back to him until the Summer ends. The rumours get louder, worse. People stop staring at Adrien like he’s all they want, like he’s a glowing form of life they can’t touch. They start staring at him like he’s a fruit with bruises that nobody will pick up, like he’s dirt on newly cleaned carpet. It’s a look of disgust. Adrien goes to Rhys every time, but even then he feels like something’s wrong. You make me alone, you're soft like a stone. It’s a blistering hot day when Rhys leaves camp to see an old friend from Australia, who’s visiting New York. Adrien doesn’t mind, obviously— Rhys can do what he pleases. He belongs to nobody. But when Adrien searches for Bella, he finds her busy in the infirmary. And Malcolm is stuck babysitting his younger siblings. And Miranda is on stable duty. It’s a new feeling to Adrien. Loneliness. He tastes it almost every day on Rhys, but having it in his own head is scary. Rhys always says Adrien feels cold. Refreshingly so. Like a breeze in autumn. But now Adrien can feel his own icy feelings, radiating to everybody around him. They’re tendrils. They’re wrapping up his lungs. Cold. When Rhys gets home, Adrien holds him close. As close as he can. He needs the warmth, because Rhys is the warmest thing he knows. He still feels it. Cold. Hitting the water. Nighttime. Adrien picks up a small photo sitting on Rhys’s bedside table, but drops it almost immediately. It’s hot. Not enough to burn his fingers, but it’s still a warmth that shocks him. “You all good over there, babe?” Rhys asks from the other side of the cabin. He’s tugging his hoodie back on, but slowly. Adrien can see he’s tired. But he’s curious. “The picture,” he mumbles. “It was hot. Really hot.” “The picture of me, Daniel and Dad?” Rhys’s voice is crackly. “Yeah. It should have been. When I first got here I wouldn’t stop staring at the picture and holding it so hard I crumpled it, so when I was claimed by Hecate and discovered all that magic and shit... I put it to good use. Anyone that touches it, me included, gets shocked with heat. Or something.” “Why?” “A reminder. If you cling onto your past, you get burned.” Adrien can’t stop thinking about that statement for the rest of the night. Ironically. Cause we're always waiting to kiss till the sun's down. Rhys’s philosophy plagues Adrien’s head. He’s a master at clinging to the past— clinging to the good memories he has of Silena. One on his birthday, when she’s laughing and helping him blow out his candles. One when she’s brushing his hair out of his eyes and promising that one day he’ll fall in love. One where she kisses him on the forehead and swears on the River Styx that Kronos will leave them alone soon enough. He clings onto that memory of when he and Rhys kisses the very first time, in their little canoe at fourteen years old. He hates doing it, but he clings, because there was a brief moment of raw victory (‘if only somebody loved you’) and he can’t shake the guilt of it. Adrien clings. And clings. And almost spirals out of control. But it’s Friday night, and there’s a party. He and Rhys sit on the pier again, and Rhys’s lips feel so warm and he still tastes like loneliness, but it’s just the aftertaste of the feeling. And Adrien learns to let go. He forgets Silena, forgets his mistakes. He kisses Rhys. And he grounds himself. Never looking into each other's eyes. “Polar opposites.” Adrien looks down at Rhys, head on his shoulder, with confusion. Rhys stares up at him, with sincerity. “What?” “Your eyes,” Rhys whispers, tracing Adrien’s eyelids gently. “They’re brown and they’re warm like hot chocolate. But you’re cold. Like Autumn. I love it.” Adrien doesn’t really get it. Doesn’t really get it, until he stares into Rhys’s eyes when the boy’s looking away, and then... then he gets it. His eyes are blue, the colour thick ice and snowflakes. They’re freezing, icy. But everything about Rhys is so warm. If you are the Hollow, then I'll be an echoing sound. There’s a moment Adrien will never, ever forget. When he and Rhys are fifteen years old and they’ve survived two wars, and he’s dancing with Miranda. He’s not good at it— he just wiggles and bobs and it doesn’t make sense. But he’s grinning so widely, and his eyes are so bright with glee and peace. And now, when they’re seventeen, Adrien is the one dancing with Rhys. He’s the one trying to show him how it goes, but Rhys can’t get it. Doesn’t matter, though. Rhys is laughing and he won’t let go of Adrien’s wrists and he’s kissing him every chance he gets. “I love you,” he breathes, and at first, he looks like he might start crying. Adrien hates the tears pooling in his eyes. So he echoes him. And he means it. “I love you too.” Rhys does cry. But they’re tears of relief and it’s all staining Adrien’s shirt. If you're darkness I'm drawn to the night.

Every night, they say it more. Three words and Adrien’s lost in him. But every night, Rhys gets less sure of himself. Adrien feels the warmth receding. And the cold tendrils reach out. I am still just as empty tonight. Rhys hurls a rock into the lake and hates the stinging feeling in his eyes. Miranda stands next to him. “Don’t be an echo,” she says quietly. “Don’t do what he did. You know what’s happening and you need to stop it.” Rhys tells her she’s right. But she isn’t. I was fucking you so you would not ask  me why. Adrien has a panic attack at seven pm, sitting in his bunk, and Rhys isn’t the one to coax him out of it. Because Rhys is the fucking problem. “It’s okay,” Elysna promises, smoothing his hair, giving him a cup of water. Because she’s a good sister. Adrien tells her she’s right. But she isn’t. I'm so sad, if I still love you back. “Just do what’s right, man.” Malcolm is always right. But Rhys never listens. He doesn’t know how. Darling I'm sorry.

Adrien wants to gather Rhys’s warmth in a jar so he doesn’t lose it. But by the time the thought occurs, there’s no warmth left. And Adrien is freezing. That we always waited to kiss until sundown. “I can’t keep doing this.” Rhys is really good at running away, away from his problems and away from monsters that kill his family instead. Love gets people killed. He realises that now. He can’t let Adrien go like that. So let’s him go in a different way. And it’s almost as painful. I could never look straight in your eyes. Adrien can’t look up. He’s busy counting the loops in his sneakers because if he meets Rhys’s eyes he’ll have a breakdown. Rhys’s voice is echoing in his skull. He almost doesn’t believe him. But what choice does he have? You are the Hollow, but now I write echoless songs. When Rhys walks away, there are no footsteps that follow. There is only one broken sob that makes his stomach clench, because he’s never heard that sound come from Adrien before. He’s so hot. Suffocating in heat. Sweating and retching on the feeling. His forehead burns and his heart does, too. Rhys is good at running away from things. And Adrien is good at pushing them away. So they were never meant to be. Rhys repeats it like a mantra so he won’t turn back around. You're the darkness where I lost the light.

[dailyironfamily]

day 07 - truth serum

Day seven of the November Fic Challenge is the truth spell/serum trope and the classic ‘confessions under the influence’ premise because of course.

Set vaguely post-AoU, with Pepper/Tony established and future Pepper/Tony/Rhodey.

Tony glares at the doctor barring him from continuing down the hall, already lowkey irritated and highkey worried ever since he got the call that Rhodey was in the hospital following a routine Avengers mission and nobody would tell him exactly what happened.

“What do you mean I can’t go in? I bankroll basically everything here. This is my team―that’s my Rhodey.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Stark,” the doctor says, clearly looking frayed from having to deal with him. “It’s hospital policy that―”

“Is he hurt? Can’t you at least tell me that?”

“Colonel Rhodes is unhurt, but―”

“Then what’s the hold up!” Tony cries, throwing his hands up in frustration.

The doctor frowns. “Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes is the one who asked me to stop you from entering.”

That catches Tony off guard, and he just stares at him for a moment, confused. “Why?”

“I believe his words were that there’s ‘no way in hell he’s letting you see him in this condition.’”

“What the hell happened!” Tony exclaims, just as Natasha and Pepper come around the corner. “Oh thank God, Nat, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll take it from here, Doc,” Natasha says to the doctor, giving him a nod. The doctor hesitates, but then he nods back and walks away.

Pepper moves to Tony’s side, taking his hand and giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “So what’s going on? Is it bad? All I got was a call from Tony freaking out.”

Tony was not freaking out, thanks, but he keeps his mouth shut so Natasha can answer.

“James is fine,” she assures them. “Physically, at least. The guy we were going after had a couple Inhumans working for him. One of them whammied James pretty hard.”

“Whammied?” Tony repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Sam’s word.” She sighs, then motions for the two of them to follow her. “He’s going to kill me for letting you in, but, it’s kind of funny.”

Pepper looks less than amused. “Funny?”

Natasha stops with her hand on the handle to Rhodey’s room. “Apparently she psychically lasso-of-truth’d him. He told me my hair was nice but not as nice as yours,” she says to Pepper, grinning, and opens the door.

Rhodey’s sitting on a hospital bed in his street clothes, the room otherwise empty. He looks up when the door opens, then jumps off the bed, looking horrified.

“Natasha, you traitor,” he says, looking around the room like he’d like to make a hasty getaway, but there’s only one door and they’re standing in it.

Natasha shrugs. “I had to bring them in before Tony attacked a doctor.”

“I thought you were dead!” Tony, profoundly relieved, shoots across the room to give Rhodey a hug.

Rhodey rather reluctantly hugs him back, whispering against Tony’s shoulder, “You smell good.”

Tony laughs, giving him another squeeze and then stepping back. Pepper comes over to join them, Natasha slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

“You seriously can only tell the truth right now?” he asks, looking skeptical. “What happens if you try to lie?”

“It looks that way,” Rhodey says, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. “I’ve tried but I literally can’t lie.”

“How long is this supposed to last?” Pepper asks.

“The doctors don’t know. My brainwaves are all messed up or something, they hope it’ll just reset after a while.”

“Okay, so tell me,” Tony says eagerly, “my senior year, that one party with what’s-her-name, Nancy―”

“Tony!” Pepper elbows him in the side. “Be nice.”

“I didn’t sleep with Nancy,” Rhodey answers anyway, and Tony silently cheers because he totally knew it. “See, this is why I didn’t want you here. Well, part of the reason. You’re just going to embarrass me.”

Tony shrugs. “Well, when do I not, honeybear.”

“When you’re being sincere. I like it when you’re sincere,” Rhodey confesses, then groans and covers his mouth with his hand again.

“It Jim wants us to go, we should go,” Pepper suggests softly, her hand on Tony’s arm.

“I don’t really want you to go,” Rhodey corrects her, and Tony grins, gesturing at him.

“See? He doesn’t want us to go. We should keep him company until this wears off.” He grabs one of the chairs from the corner and drags it over, sitting down in it. Pepper sighs but does the same, pulling over her own chair.

“At least don’t spend the whole time asking him embarrassing questions,” she says, sitting down next to them. “You wouldn’t like it if you were the one who couldn’t lie and he kept asking you stuff.”

“Actually I would definitely do that if this situation was reversed,” Rhodey tells her without thinking, then sighs deeply. “You guys drive me nuts, you know?”

Tony pauses at that, uncertain. If Rhodey actually secretly hated him, he would have said something by now, right? “Like, in a good way?”

“Like in a ‘I’m set in my ways until one of you comes along and messes it all up’ kind of way.”

Pepper frowns, leaning forward. “But you said you didn’t want us to leave.”

“Because I always want you with me!” Rhodey snaps, then immediately shuts his mouth, hopping off the bed again and putting some distance between them. “This is a terrible idea. You should leave.”

Tony and Pepper share a bewildered look. “You’re kind of sending mixed signals here, pal.”

“We’ll leave until you’re better,” Pepper says, standing back up. “Okay?”

“No, I’m not okay!” Rhodey rubs his temples with both hands.

Looking concerned, Pepper steps closer, reaching for him. “Jim? Should we call a doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Rhodey replies, eyes wide as he tries to stop whatever’s coming next and fails. “I need you.”

It’s so quiet in the room Tony thinks they could hear a pin drop. Pepper stands between the two men, torn between giving Rhodey space and closing the gap. Then Rhodey repeats quietly,

“I need both of you.”

She steps the rest of the way across the room, pulling Rhodey into a hug. Tony stays where he is, mind racing with a thousand questions and no answers. It seemed wrong to ask them now, when Rhodey couldn’t do anything but answer.

“We’re here for you,” Pepper tells Rhodey, rubbing a hand across his back reassuringly. “Whatever you need.”

Rhodey relaxes into the hug for a moment, but quickly enough he’s pulling away, tense again. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Pepper―” Tony says quickly, rising to his feet in a hurry, trying to cut her off. Pepper obviously isn’t seeing what they’re dancing around here, they can’t force him to confess like this. It’s not fair.

But he’s clearly too late, because Rhodey looks sadly at the both of them and admits, “I love you guys. Am in love with you. Both of you. I don’t want to ruin what you have so I never said anything.”

Pepper’s frozen, staring at Rhodey, who looks like he wishes the Hulk would burst into the room and just smash him into the ground. Tony stands there like an idiot, hand still outstretched.

“Well, we have always had one of those ‘I’d totally sleep with you haha I’m just kidding except not if you’re actually into it’ friendships,” Tony blurts out at last, dropping his hand back to his side.

“I’m definitely not kidding,” Rhodey agrees morosely, turning away from the two of them.

Pepper looks back at Tony, searching. Then she steps closer to Rhodey, drawing his attention back to them. “This is a discussion better had when one of us isn’t mind-whammied or whatever you want to call it. Until then, we can go, or we can stay.”

Rhodey doesn’t even hesitate. “Please stay.”

Pepper gives him a smile, then takes his hand and brings him back to the bed, setting him down gently. Tony sits back down in his chair, slightly dazed. The three of them are silent for another moment, then Pepper says,

“So I hear you like my hair better than Natasha’s.”

Rhodey groans again, grabbing the pillow from the bed and apparently trying to smother himself with it. Tony laughs, finally relaxing. They have a lot to discuss for sure, but for now it’s good knowing they’re all together, whatever happens.

[sleepyskele]

Little thing for @theslowesthnery, because their gangster skeletons look so adorable and amazing and all their headcanons make me so happy <3 And they are amazing and I just wanted to give something back to them, cause I enjoy everything they make so much \0/ <3

(There is a read more. If your on mobile, please click onto my blog name. You will get redirected to it, and the thing is there without the readmore. I tested it, it should work. Sorry for the inconvinience)

Heist went wrong

Words: 1727

Well, that went...terribly. It was just a regular heist, in, get the stuff and back out. Undyne distracted the guards with some fists to their face, the fighting attracting more of the gang members from the inside of the warehouse the goods were stored in. Papyrus positioned himself a bit away, in the getaway car, hidden in the shadows of some rundown building.

Sans was supposed to sneak in, grab what they needed and get out again, meeting Undyne and Papyrus in the car. But things never go as how they are supposed to go. Sometimes even worser then on could expect.

Sans was lying on the cold floor, gagged and bound, having endured a throughout beating. 

It went alright at first, Undyne lured almost all outside, knocking them over like potatosacks and Sans had no problem teleporting inside, sneaking trough the shadows until he located the crates he was supposed to get. Looking around carefully until the air was clear he waited hidden behind some barrels, some filled with trash, others closed and containing various liquids. 

He crept into the open, unnoticed by the few man still inside. Almost reached the crates. He just had to grab them and teleport out again, no big deal, it wasn't his first heist after all. And then things went wrong. He felt a sharp pain on the left side of his head, feels his eye socket fracture, and then nothing. One of the man saw him, attracted by the faint light from the teleport, following Sans trough the warehouse until he found out what the small skeleton was doing there. Then he knocked him out.

Sans came to his senses, unable to move, his left, magical eye not working. Shit. No magic was bad. He couldn't get out of here like that...wherever he was. He tried sitting up, a splitting headache stopping that attempt before he could even really try. Well, no need to panic, not the first time he got captured like that. And not the first time he had to get himself out of situations like this. He managed to somehow sit up scooting against on of the walls and propping himself up, it would just be nice if his skull could stop splitting itself in half. “well...no time for skullking..hehe”, he chuckled slightly, looking up startled when somebody else joined into the laughter, a deep, unfriendly chuckling filling the room.

“Well, look who's awake. Thought you can steal our shit and then just sleep here like it's some kind of hotel?”, the man stepped from the shadows, quick steps towards Sans, grabbing the skeleton by his collar and yanking him up to eye level. He snarls into his face,”Guess somebody has to teach you a lesson. Stealing is bad after all, don't want you to go down the wrong path.” The man chuckled, throwing him onto the floor, Sans hitting the concrete hard, feeling his ribs fracture and crack. The man smirked darkly. “man, your cracking me up here”, Sans mumbled from the floor, disoriented from the pain and still very prominent headache. The guys smile fell, “Ohhh...you think you can get cocky with me?!”

He kicked Sans into his ribcage, breaking some of the cracked ribs completely, goey magic and marrow leaking trough his already dirt stained shirt, holding the broken pieces barely together. Sans coughed, clutching his chest, gasping for air, marrow dripping from his mouth. The guy gave him one last kick, stepping away fuming, growling something under his breath. Sans rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, chest burning. “don-...don't worry bud...don't have the guts for th-...that”, he rasped out, smirking to himself. Still got it. The man growled in frustration, stepping back to Sans, unbinding one of his arms and stomping onto the it, breaking it with a crunch. 

Sans screamed out, his vision turning bright white and then dark, black dots dancing infront of his one working eyelight.

The guy laughed, cruel and without humor, Sans cradling his broken arm to his chest, barely able to suppress his whimpers of pain, tears gathering in his eyesockets. “Now where is that confidence of you? Don't want to sputter some other stupid pun?” Sans shut his eyes, trying to ignore the pain flaring in almost every part of his body, and to catch his breath, his mouth locked shut. He didn't wanted to give that guy the satisfaction of hearing him whimper or scream more. The guy seemed to get bored with toying with him, grabbing Sans by his neck and lifting him up close to his face.

“So....now that we got the formalities behind us, how 'bout you tell me something 'bout your friends...I know there were more of you then just you cunt.” Sans head was swimming, barely able to breath, grabbing the guys arm with his unharmed hand, the other hanging down limply, shooting pain all trough his arm and up to his neck, his ribs aching from being in that position. He was on the brink of consciousness when suddenly the door flew open, Papyrus, eyes ablaze, a bony, bloodstained club in his hand. Papyrus spotted his brother in the hands of the guy, throwing himself onto him without a sound, faster then anybody has every seen him move before, and that says something, knocking him out with more force then would have been necessary before he even had a chance to notice the taller skeletons presence.

Sans fell to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath, making a forced, chocked sound, unable to actually scream. Papyrus threw himself onto his knees next to him, scooting closer, cradling him in his arms “BROTHER! SANS! CAN YOU HEAR ME!?”, his voice was wavering, worry clear as day. Sans looked at him with one unfocused eyelight, a large crack splitting his other eyesocket, marrow dripping from his mouth. “h-..hey bro...”, he rasped out, making Papyrus hold him even closer to himself. Loud stomping announced Undyne, who burst in trough the broken down door, brass knuckles at the ready, followed by a mildly annoyed Toriel, holding her small pistol in one hand. Undyne threw a glance at the two skeletons, soul contracting in sympathy, before going over to the windows, checking if anybody was coming near the building, if they called for backup, then positioning herself near the door as a guard.

Toriel rushed over the instant she saw what condition Sans was in, hands already glowing with green healing magic. She puts her gun back into her purse and softly unwraps Papyrus from around his brother, just enough to patch him up a bit. The broken bones will take longer to heal, but at least she could stop the marrow and magic from leaking out, soothing the pain and healing a few of the smaller bruises. Sans face relaxed, he now completely loosing consciousness, seeing as how he is finally in good hands. Toriel stroked his skull fondly, sighing relieved. She rubbed Papyrus shoulder, comforting the still distraught skeleton, “It is alright Papyrus, I will just have to bandage the breaks at home, but he isn't in any danger.” Papyrus shoulders sagged, tension leaving his body as he wrapped tighter around his brother again.

Toriel got up from her crouch, looking at the two skeletons, glad they managed to find Sans that fast. If they didn't have the dogs to track his smell, who knew what would have....A sound from the the floor close to the wall ripped her from her thoughts. She looked down to see the guy from earlier regaining consciousness, looking at him with so much disgust, both Undyne and Papyrus feelt a cold shiver run down their spine. Toriel ushered the skeletons out to the car, and turns to the man who was looking up at her with fear, trying to get up to his feet.

Toriels got her small pistol out of the purse, aiming it directly at the mans face. She killed him quick and clean, a cold look on her face Undyne has never seen before. “Nobody hurts my boys”, Toriel whispered, turning around and leaving without another word. Undyne tracked after her, still perplexed by what she just witnessed.

They sat in the car, the space slightly cramped in the small, kind of beaten up sportscar. Undyne was driving, Papyrus on the backseat, still holding Sans who shortly regained consciousness, only to falls asleep after making sure everybody else was save and unhurt. Papyrus was stroking his brothers skull, looking out of the window, a somber look on his face. Toriel was riding shotgun, throwing slightly worried glances at the two skeletons in the backseat. Undyne dropped them off at the bonebros apartment, Toriel thanked her warmly. She was like a mother to all of them, even in times like this, squeezing Undynes shoulder softly, telling her she will inform her about how everything will go before following Papyrus upstairs.

Papyrus relucantly let go of his brother, laying him down onto the lower bunk of the bunkbed they both shared. Toriel gave a brief hug to Papyrus, shooing him out of the bedroom before getting to work. She bandages his arm and ribs, wrapping the gauze around some healing paste she always has in her purse for incidents like this. She was just done bandaging his fractured eyesocket, cleaning the marrow and magic from his bones, when Sans woke up. “hey tori, wassup?”, he cracked up his one unbandaged eyesocket, looking at her, trying to sit up. Toriel pushed him back down gently, “You are not getting up right now, you bonehead.” Sans snorted slightly at that, a low chuckles escaping his theet, lying back down, wincing in pain at his ribs twinging uncomfortably.

Toriel gave him an affectionated pat on the shoulder, telling him to stay in bed for the next few days so his ribs could heal properly and left to inform Papyrus. Sans stretched out carefully, looking at the lower side of the top bunk. Well, at least he gets to lazy around for a bit. He sighed, swinging his feet out o the bed, getting up and walking over to the window, opening it. He rummaged trough his pockets, fishing out some a lighter and some cigarettes, plopping it between his teeth and lighting it. He really needed a smoke after all that. Looking out the window he let’s the smoke curl from his mouth onto the street outside.

“SANS? ARE YOU SMOKING?”

“woops..”

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Ruination (5/6)

Title: Ruination

Author: gldngrl7

Started: January 5, 2017

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6

Author’s Notes:

Chapter 5 is DEFINITELY explicit.  Sorry not sorry.  If you don’t like it, run now.

Dom/sub undertones.  Reader beware.

Sometimes I write this smutty stuff and I feel like hiding my face afterwards.

Thanks to the following for your comments and flailing.  You guys are awesome: @pwettypwita, @lostin-the-desert, @anaveragegirl15

To all others: thanks for reading/liking

Constructive criticisms and feedback/comments/flailing are mightily appreciated.  Flames are destroyed by my freeze breath.

Chapter: 5/6

         So come on now, strike the match, strike the match now

                We’re a perfect match, perfect match somehow

                         We were meant for one another, come a little closer.

         Flame you came to me

                 Fire meet gasoline

                        I’m burning alive.

--Sia – “Fire Meet Gasoline”

  “You shouldn’t have walked away so soon,” Ral scolded.  “Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”

“Blame it on ‘Dad’,” Mon-El snarks.  His feet flap against the treadmill in a steady pace he finds soothing, but that won’t burn up the device.  He’s been running and thinking without stopping for nearly three hours. Worrying about what she’s thinking.

“You could just go see her and find out,” Ral suggests.

“I told her I’d give her time and space to figure things out.  I’m pretty sure I meant more than three hours.” Mon-El checks the digital read out on the treadmill’s screen.  He’s already run something called a ‘marathon’ – a word that has a nice ring to it.

“You didn’t even tell her you got a job,” Ral sulks, in a way that seems both patrician and annoying at the same time.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies, shaking his head.  “Let’s wait until I can go a week without getting fired before I tell her.  After all this…I’m not sure I can stomach her disappointment if it doesn’t work out.  I think she’s had enough of that for a while, don’t you agree?”

“She still might come around.  You’re a…what’s that quaint phrase?  Oh, yes.  You’re a catch.”

“Yeah, that’s me.  I’ve been here for two months and I’ve had two jobs, neither of which lasted more than a few days.  I can’t seem to get a grip on the idioms in this language.  I’ve already been kidnapped by CADMUS as a tool to use against her.  I’m allergic to lead, which happens to be the main component in this planet’s most prolific weapon.  I live on a single person cot in a dorm in a government facility where I’m frequently treated like a lab rat.  And I’m a Daxamite – a culture she was raised to hate and distrust from the day she was born.”  

“And yet she still cares for you,” Ral points out to which Mon-El scoffs. “You can sense how strongly she’s drawn to you,” he continues, unbothered by Mon-El’s attitude.  

“I have nothing to offer her.”

“Why would you say that?”

Mon-El loses his footing at the unexpected sound of Kara’s voice and face-plants on the treadmill, his body riding the belt until he’s thrown onto floor, unhurt but discombobulated.

“Well, that’s humiliating,” Ral deadpans.

“Do you need…help?” she asks, even though she’s very aware of his ability to take licking and keep on ticking.

“I’m good,” he replies, popping back to his feet.  His legs are a little on the wobbly side, on account of being on a moving surface for the last three hours.  He paces back and forth a few feet, waiting for his land legs to return.

“Were you talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” he shouts.  “I occasionally talk to myself when I need to work things out in my head!”  He’s not really certain if he’s telling her the absolute truth, or inventing a lie to hide his conversations with Morgan-Ral. “Because I can’t talk to Winn about you, or James, or even J’onn, and gods forbid I say anything to Alex!  So, I’m sorry if I have to talk to myself because nobody in this place gives a damn about my problems!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air.  Mon-El’s breath is heaving and his throat tightening to the point of uncomfortable. He swallows heavily, embarrassed by his outburst, and by the glimpse behind the veil he gave her.

Kara is dismayed by his admission and her heart breaks a little for the loneliness he laid bare to her, if only for a moment.  She doesn’t want that for him, but she breathes a sigh of relief because she knows that she can liberate him from it.  That she’s meant to.

“I’m sorry,” he says, contrite for the negativity of his eruption. “I’m so very sorry.”

“No,” Kara says, shaking her head.  Her eyes tear up at the downtrodden sight of him, appearing as though he has spent the last few hours apart from her digging his own grave. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You smile and you joke, and you…flirt. It’s too easy to forget that you are experiencing an incredibly profound loneliness.  But I think you’re wrong.  I think we care a great deal about your problems.”

It’s not a topic he wishes to discuss further and so Mon-El decides to redirect the conversation.  “Did you need me for something?” he inquires.  Are there civilians that need pulling out of flames?  Please tell me there are civilians.”

“No civilians,” she replies, shaking her head.  “I came here to apologize,” she admits.  “I said some things this afternoon that were unfair, and which you didn’t deserve.  I accused you of lying and intentionally playing me for a fool without any evidence of that being the case.  And I was short with you when you told me a truth that must have been just as hard to confess as it was to hear.”

“You had every right to—“

“I’m saying, I’m sorry,” she cuts him off.  “And I’m bringing you a peace offering.” From behind her cape she withdraws a clear package with red lettering on it.

The smile slowly returns to Mon-El’s face, sweeping away a small portion of the melancholy in his eyes.  “Red tubes,” he gasps.  Kara holds the package so he can read the letters.  “Red Vines,” he corrects, as she hands him the treat.  Peace offering accepted, he tucks the treats away in the cup holder of the treadmill, next to his water bottle.

“I realize that, in the wrong light, one might assume you told me the truth because it placed you in a position of being my only option.  Which would by default give you a clear advantage.”

“It was the key point in my argument not to tell you.” When her expression conveys confusion, he clarifies, “The argument I had with myself.”

“So…why did you decide to tell me?

“Because —my conscience—was right.  If I want to be a man worthy of you, I need to start acting like it.  And that meant telling you the truth, no matter how it made me look, or what damage it might do to what’s growing between us.”

“Oh, Mon-El,” she sighs, touched by his words.

But Mon-El misinterprets her tone and moves closer to her.  “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too,” he demands. “It’s so powerful…it’s in my skin.” He studies his hands, instead of looking for signs of rejection on her face.

“Of course she feels it, brother,” Ral interjects.  “Even now she’s generating an electricity so potent you could practically drain her.” 

“Of course I feel it,” Kara agrees, and Mon-El can’t help rolling his eyes with relief.  “But it’s so much more than that.”  She holds out her hand, palms up, hoping that he will take it.

“Is it?” he wonders.  He slips his hand into hers almost without realizing it, as though whatever’s between them is more than simple attraction – it’s gravity.

“Remember when I told you about Rao and how His true will always finds a way to manifest?”

“I remember.”

“Sometimes he does this by creating what we call The Blessed Path.   We call it blessed because it leaves no room for doubt, no opportunity to err.  To sanctify His will, all one must do is follow the steps He lays out for you, which is easy is because He removes all obstacles.

“I’m sorry, Kara, I’m not following.”

Kara releases his hand and steps away from him.  As a non-believer, he won’t take what she says on faith, she’s going to have to take him through this step-by-step.  So she begins to tell him, her voice unwavering in her belief. “You were provided with a Kryptonian pod with a course to Earth programmed into it.  Had you arrived on Earth according to the prescribed course you would have landed on this planet long before I did, a grown man, and still I would have arrived a child.  Instead, your pod was blown off course by solar winds and thrown into the Well of Stars, where you drifted for a period of time, long enough for me to arrive on Earth and grow into adulthood.  You could have landed anywhere on this planet, but you crashed in my city.  And then of course today’s discovery just clarified everything for me.”

“Clarified what?”

“He sent you to me,” she says.  Gazing at his face and finding it slightly gob smacked, Kara can’t bring herself to regret her choice.  And in many ways it does feel like her choice. Looking at him now, she knows that, Rao or not, she would have chosen him, eventually.  “He sent you for me.”

“What are you saying, Kara?”

“That…I’m yours.  If you will be mine.”

Silence hangs thick in the air, as Mon-El’s entire world goes hazy around the edges, like it’s lit with soft light.  He stands there, staring at her, willing himself to wake up from this dream that he has clearly conjured in his increasingly muddled mind.

“Yes!” shouts Ral, breaking the spell her announcement held over him.

Mon-El steps forward and grabs her by the elbow, turning her around. Her face scrunches in confusion sprinkled with perhaps a tiny bit of hurt.  “Come with me,” he says, walking her towards the door.

“Where are we going?  Did you hear what I said?” she asks, a tell-tale tremor in her voice.

“I heard,” he replies, his eyes darting around at something she can’t determine.  Just as they reach the door, he slips an arm around her waist and switches their direction, whisking her at speed to the back corner of the room. Before she can regain her bearings, his mouth is on hers, lips nipping, and tongue demanding entrance, which she grants without hesitation.

After a moment, remembering where they are, Kara tears her lips from his. “Cameras!” she exclaims.

“We’re in a blind spot,” he informs her.  “It’s not a very large one, but we should remain unseen as long as we don’t move more than a few inches to either side.”

Kara’s looks at him with squinted eyes, suspicion on her face. “Do I want to know how you know that?

“I spend a lot of time in this room, and I’m adept at judging the field of vision created by the angle and trajectory of each camera.  It’s a long story.”  Throughout his explanation, his hands have taken it upon themselves to wander her body freely.  “Lips now,” he demands.

They kiss hungrily, as though taking ownership of one another’s mouths.  He bites on her lower lip before painting it with his tongue and sucking on it as though it were a ripe, meaty pomegranate seed.  Kara’s arms snake around his shoulders, pulling his chest flush with hers, resulting in a moan of pleasure.  It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since she’s held him this close, felt his heat, and her body drinks him in like she’s answering the darkest of cravings.  She wraps one leg around his.

She whines in dismay when his lips separate from hers.  “Say it again,” he demands. For a moment, her kiss-addled brain spins about searching for the answer he’s looking for, but one glimpse of the possessive gleam in his eyes and she remembers.  “I’m yours,” she obeys, her knees weakening at the prospect, her forehead falling against his.

“And?”

“You’re mine?” she guesses.

“That’s right,” he answers.  Mon-El proves her every word with the next kiss, rough and ravenous.  It’s complete ruination in a single kiss; for her and for him.  The destruction of two lives, so that they can rebuild anew as one.  “Again,” he demands when he pulls away.  His hands glide down from her hips, stealing beneath the skirt of her suit, to grasp as her bare thighs.

“I’m yours,” she heaves, breathless, with barely a thought but pleasing him in her head.  “And you’re mine.”

“Did anyone else notice that your legs were bare today?” he wonders. He caresses the creamy skin at the back of her thighs, tugging her against the hard ridge growing in his running shorts.

“I don’t think so,” she replies breathily.

“Why didn’t you wear your tights today, Kara?”

“My legs—everything—was so sensitive after last night.  They were uncomfortable.”

“Your skin is sensitive?”  He moves his right hand around to the front her body, brushing the back of his knuckles against her inner thigh.  “Here?”

“Yes,” she nods, breathily.  He caresses her thighs, warm from the heat her body is producing in the general area, but he touches everywhere except the place she craves.  Kara tuck hers head into his neck, placing kisses along his pulse point before working her way to his earlobe, which she grasps between her teeth.

Biting down hard on his earlobe, Mon-El responds with a gasp. “Hellion!”

“Stop teasing,” she pouts.

“Is that what you want?” he baits, his open mouth hovering over hers, threatening to plunder but holding back.

“Yes, Mon-El.  That’s what I want.”  Her hands clasp his t-shirt, pawing at it like a kitten paws at a soft surface. The tip of her tongue steals out from between her lips, painting a glistening layer of moisture across their lush, red canvas.

She bats her eyelashes once, then twice, utterly unaware of the come-hither signals she gives him.  “What else can I do then, but give my good girl what she wants?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, falling easily into the role of coquette. Kara Danvers has never been a flirter; was never all that good at it.  Even the best attempts usually ended up in awkwardness and new levels of anxiety. But he made it safe for her to say things, demand things, she never thought she’d have the confidence to do.

He moves his head beside hers, cheek to cheek, and whispers in her ear, “Tell me, Kara…are your panties wet?”

She bites down on her lips, the hot brush of his breath against her ear doing scandalous things to her body.  If her panties hadn’t been wet before, they certainly were now.  She nods, her head bobbing next to his.

“Tell me,” he reminds her.  It’s what he asked of her in the first place.

“Yes, Mon-El.  My panties are wet.”  His hand continues to stroke her inner thigh never getting close enough to the place she needs him.  She bucks her hips into his hand, hoping for some relief from the aching, throbbing desire that’s only getting more intense by the second.

“Are they wet for me?” he asks.  “Is that what I do for you?”

“Yes,” she nods, frantically.  “Yes.”

Mon-El removes his hand from between her legs, leaving the space there colder for its absence, and places both palms on the wall beside her head. He pins her with a hungry stare behind heavy lids, which has a shiver of desire racing down her spine towards darker places.  “Take off your panties,” he instructs.

His voice is soft, sultry, but brooks no argument – not that she has the desire to resist.  Before she knows it, she’s reaching under her skirt and shimmying out of her panties. Although, they’re not the tiny scrap of lace she wore the night before; these undergarments are made for the uniform. Red, to match the skirt, a thick cotton-lycra blend in the boy-short style.  They slither down her thighs, but she has to work them around the top of her over-the-knee red leather boots before they’ll hit the ground, allowing her to step out of them.

Her entire body breathes a sigh of relief when they’re gone, like it’s been waiting all day for this moment.  Mon-El can feel the relief roll off of her in waves.  “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Yes,” she answers.  Kara glances down at the tent in his running shorts, her lips licking of their own accord. She imagines peeling them down and watching as his erection spring free.  Imagines sinking to her knees and taking him into her waiting mouth, as she did last night.

“Not yet,” he says, reading the open expression on her face.  “I think we’ll save that for another time.” Removing one hand from the wall, he lifts her skirt just enough to slide under.  Kara’s chest tightens when the tip of his finger teases the seam of her folds. “Let me take care of you,” he says, sinking his finger in her soaking heat finding her clit with unerring precision.

“Ah!” she cries out as white-hot electricity streaks through her, his finger circling around her clit.  Sourced from the bundles of nerves at the mercy of his fingertip, the heat spread outwards, sparking activity in her breasts and hips.  She jerks forward harder against his hand, grabbing ahold of his arm that’s planted on the wall for support.

He slides two fingers into her delicate seam and finds her slick and sopping with need for him.  He could take her now without further ado and her clutch would accept him willingly, eagerly. The evidence of her desire swiftly and easily coats his fingers.  Pressing forward, he dips his fingers into her core, watching the rapturous expression on her face as she tilts her head back, her jaw dropping open.

Panting heavily, Kara rides his long, elegant fingers, seeking to take him deeper, to consume him entire.  It feels so good, she is unable to stop herself from seeking more, like a power source that needs constant replenishing.

“I think you’re even wetter than last night, Kara,” he points out, astonished and thrilled at the same time.  “Are you still embarrassed?”

“No,” she gasps, riding and riding, her hips undulating against the hand thrust under her skirt.

“Why not?”

“Because it means…my body…was made…for this,” she answers, echoing his encouragement from the night before.

“Made for me,” he corrects.  Mon-El leans forward, licking a long stripe up the length of her neck with the tip of his tongue before sucking her earlobe between his lips.  She turns her head to afford him better access.

“Made for you,” she sighs, sounding for all the world as though she’s about to swoon.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

His thumb strikes her clit, and it’s like striking a match where the flame doesn’t catch, it just sparks enough to cause her entire body to shudder. She wants to come so badly, but she knows – can tell already after only one night with him – that he’s going to draw her out.  He will crank her tension as high as he can get it before he strikes the match in earnest.

When he withdraws his fingers from her wet heat, Kara whines with disappointment, her face scrunching in a sensual pout he finds incredibly arousing. With nothing to reach for, her hips pull back until her backside is resting on the wall, her legs slightly angled away.  He sticks his wet fingers into his mouth, sucking every last drop of her flavor from them.

Deciding to take action, Kara grabs his hand from his mouth and draws his still-wet thumb between her lips.  She sucks gently, drawing it in and out, while her tongue circles lazily around the digit, her eyes locked onto his.

“You are…truly a descendent of the Vartine,” he swears, his voice laced with awe.  The taste of her on his fingers, however, doesn’t begin to appease the ravenous craving he feels for her.  He salivates at the thought of her sweet flavor, just spicy enough to always leave him wanting more.

His cock is demanding attention, screaming from the loose confines of his running shorts.  Mon-El draws a deep steadying breath and mentally strangles the beast into submission, ordering it to wait its turn.

“I can’t believe it’s been a full day since I’ve tasted you,” he says, swiping his tongue across his lower lip, leaving it glistening with the proof of his salivation.  He tugs his hand from her mouth, cups the back of her head and dives in for a scorching, demanding his.  When he pulls away, her body’s lost some of its strength and she leans heavily against the concrete wall.  “I think I’ll do that now.”

It happens so fast, she’s certain he used his speed to bend down, hook his arms under her knees and hoist her onto his shoulders.  Her legs dangle down his back as she seeks the stability of the wall to maintain balance.  She lifts her skirt out of his way, pulling it up against her body, so that she can grab his hair with one hand.

There are no more words for a while after that – at least, nothing more than monosyllables.  His long, patrician nose dips into her heat, nudging against her clit and brushing over it repeatedly, until finally—finally—he tilts his head back far enough for his tongue to find her.

He grips tightly to the outside of her thighs as he takes long draughts from her, licking at her with flattened tongue, seeking every crevice that might increase her pleasure.  His lips envelop the swollen bundle begging for his attention, and begins to suckle and lick at the hyper-sensitive bud.  Her reaction is immediate and ferocious.

Kara’s hand slams into the concrete wall at hip-level, her fingers crushing and gripping into as if it were made of goose down.  Shards of concrete litter the floor at their feet while Mon-El smiles into the heat of her nest.  Her other hand fists a handful of thick, dark hair at his scalp, holding him in place – as if he would move before he was good and ready. 

“Yesyesyesyesyes,” she chants over and over. Her voice is a keening plea as she stares down at the top of his head, his mouth working diligently to take care of her.

Kara’s heels press into his back as every muscle in her body coils, her lungs ceasing to draw breath, as she hangs there on the precipice for what seems like an eternity.  Her back arches, her mound pressing insistently into his working lips and tongue. “Please,” she begs, a sob rising in her chest.

Mon-El takes one long, painful draw from clit and finally she’s bursting apart, like a firework in the night sky.  She bites down on her lip to hold in the scream, still partially aware of their location.  The walls of her passage, the muscles too strong for any but him to bear, flutter wildly—uncontrollably—as he samples her pleasure with his tongue.  She moans, the sound pushing out from deep within her, as if working its way up from her peaking core.

He holds her aloft as her body goes limp, kissing the soft skin around her folds as her senses make their slow but inevitable return.  Her fingers stroke his scalp, no longer fisting desperately in his hair, signaling to him that she is ready for more.  Mon-El allows her thighs to slide off his shoulders, easing her down until her feet are on the ground.  When her knees wobble a bit, he grasp her hips to keep her steady.

“Maybe I should hover,” she chuckles, her voice still breathy.

Mon-El takes her mouth with his, sharing the flavor of his meal.  She plunders him in return, sucking on his tongue, before nipping at his upper and lower lips.  When she retreats she wipes at the corners of her mouth with her index finger.

“How long do you think you can keep that up when I’m inside of you?” he asks.

“Not long,” she agrees.  “It does require a small amount of focus.”  Kara reaches for the waistband of his running shorts and tugs on the drawstring, untying it. “Which is going be when, by the way?”

“Oh, as soon as possible,” he replies.  “I was just waiting for you to get a handle on things.”

She reaches her hand into his shorts and grasps his cock.  It’s stiff as a steel rod and requires no cajoling before getting down to business.  That doesn’t stop Kara from working his shorts past his hips until they fall to his ankles, and leaning down to place her lips over the round head, swiping her tongue over the tiny slit there.

Mon-El hisses sharply and makes his very best effort to not die on the spot.  “Gods, Kara!” He’d love nothing better than to have her on her knees before him so that he can rut into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat over and over until he explodes on her tongue.  But that is a fantasy for another time.

In a flash he’s pulling her away from his cock and none-to-gently pinning her to the wall.  “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he instructs.  “Hands on my shoulders.”

When she does, she can sense him at her entrance, so she wriggles her lower body in hopes of getting him closer.  He obliges her by placing his hands on her hips and tortuously guiding her down the length of his steel.   The tension and nerves (and soreness) of last night now gone, she fits over him like a custom made glove.  Mon-El throws back his head and lets out a long moan.

When he comes back to her, his eyes clouded over with lust, he says, “Do you know how many men must fantasize about doing what I’m doing right now? Fucking Supergirl?”  Her legs lock tighter around him as if to draw him deeper inside; but by now, all he can think about is pulling out, so he can feel the divinely wrought torture of sinking back in.

It had been less than twenty-four hours, but in that time she had somehow, incomprehensibly, forgotten the exquisite stretch of his cock filling her.  When he moves, it isn’t the carefully calculated seductions of the night before. This time it’s pure possession; marking her as his with every powerful stroke, every deep plunge of his hips. Her legs still caging his hips, Mon-El grabs her hands from his shoulder and pins them to the wall, interlocking his fingers with hers as he continues to pump in and out of her.

“Mon-El!” she cries, her head crashing back against the wall. More concrete chips rain down around them.  A ragged moan from the center of her chest accompanies each of his forceful upward thrusts, as the sensation in her belly coils tighter and tighter, like a snake preparing to strike.

With each slow withdrawal of his shaft, her sheath clasps around him intuitively, struggling to keep him inside.  It’s a strange feeling of duality, her desire to hold onto him, coupled with the extraordinary messages his withdrawals send to the pleasure centers of her brain.  She clamps harder upon him, this time with intent, and in response he growls deeply from his gut, his hands gripping her hips with bruising strength.

“Vartine,” he accuses, his face grimacing with pleasure.  As he pumps in and out of her his jaw drops open as though he has only so much control over his body in the moment, and has chosen to surrender what’s expendable and unnecessary in favor of this task.  In retaliation (or perhaps as a reward) for her shameless ways, his upward thrusts become faster and more forceful.

“Uhhnnnnn…yes!”  Equal parts approval and encouragement, her exclamation is both groan and shout.  “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop!” she repeats like a litany.  Her hands slide up to sift through the thick, dark hair at the base of his scalp, as her breath comes in sharp, high-pitched gasps.  She leans her forehead against his.   Every muscle, every nerve, reaches for the approaching climax, she bites down on her lip as he takes her right to the cliff, but her body stubbornly refuses to fall over the edge.

Straining for completion, a flush spreads from beneath her suit upwards over her neck and face, joined by a fine sheen of glistening sweat at her hairline, making her look impossibly more beautiful, and so very…human.  Typically, neither one of them sweat from external forces, not being affected by the heat of flames or applied temperature.  They can, however, be affected by the rise of internal temperatures, from both the contracted and generated fevers, like the one their friction is creating right now

Sensing that she needs more to reach her peak, Mon-El stops his thrusts, eliciting a harrumph from a suddenly pissed off Supergirl.  He slides out of her anyway, which doesn’t help the situation.  Tapping her thighs, he encourages her unlock her ankles and then holds her waist as she sets her feet on the floor.

“I was so close,” she whines petulantly.

“I know, sunshine, but we’re going to try something different.”  Mon-El cups his hands at the back of her knees, thumbs curving around the inner leg, and lifts her up, spreading her legs until the outside of her thighs nearly brush against the cool concrete of the wall. He could never have held a woman like this on Daxam, his physical strength there being barely average.  It had never bothered him very much though, since he had many other attributes to recommend him as a sexual partner.

Kara bites her bottom lip and moans when he slams back into her, deeper than ever and finally hitting the right spot.  Her hands on his shoulders, she grips at his shirt until it tears.  Every inch of her skin sparks with electrical build up, like the way a person’s hair can rise just before a lightning strike.

“Is that better, baby?” he asks.  This time, he adds a hip pivot each time he pounds into her.

“Uh-huh,” she nods.  He cants her pelvis forward a bit and just like that she’s on another plane of existence. “Oh my God, right there!  You’re so deep,” she cries, a sob she can’t control rising in her throat.  “So deep. Oh, God,” she cries as the breaking point is upon her.  “Oh, God, Mon-El!  Don’t stop. I’m co—“ Kara’s head snaps back, her neck bowing dramatically.

When she crests, it’s like a grenade detonating inside of her while her indestructible skin keeps the blast contained.  He watches as her face and chest burns bright red as she sobs in great gasps for air, her mouth open wide while her eyes are slammed shut.  Ecstasy is written plainly across her face, though it appears excruciating.  Her fingers crush bruises into his shoulders, though he can’t be bothered to care.  He drives sharply in and out, the drag of his cock within her violently fluttering passage drawing out her pleasure until she’s mindless and replete.

He surrenders himself, wishing to take his pleasure while she is still in the midst of her throes.  He speeds his rhythm, driving towards home.  An aftershock hits Kara, and it steals his breath away – this crush of strength enveloping him, conquering him.  He never stood a chance against her, not once she’d invited him to her bed.  It would be folly to think he could have stayed away from her after their night together.

Being inside of her frenzied clutch is a heaven unlike any he’s ever experienced, or is ever likely to again.  With a handful of final groaning, gnashing thrusts he’s spilling into her, releasing the weight of an entire world from his shoulders with a teeth-clenching growl. His body turns to stone in her arms with the last push, and then slowly melts into her waiting embrace.  He lowers her feet back to the ground before tucking his face her neck while he catches his breath.

“I can’t stop trembling,” she whispers, and he can hear the sound of tears in her voice.

“Neither can I.”  Mon-El pulls back to look at her face, to kiss her lips, but mistaking his intent she snakes a shaky leg around him, locking him in place, still buried inside of her. Their lips meet, sipping of one another in slow, sweet draughts that don’t press for more.  Moving from her lips, he kisses her chin, slides over to her cheek, up to her temple and then to her forehead, eventually making a complete circuit as he worships her in gentler ways.

“Say it again?” he asks.  He trembles in her arms so forcefully it’s like he’s vibrating.

Her eyes sting with emotion when they meet his.  Instead of the gleam of possessiveness she expects to see in their depths, she sees the spark of something lost that has now been found once more.  Hope. Hope that he can find something worth living for here; hope that he can make this place—her—his home.  Hope that she’ll give him something to hang on to in the raging sea of uncertainty that defines him now.

She draws a shaky breath, made all more difficult by the lump in her throat.  She places both hands on the sides of his face and looks him dead in his steel gray eyes. “I’m yours, Mon-El of Daxam.  And you’re mine.  And don’t you ever forget it.”

Their foreheads meet in the middle, her hands stroking the sides of his neck, while he runs his hand from her mid-thigh to hip, maintaining their physical contact wherever possible, since neither one them were able to undress completely.

“I ruined your shirt,” she observes softly, the apology clear in her voice.

“I’ll get another.  The place of good will had many to choose from.”

A look of frustration on her face breaks the spell around them her head tilts back against the wall.  “Alex is looking for me.  So she’ll probably come looking for you too.”

“And since this is the last place I was seen on the monitors….”

“We’d better….”

Reaching up to his shoulders, he grabs the neck of his shirt with both hands, and with just small amount of applied pressure tears the shirt from his body, rending it in half down the middle.  Forced to leave her warm sheath, his already softened cock makes a mess when he steps away.  Kara sighs mournfully at the loss of their connection, already anticipating the next time.

Quickly, he pulls up his own shorts before balling up the remains of his t-shirt and kneeling before her on one knee. “Here,” he says.  “Let me.”  

Using the cotton cloth, he cleans her thighs, wet with the evidence of her own desire and smeared with his seed.  Then when that’s complete, Mon-El picks her underpants, turns them right-side-out and holds them out for her.  She steps into them one leg at a time, before he guides the red boy-shorts up past her boots and over her thighs until he settles them in place.  It’s sweet, his attentiveness…his tenderness, and it makes her heart soar.   Kara drops the skirt of her suit in place, smoothing it down with trembling hands.

Mon-El takes one of her hands in his, interlacing the fingers, and then lowers his mouth to hers in a tender kiss.  “What I wouldn’t give to be back in your bed, your skin against mine,” he laments, after the ending the kiss.

Kara can’t deny she craves the same thing – to wake up beside him after a night of lovemaking – but their current situation makes that problematic. He’s bound by the rules the DEO has set forth for him and there’s a process with which he must comply before he’s given full autonomy.  While he can check himself out of the DEO on his own recognizance as he likes, his curfew requires him to return to the base by midnight, like an alien Cinderella.  A rule that has been even more stringently enforced since he was taken hostage by CADMUS.

“I could check you out of the DEO on an overnight pass, but if I do that then people will ask questions.  And if I do it more than that, they will know.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed…but some pretty smart people work here.”

“You don’t want people to know about us?” he asks.  Mon-El wasn’t counting on her wanting to keep this new shift in their relationship a secret.  He wants to tell the whole world.

“Alex knows,” she answers.  “She’s the one that matters the most to me.   And I’m definitely going to tell Eliza about us.  But anything that’s common knowledge in the DEO has the potential to get back to CADMUS.  It scares me what they did to you,” she confesses, her emotions riding so very close to the surface.  “And that was before there even was a…us.”

“But that Luthor woman was arrested,” Mon-El points out.

“The Luthors are a very powerful family, with practically limitless resources.  Just because Lillian Luthor is in custody doesn’t mean she can’t control CADMUS from her cell.  In fact, I would bet that she already had such a contingency plan in place, in the event of her arrest, which would allow her to do exactly that.  We haven’t heard the last of CADMUS, Mon-El.  I need to keep you safe.”

“And I need to keep you safe,” he counters.  Resolutely, Mon-El cups her face in his hands, his expression turning soft but the look in his eyes hardening like glass.  “Do you have any idea what it was like to be forced to watch you flare….to make yourself vulnerable…for me?  Do you have any idea how terrified I was when they dragged you out of the room, knowing they could do anything they wanted to you and I was powerless to stop it?  I won’t ever be in that position again, Kara. I swore it then, and I’m swearing it to you now.”

“Mon-El—“ she begins, shaking her head.

“If you think there wasn’t an ‘us’ before CADMUS…you’re dead wrong.”

On some level, she knows it’s true.  That even before she acknowledged this attraction to him, which seems to grow stronger by the minute with no end in sight, they were certainly drawn to one another.  Even beyond the animosity that clouded the first days of their acquaintance, there was a magnetism she would have vehemently denied, thus only proving its existence.

“When you were in a coma…your stasis...before you woke up….” Her voice trails off, a blush staining her cheeks anew.

“Yes?” he chuckles, charmed by her sudden timidity.

“I used to watch over you while you were sleeping.  Every free moment I had I would sit by your bedside and stare at your face….willing you to wake up.  I had so many questions.  Who were you? What did you know?  Were there more survivors?  How did you escape Krypton, when I barely got away?  Of course now we know that you came from Daxam,” she babbles nervously.  

“Watching me sleep…pondering my extreme handsomeness, even by Earth standards….”

“I was not,” she jumps to her own defense.

“Aha!  You’re crinkling,” he accuses her, pointing a finger to the furrow between her eyebrows. A slow, delicious smile spreads across his face, and Kara’s heart stutters at the sight of it.  “Admit it.”

She purses her lips together in a sardonic pout, covering the fact that she’s pure putty when he smiles, and retorts, “Well, even if I had been…a little…that all changed when you put her hand around my throat and threw me across the room.”

The smile melts from his face, which hadn’t been her intent as she’d only been teasing.  Regretting her words and their price, Kara places her hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb where the dimple appeared only moments before.  “I can’t apologize enough for hurting you,” he says, leaning his cheek into her hand.  “There are no excuses.”

“Of course there are,” she replies.  “You were waking up after being in stasis for thirty-five years.  It’s disorienting and you had no idea where you were or who we were or if we wanted to hurt you.  You were in shock.”

“You give me a lot of credit, Kara.”

“Later, you were trying hard to be friendly in the worst situation imaginable, and I’m the one that made all the wrong assumptions about you.”

He smiles again, finally and then chuckles.  “Well I can’t be one hundred percent sure…but I think it all worked out.”

She kisses him, because she knows they will have to part ways at any moment, and because his red lips are irresistible, like an addiction.  Mon-El participates wholeheartedly, passionately, gliding a hand around her waist to her lower back and pulling her closer.  

Already he’s beginning to stir with want again, a phenomenon he finds astonishing.  There’s no part of him that doesn’t want her and he hopes that she feels the same about him. “I can’t get enough of the way you taste,” he confesses between slow kisses.  “Or the way you take me into your body.  The way you hold me inside.  The way you sound when you beg for more.  Or the look of exquisite pleasure on your face when you come apart in my arms.”

She melts into him.  Their hands meet, fingers intertwining as his larger thumb brushes over the curve of her smaller one.  Only a few moments ago she experienced a powerful release, and already her body is preparing itself for another.  Any satiety she felt after her orgasm, though absolute in the moment, has since fled to be replaced by rapidly mounting desire that she fears will have to go unanswered. But she can at least, echo his confesses with a few of her own.

“I know that…I will want you every moment I’m away from you and that I will count the minutes until we’re together like this again.”  She marks each confession with a kiss, just as he did. “I can’t get enough of the taste of you on my lips.  Or the look in your eyes when you first take me.  The way your entire body turns to stone in my arms when you come, or how you growl your satisfaction in my ear.”

They breathe each other in, reluctant to go their separate ways.

“Wow,” Kara chuckles.  “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Mon-El quirks his head to the side.  “I like that.  It’s an apt description to how I’m feeling right now.”

“Well, William Shakespeare said it…or wrote it, anyway.”

“Oh, is he one of the reporters you work with?”

“No, he’s a man who wrote plays a long time ago.  It’s from a play called ‘Romeo and Juliet’, which has certain parallels to us…you might say.”  Kara’s head pivots sharply toward the doorway.  “She’s coming down the hall.  I’ll have to tell you later.  I have to go.”  

With one last kiss, she disappears in blast of wind, leaving his arms in despair of her absence.

TBC