#If not I've got some fresh experience for elsewhere

[masquenoire]

Good news and bad news! My contract has officially ended and as of today I am no longer employed. That means I’ve finally got time to catch up on drafts and have a little break before looking for my next job!

[tokkiwrites]

in which spencer doesn't appreciate how close you've gotten to Derek Morgan, and even though you guys aren't official, he wants to make it clear who you belong to.

TW: dom!Spencer reid, sub! reader, use of y/n, afab reader, jealous spencer, voyeurism, degradation (kind of), pet names, unprotected p in v (wrap b4 you clap), kind of mean spence idk let me know if i missed anything.

y/n sat at her desk, surrounded by the dimly lit office. The soft hum of computers and the distant chatter of agents filled the air as she diligently worked on her reports. It was another late night at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and exhaustion tugged at the edges of her focus.

Across the room, she noticed Derek hunched over his desk, his intense gaze fixed on a case file. y/n couldn't help but admire Morgan's dedication and experience, and she often sought his guidance when faced with challenging cases. Tonight was no different as she considered approaching him for advice.

As she contemplated her next move, Dr. Spencer Reid entered the room. Reid had always been a bit enigmatic, his towering intellect often overshadowing his social awkwardness. y/n thinks that's what makes her like him in the first place.

y/n continued to focus on her work, unaware of the way Spencer's eyes bathed in her. She reviewed the case files, her brow furrowing as she delved deeper into the unsettling details of the ongoing investigation. It was a particularly puzzling case, and she knew she needed some fresh insights.

Derek, sensing her contemplation, looked up from his own work and caught y/n's eye. With a friendly smile, he nodded toward her and gestured for her to come over.

"y/n" Derek called out, his voice carrying across the room. "Got a minute?"

y/n nodded in response, grateful for the opportunity to consult with someone as experienced as Morgan. She rose from her desk and walked over to join him, her curiosity piqued.

"What do you have, Derek?" she asked, her tone earnest and professional.

As they huddled over the case file, discussing theories and potential leads, Spencer observed them from a distance, his feelings of inadequacy and jealousy intensifying by the second. He couldn't help but wonder if he was losing y/n's s attention to Derekㅡ not that he cared. It was just... curiosity.

As y/n and Derek delved into the intricacies of the case,Reid remained seated at his desk, his gaze fixed on the computer screen, though his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the growing unease that had settled in his chest as he watched them collaborate.

The office felt tense, and Spencer's inner turmoil was only magnified by the fact that he struggled to vocalize his feelings. He'd always been more comfortable with statistics and facts than navigating the complexities of interpersonal relationships. But as he watched y/n and Derek work closely together, he realized he couldn't stay silent any longer.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer finally decided to join the conversation. He gathered his thoughts and approached them, trying to suppress the wave of jealousy that still simmered beneath the surface.

"Actually," he began, his voice betraying a hint of hesitancy, "I've been looking at this from a different angle. What if we consider the geographic distribution of the incidents? It might reveal a pattern that we've missed."

"huh." Derek furrowed his brows and then looked down at the file again."makin' me question what i know again, pretty boy." all three laugh in unison before Derek decides to sit up from his chair. "I'll head out for some food, don't get to ahead without me, yeah?"

perfect.

did he do all this just to have a reason to sit next to y/n? maybe. did he memorize Morgan's exact schedule so he knew when to come into the office and "make him question what he knows." ? totally.

His intentions were clear, even if his actions were a bit unconventional.

"you know... it's been a while since you last talked to me, y/n. care to explain?" y/n glanced away for a moment, her fingers idly tapping on her desk. She knew she couldn't keep avoiding the topic.

"oh, umㅡ just busy, spence. work...all that." she replied with a soft smile, her gaze returning to meet his. there she goes with that smile that somehow awakes something in Spencer he never knew existed. Her smile had always been disarmingly genuine, and it tugged at Spencer's heartstrings. He couldn't help but feel a sense of longing as he stared into her eyes.

"If you wanted to talk... you know how phones work, right?" she teased, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder. Spencer felt his heart skip a beat at her touch, his mind racing as he searched for the right words. truth was, he was waiting for the right time to have his way with herㅡ get close, hold her... leave no room for air, only fill her pretty head with thoughts of himself.

As he inched closer, he placed a gentle hand on her arm, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I've been waiting for the right time," he admitted softly, "but I can't wait any longer."

"s-spenceㅡ"

Their faces were now mere inches apart, the air thick with tension. Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, breath tickling at her skin.

"do you know how hardㅡ how long I've had to pretend I'm ok with you talking to Derek that way? do you know how long I've thought about you? godㅡ its like you're etched into my psyche."

"w-what way, spence, i dontㅡ"

his fingers dig at her exposed thigh, causing y/n to squint her eyes at the sudden jolt of pain that ran through her. "I'm speaking now." his voice deep, like a thousand daggers to her heart, they sent her head into a frenzy.

She didn't know why, let alone how this situation was managing to make her squirm into her seat as trickles dirtied her underwear.

"stop trying to act dumb right now, y/n." he trails off, fingers slowly slipping under her y/n's skirt "need to show you who's you are." he paused "need to fuck you dumb right now."

"s-spencer, what if Derek returns andㅡ"

"good. maybe if he sees how deep you can take my cock he'll stop trying to get into your pants."

jesus. she barely heard him talk this way in all of her time here at the BAU. but she loved itㅡ the way those dirty words slipped off his tongue right into her ear and down to her cunt. y/n also didn't know spencer liker her that way. i mean, they kissedㅡ once. but that was months ago, and both of them were drunk.

her thoughts were broken off by the sound of spencer calling out to her. "you already thinking about me fucking you? godㅡ can't believe how fucking soaked you are."

y/n could only whimper as Spencer's long digits traced circles onto her clothed pussy, a dark chuckle evading his throat. "you're so filthy, y/n. you know Derek could barge in any moment now, yet..." he pushes her panties to the side with his index finger "you're so wet, i don't even have to prep you."

"spence, pleaseㅡ"

"shh, i know. you need to show me how desperate you are first." he pats her thigh before motioning between his legs. "on your knees."

y/n's eyes widened at his request, only a soft gasp parting form her open mouth. "don't make me repeat myself. you want me to fuck you? then show me how bad you want it."

it's like she was being a little doll on a string, the way all at once she practically threw herself on the floor and between Spencer's legs, palms situated on his knees.

"go ahead, angel."

she never had her heart beat so fast, she didn't even know it was possible. hesitatingly, she rises her hands to the hem of Reid's pants, letting the fly open. Spencer's bulge peeked through his boxers, making y/n's mouth go dry. "come on, y/n. you know we dont have all night."

nodding her head, y/n pulls his underwear and pants all at once, leaving Spencer's shaft to spring free and slap against his still dressed torso.

jesus christ ㅡ she heard the rumors that circulated around the BAU, but she thought they were just that: rumors. how wrong she was.

"still wanna do this, angel?"

"yesㅡ" she catches herself off guard with how fast she replies, face now so red.

"dirty girl." he smiles, placing his palm onto the crown of y/n's head. "get to work then."

leaning down, she grabs at his shaft as she gently wraps her mouth around the red tip that was leaking with precum, the bitter taste now invading y/n's tastebuds. reid throws his head back in response, tugging lightly at y/n's hair strands causing her to jolt in response.

with a bit more courage she sinks her mouth further. a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, and a mischievous smile crept across her face. She knew she was breaking the rules, but in that moment, the thrill of rebellion was intoxicating, making her feel alive in a way she hadn't before.

after a few more moves of her head y/n is stopped by specner with a forceful pull on her hair. "do you wanna continue, doll?"

"please, spence..."

She knew that she was treading on dangerous ground, and she couldn't predict the consequences of her actions. But in that moment, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to explore the forbidden.

"fuck, i never knew what was going on behind those eyes ㅡ you were always so hard to read. now i know...just a filthy girl that wants to fucked into oblivion." reid lets out a mocking chuckle, lightly slapping y/n on the cheek.

"go on. bend over the desk. and look at the door. i want everyone that comes through that door to see your face as i pound into you."

as y/n bent over the desk, her breast pressed onto the hard surface, she couldn't help but feel a rush of guilt and longing. Every stolen moment, every stolen glance, had brought her to this forbidden juncture.

it just clicked: she's gonna get fucked on this desk and at any moment someone could stumble on them. thing is... that's what was making her heart jump in anticipation.

the cold air brushed agains her skin as spencer lifted up her skirt, pulling to the side her panties and leaving her glistening cunt on full display. "jesus, you're soaked. this turning you on?" he laughs somberly.

"spence, p-please hurry..."

"needy girl."

stroking himself for a bit with the precum dripping from the pulsing tip, he teasingly rubs it against y/n's fold, making her whine in response. "shh. you're doing so well."

and with that he pushes in, fully, causing y/n to grit her teeth as to stop the loud cry stuck in her throat. her skin was burning, the pain so good it made her shiver. she was dripping all around reid's cock, biting back moans as he went at her from behind.

the room was filled by clapping, wet sounds and the occasional grunts and moans from both of them. y/n's mind was foggy, tongue lulling out as spencer increased his speed.

"f-fuckㅡ look how good you're taking me." he throws his head back, grabbing roughly at y/n's hips for leverage "what would you do if someone walked in right now? would you want me to continue fucking you, huh?"

"y-yes, spence, shitㅡ"

"god, angel. 'm gonna comeㅡ"

y/n writhes as she feels herself close, too, whole body shaking, toes curling and eyes rolling back when she finally orgasms. not long after, reid pumps himself a few more times before shooting long white ribbons along y/n's ass, gasping for air as he does.

"did so good for me, angel. let's hope we didn't mess up any of these files."

"reid, that's the least of my concerns right now."

⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾‎  토끼's NOTE : WOHOOOO WE ARE EARLY!!!! ALSO THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD so grammatical errors are possible!!! this has 2.05K words so not a lot but i hope u enjoyed it!! this is my 1st eva spencer fanfic i wrote sooooooo yeah :D anyway tysm for reading ily <3

[wisteria-blooms]

*NSFW* strawberry wonderland (ii) (bill weasley & reader)

*MINORS DNI!*

PAIRING: Bill Weasley/You SUMMARY: Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice. WARNINGS: sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, unprotected sex

A/N: To get me out of a writer's block, I present you this. I've only read it over it once so I'll fix any mistakes as I go. I hope this doesn't ruin long hair & tattoos for you... it doesn't need to be part of the original series if you don't want it to be. It's set after Bill and Reader arrive in Nice.

STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND (II)

Strawberries.

That’s what you smelt like to Bill Weasley. And very much overwhelmingly so as you nestled into his arm, preparing to disembark the ship that had just docked the nauseatingly rocky French shores. He attributed it to all the fresh strawberries you crushed up at the bar. 

“What kind of liquor do you reckon goes well with this?” you asked, holding up the bleeding purée to his face. 

‘Anything that would get you to kiss me,’ a voice in his head willed him to say. He swatted that thought away and instead replied, “Rum.” All his family recipes and all his female cousins’ favourite girlish drinks came to mind.

“Hm.” You turned away from him and perused the shelf for the highest of top-shelf rum. “And what else?”

“Maybe some simple syrup, a dash of lime and—,”

You slammed a bottle of rum on the table and twisted it open. Bill closed his mouth and let you speak. “Keep rambling and one might think you’re an expert at cocktails or something of that sort.”

“You asked me!” Bill said in defense, a chuckle erupting from his lips. A lush haze was concentrating in your eyes from the wine you’d inhaled the moment you boarded the ship. Bill figured his taller and heavier figure was better in diffusing the alcohol than your smaller one. 

“Whatever,”—you slid the cup of strawberry puree towards him—“let’s just drink.”

And now the scent of fresh strawberries, lime, and wine lingered on your person, stuck to it like summer honey. It was the most heavenly of scents. He imagined it would be most concentrated on your lips and tongue, and he would risk everything—a lot—to test that hypothesis. And what if that old saying were true? ‘You are what you eat.’

Would you taste like strawberries elsewhere, dare he dream, on another pair of lips?

“Do you think we had too much?” you asked him, snapping him out of his dirty reverie where he was in between your legs. “I might be sick.”

“I’m sure the sea made it worse,” he reassured you, letting you grip him tightly. He looked back at the relentless waves. Merlin, if you kept touching and squeezing his arm, he wasn’t going to make it until after you left. “And you best recover before your dinner tonight.”

“Right—ooh.” You drew the last vowel, lips rounding, which sent a chill up Bill’s spine.

Then when you let out a deep sigh into the crook of his arm, he found himself at war with himself. He looked down at your eyelashes, fluttering down to cover your eyes and traced your pouty pink lips. You were the sweetest, most innocent thing at twenty-three years old. And he didn’t realize how much desire had stirred up inside him in the past few months that he now really wanted to kiss you—Oh, what was he sugarcoating his own private thoughts for? He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

He just wanted to know what your innocence would feel on him and his experience. But he couldn’t. He was much too old, much too tainted compared to the likes of you. What he wanted was above any voice of reason. 

Fuck it, he was tempted by the thought of ruining you. 

Bill Weasley had to wonder how he got himself in this tricky predicament as he settled into a bed miles away from home. With age came maturity and emotional growth, right? At thirty-one, he had years to leap over and meet his milestones. Clearly, he missed a couple landmarks because he felt as if he was trapped in the body of a fourteen-old boy who’d discovered pornography à la Wicked Witches Weekly for the first time.

Everything in his mind was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 

After the whole debacle with you walking in on him mid-shower complaining that your own room had flooded and him checking that it really had, you’d insisted on taking the couch in his own room. He pulled off his shirt and shut the lamp off. Then, he laid on his left side and tried to make out your figure on the couch.

He shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with you as you were peacefully asleep a few metres from him. He was supposed to be the epitome of your older, more mature (pretend) boyfriend who could will away an inopportune erection at any time. But what was consuming his mind right now was, well, the fictitious scenario where you did agree to share a bed with him tonight. There wouldn’t be a cold and empty space beside him. You’d be right up against him, unknowingly grinding up against his aching nether region as you combed through a bad dream, and teased out his erection further as a result. The fantasy echoed in his mind again and again until sleep finally caught up with him.

“Ngh, Bill,” you whined, your voice thick with sleep. 

You nestled into the cove of pillows, trying to chase away your bad dream. Your body followed suit. Your ass was turned towards him, giving him full permission and the ability to grind against you. He meant to be gentle, but his thrusts—like his breathing—were growing more rapid and frantic.

His hands weaved their way past your loose cotton top and landed atop your naked breasts. He was grateful that your shirt was cut so loose and short. His hands latched onto your breasts tightly, mainly out of lust and secondarily to find an anchor for his writing body. His calloused fingers began their usual routine of teasing your nipples. He pinched them occasionally as he continued to rub his stiff cock on your behind. You were responsive, both in the soft moans that left your lips only to be subdued by the pillows, and the wetness collecting in your cunt.

Your panties were fucking soaked. Bill could detail your folds through the slickness, and feel your spilling entrance through the thin fabric. And that thin fabric was the only thing preventing him from thrusting his full length into you. You writhed harshly when he pinched your left nipple again. The nub was standing at full attention for him. 

“What do you think?” asked Bill, voice husky as he asked in your ear. “Can you take my cock or will I have to stretch that tight pussy out?”

You responded with nothing more than shaky breath. You grinded against him, trying to shove your panties aside. “....want… your big cock inside me, Bill.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. 

One of his hands hastily left your breasts in pursuit of your panties. He shoved one side to join the other which gave him freedom to trail the head of cock against your cunt. How much better you felt without a fabric barrier was indescribable. The precum leaking from the tip of his cock met your own wetness. He felt like he was being enveloped in silk. And your opening swelled as if inviting him in, begging him to fill you up with his endless cum and impregnate you.

He dove two fingers straight into you, just to really confirm you were ready. He immediately began curling his fingers inside you, feeling the engorged, sensitive area inside that drove you wild.

“Your cock, Bill,” you whined.

His hand was drenched when he pulled his fingers out. Immediately, he replaced the emptiness with his cock. With one thrust, he entered you. You let out a sharp gasp. He knew his size was hard to take, and it always took you a minute or two to adjust to him. But he knew how much you wanted him to ruin you, begging him to fill you up to the hilt. And he could only oblige in those moments, watching as your eyes rolled back every time your orgasm washed over you. 

“Please,” you begged through gasps. “I need… need all of you inside me.”

Bill flipped you over so your face was pressed against the pillows. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart. He could see the tight ring of muscle that was clenched around his thick cock. He was really stretching you out. And as much as it hurt him to do, he pulled out.

“No,” you whined, your hand flying back to find and guide him back into you. 

“Patience,” he commanded. 

He ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering enough lubrication to meet your increasing demands. And when he felt it was sufficient, he slid himself back into you, pushing past the drier spot that was cutting him off halfway.

“Yes, that’s it, ah—,” you moaned, meeting him halfway for the last couple inches. Your ass raised in the air, desperate for more of him. You held yourself up with your elbows, using them to anchor yourself as you pushed back on him. You worked through the part of him that was thicker than the rest. It was always tricky, but how fast you got there depended on how horny you were, and tonight, you were insatiable.

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself being enveloped by more of your sweet cunt. You were so helpless and needy for him. When he looked down again, he realized he was completely sheathed inside you. He began thrusting, the first couple of seconds working at a steady pace. He earned a few moans. Then, he pulled himself all the way out only to fill you completely again. 

“Bill!” you screamed. Your legs trembled as you clenched around him. He did it again, and again, so hard and fast, aching to hear those delicious screams. Wetness dribbled down your thighs and onto the sheets as you lost yourself in the pleasure. 

“Stop, Bill, I’m going to cum—”

Bill woke up with a jolt. His chest heaved up and down and his breathing was significantly laboured. When he grew accustomed to where he was—the Malfoy summer house in Nice—he looked over to you. You were buried under your covers, blissfully unaware of the lewd positions he held you in in his dreams. He hoped you didn’t hear his breathing, or that he hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep. 

He felt a severe ache between his legs. He had feeling this was the most intense erection he’d had in ages. He already knew he was intensely red and swollen. 

Maybe he needed to have sex with someone, anything that wasn’t his own damn hand, but he wasn’t fond of an anonymous hookup.

Curiously, he reached past the waistband of his briefs, looking for some sense of relief. He was pulsating hard and it was barely what, seven in the morning? He gave himself a stroke, gripping hard at the base and letting go near his wet tip. He suppressed a moan. An image of you, edging him with your tongue, came to mind. 

No, he couldn’t do this with you in the room. It would be most improper and he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Instead, he grabbed a newspaper on his nightstand. It was two days out-of-date, but he figured he should get up to speed with what was going on in Egypt. He was certain that reading about excavations and pyramids and uprisings would take his mind off things. 

Not more than a few minutes later, he heard some ruffling and kicking about on the couch.

“Morning,” Bill greeted.

“Good morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well,” he responded. A fucking bold-faced lie. “You?”

“I slept well, too.”

You were all bed-headed, doe-eyed innocence in the white sheets and he was corrupt was hell.  

You got on your feet and pushed open the curtains, letting the sun fully stream in. Bill gulped silently, watching your legs sway around the room. Fortunately for his sanity, you had on some white shorts. Unfortunately, they were so short that any unplanned movement could reveal your panties, and he wouldn’t be able to stop there. 

“We usually eat breakfast together downstairs," you yawned, covering your mouth, “but maybe some caffeine is in order first. I’m still waking up.”

“A morning swim is the best way to do that,” Bill suggested. He was really treading a fine line with that suggestion; he was adding fuel to his own wildfires. He really loved the idea of a morning swim, he really did. But there was the bonus aspect of you having to be properly suited for the occasion, and you weren’t going to do it in those itty-bitty shorts and a tank top.  

“It’s one of the things I miss about Egypt that we don’t have back home. And it helps quell the heat, too.” He, honest to Merlin, did do this in Egypt. But not for any underlying reasons. 

“That’s a good idea,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do that.”

When you arrived at the private stretch of beach, Bill watched as you slowly unwrapped yourself from the shawl you had on. When you found the will to submerge yourself, even if it was just a toe, he approached from behind you.

“Gently grazing the water isn’t the definition of a swim, you know,” he said, lightly tapping the inward curve of your bare hip.

“I know,” you mumbled back, a tinge of pink on your cheeks. 

He jumped in without thinking and you soon followed suit. He submerged his whole body into the pristine waters of the French Riviera. When he resurfaced, he was treated to a view he was sure he didn’t deserve. 

The wet, white material of your bikini clung onto the skin of your breasts like it was a matter of life or death. Drops of water dotted down your cleavage, slowly, tantalizingly so. The weight of the water dragged your bikini straps down, giving him an expansive view of your breasts. And was that an erect nipple poking through? The cold water must’ve teased it out. 

Yeah, the swim was a bloody awful idea. 

“You’ll never catch me, (Y/N),” he teased. He sent another wave of water towards you to stall you, laughing as you squeezed your eyes shut and sputtered.

“This means war, Bill!” you cried. You outstretched your arms to pull him back towards you. You were aided by a little current that carried you closer and your fingers finally made contact with his strong shoulders

“Ha!” you exclaimed, your fingertips getting a grip on him. “You’ll be sorry!”

He held his breath as he fell back into the water with you on top of him. When he felt sand and little pebbles dig into his back, he knew you’d both arrived on shore. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw you directly on top of him. Your wet hair grazed his cheeks and—

It wouldn’t be technically wrong to say you were grinding on him, not with the way your legs were splayed on both sides of him and the pressure you were putting on him. Your breasts were planted on his chest, and he could appreciate the clothed erect nipple on his skin. And as he looked down, there was more to see of your breasts than before. One wrong move and he would have a full view of the girls. It would be such a shame if your top came undone. But never mind that, he had to resist to urge to plant his hands on your hips and—

“Bill, it’s too deep,” you whined.

Bill’s hands were planted firmly on your hip bones, holding you down, forcing you grind on him with his cock deeply planted in you. You’d enveloped him to the hilt before, but you’ve never had him like this before, not in this position, and it was becoming too much.

“I think you like it, (Y/N),” he said with a chuckle. You looked down, embarrassed at the sudden spurt of wetness that ran down your thigh from your sex. As he began thrusting, you lost any sense of speech besides the ability to give a silent moan. When one of Bill’s hands loosened their grip on your hip to tease your engorged clitoris instead, you threw your head back.

The moment you’d realized how you’d fallen, you yelped immediately and apologized. 

“Time for breakfast?” you offered impassively, carefully looping your other leg over and rolling yourself off him. Sand stuck to the side of your wet legs. You offered him a hand.

“About time for it,” Bill responded as you pulled him up. 

“That was fun,” you commented, wrapping the beach towel over yourself and slipping into your sandals. “Better than my usual idea of a swim.”

Bill hummed in agreement, saying, “your idea of a swim isn’t much of a swim,” and followed you back into the house.

When you were back in your room, you’d dried off hastily, saying you were going to be late to breakfast.

“Is there a set time for breakfast?” he asked, eyeing as you flew around the bathroom looking for a comb.

“Not really, but it’s always at eight, and I was already chastised for being late yesterday.”

He had suppressed a comment about how beautifully haphazard you looked. Your hair was half-tamed, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you’d just had a good long romp in the sheets. 

“Then I’ll join you in a second,” he promised. “I’d like to look a little more presentable for your parents.”

“You look fine,” you commented. “But that’s alright, I’ll let them know.”

When you’d left the room, Bill headed straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and removed his clothes. As he felt his hardening cock spring loose, his frustration grew tenfold. He shouldn’t have suggested the swim; he was going to lose circulation to his brain if you kept turning him on like this. He stepped in the shower and placed his left forearm on the wall. His right hand reached out to stroke his uncomfortable erection. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Drops of cold water ran down his back as he leaned over. He was so close already and thinking about your body atop of his, your wet cunt pushing down on him, begging to be fucked, was really expediting the process. “Shit.”

In no time, he felt the intense pressure break. He bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise. Ropes of cums spurted out of his cock, falling into the shallow water that’d accumulated in the shower base. He heaved, his heartbeat rapid, as his strokes slowed.

When he looked down at the mess he’d made, he could only think: ‘what a waste.’ It should’ve gone into some orifice of yours instead. Maybe your mouth, where his hold on your head would be iron-clad, and he’d make sure you swallowed every single drop. Or even better, your cunt, where it would all spill out on the sheets the moment he pulled out because it was just too much for you.

When Bill felt himself harden again, he cursed the higher deities. He’d never recovered this quickly before. Again, not since he was a teenage boy. And there was what, another two weeks of you frolicking in bathing suits and sun dresses? 

You were slowly and surely going to be the death of him.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 27-- Danger

Content warning: manipulation

You make a break for it by the light of the moon. Getting out of the building is easier than you thought it would be— none of the strange people that you pass seem to pay you any attention, and if they do look in your direction, they don't stop to talk. You haven't been enjoying the game you're testing, and the awkward, cloaked company employees have been giving you the chills since your first day here. Ray seems very nice, but something about this place just rubs you the wrong way. 

As soon as you step outside, you are absolutely certain of your decision— the fresh air hits your face, and it’s like a weight has lifted from your shoulders. You have no idea where this place actually is, considering you came here with a blindfold on, but you figure that if you wander far enough away, eventually you'll come to some kind of road, where you'll find people willing to direct you to the nearest town. That, or you can walk until you have cell service, then use your phone to contact someone who'll be willing to help— maybe you’ll be able to get in touch with a coworker or a friend, even at such a late hour. All you really know is that everything is not as it seems at this game design company, and you are eager to put the entire experience behind you.

As you pass through the garden, your confidence grows— you might get away with this after all. Well, of course you'll get away with it— it's not like you're being held against your will or anything. Ray will understand if you want to seek other opportunities elsewhere, right? What's he gonna do, try and keep you here? Track you down, drag you back, and lock you in your room? No, Ray would never do something like—

You cut yourself off inside your head, pausing to listen to the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. There is no mistaking them— you have been pursued. Why have you been pursued? Surely the employees would be too busy working on their game to bother with the likes of you. You whip around, not sure what to expect, and come face-to-face with Ray. You breathe a sigh of relief— he’ll understand as soon as you explain what’s going on, and then you can be on your way. “MC,” he breathes, rushing over to you. “My prince(ss). There you are. When I came to your room and you weren't there, I thought...”

“Ray,” you bite your lip, avoiding his eyes. You trust Ray to respect your decision to leave, but you still feel bad about disappointing him. When you first arrived at Magenta, he mentioned that if you’d refused to test the game, they would have had to delay its release; by leaving, you’re only making more work for him, not to mention for whoever he selects to test the game once you’re gone.  “I... I've really enjoyed spending time with you. I think you're a great guy, but I have to—”

“MC?” You don't need to look at him to see that he's getting choked up. “You're not trying to leave me, are you?” There’s a note in Ray’s voice that you can’t quite place, something raw and almost feral. All of a sudden, you’re not sure how well you know him, after all. 

“It's not you, it's just…” You try to think of a good way to phrase your complaints. It's not easy; you get the feeling that Ray will take your criticism to heart no matter what you tell him. But he's a reasonable person, right? He'll understand eventually. All you have to do is get through to him, and then you'll be free to go. Maybe he can help you— he was the one who got you transportation here, right? So once you tell him that you're getting creeped out, maybe he can help you leave. He did tell you that he only wants you to be happy, so surely, he would let you go if you were unhappy, right? “I'm feeling a little bit smothered here. and I think... I want to get back to my life. We could keep in touch, of course, but... would you mind calling that car again?”

Now you look up, expecting Ray's warm smile. That is not what you receive. There's a look in his eyes that you've never seen before, though it doesn’t align at all with the strange new quality in his voice. He is looking at you with pure, unadulterated pity. “You don't know what you're saying,” he reaches out, caressing your face with a single gloved finger. For a moment, you wonder if he might be right— after all, you hardly know anything about this place. You don’t exactly have enough information to make an educated decision. “Those liars must have poisoned your mind while I was distracted with my task.” No. You need to get out of here. 

“Ray,” you breathe, trying to remain calm. You know him, right? He's never been anything but nice to you. Surely you must be misunderstanding his intentions. “Could you please give me a ride home?”

“You're already home, my MC,” Ray assures you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Let's get you back to your room.” His words are benign enough, but his tone suggests that he has no intention of entertaining any arguments from you. 

“Ray, please.” The alarm bells are ringing in your head. Why doesn't he understand? “Please let me leave this place. I’m not happy— you said you wanted me to be happy, right? So—” 

He places a finger over your lips, effectively shushing your complaints. “Shh, it’s alright, prince(ss). You don’t really think you’d be happy out there, do you? Don’t you remember what it was like before you came here?” 

“I—” You stammer. “But—” 

“I’ll make you happy,” Ray assures you, steering you back in the direction of the castle. “Trust me, my MC. Have I ever lied to you before?” 

It would be so easy to squirm out of his grip. You could make a break for it, and you doubt Ray could catch you, not operating on as little sleep as he is. You could run through the wilderness surrounding Magenta, hike up and down a couple mountains, and leave him here forever. That would certainly be the smart thing to do in a situation like this— after all, Ray is blatantly disrespecting your wish to be free of this place. But you don’t have the guts to walk out on him like that. After all, you trust him don’t you? Don’t you?

“Everything is going to be alright,” Ray fills your mind with pleasantries, and before you know it, you’re back at the door to the castle. “You don’t really want to walk outside in the cold, do you? I’ll take you back to your room and bring you some hot chocolate, okay, my prince(ss)?” 

Hot chocolate does sound nice, you decide— certainly better than fumbling around in the dark for a road that will take you who-knows-where. At least when you’re with Ray, you know that you’ll be taken care of. “Okay,” you breathe, returning to Magenta of your own volition as Ray holds the door for you. 

[androphagos]

Exclusive content only available with tier subscription on DeviantArt (from 1st week).

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Ready to serve

Who doesn't love a freshly roasted torso carved into thin slices and served on bread or in a wrap like a kebab?

Well... this chef from Armenia has made this his full time job. He always roasts men in their 20s with excellent physique, and then places their cooked bodies vertically on display, as people queue up to buy a wrap or sandwich with thinly sliced carved meat.

This man was a soldier, who lost a leg in a battle. His girlfriend broke up with him, his family was fed up with taking after him, so they decided to just sell his body to be used for another purpose.

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Traditional wedding soup

At a traditional wedding in Crete you will always be served a bowl or two of gamopilafo (wedding soup). The soup is made exclusively out of the broth of men who are boiled alive in large cooking pots. The soup includes rice, lemon juice, olive oil, onions and of course chunks of tender meat of men.

The traditional way to do the soup is to surprise the "chosen" man or men, by restraining them on the spot. The men of the groom's family will make sure the chosen man is stripped naked and prepared in less than an hour from the time they arrive at the wedding, so that once all the guests arrive, the chefs can put on a show.

The choice is usually made by the couple themselves. At this wedding, the bride's twin brothers were chosen. The family had no objection to this, as they were both causing trouble for many years. They were just 21 years old, and they had already been arrested for petty crimes more than 5 times each...

(more at deviant art)

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Fresh (alive) Meat on Display

I love it when I go on holidays, and the taverns and restaurants put their glass display cases out in the streets to show what (or who) is on the menu. My girlfriend likes getting closer and examining the poor men, sometimes even joking in their face about them being cooked.

This dude saw us laughing at him and my girlfriend was rubbing her belly and licking her lips. He got so embarrassed, he started crying. In the end we decided to just continue our stroll through the town until we get hungry.

When we came back an hour later, he was still in the display case, but this time he was just reduced to pieces of meat. His cute severed head was there, next to some of his ribs, a thigh, a shoulder and an arm.

If his feet had not been served to others already, I would have definitely have them for dinner. But oh well, we just looked elsewhere around the town, which was full of displays filled with guys like him ready to meet their fate.

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Memories from past Easters 3

Have you ever been at a Greek Easter feast? For me it's been a yearly goal to find a welcoming family or friend to experience and enjoy the abundance of spit roasted and grilled male meat. This was one of the first ones I've been to 10 years ago. I was a teenager back then

I will never forget this lovely man who was more than willing to offer me his son's foot and head on a tray like that. He saw me drooling over the feet and head throughout the day, so he decided to just gift them to me. The son was 25 (my age now), and I had only seen him when he was already prepared and seasoned on the spit. A butcher had delivered him for the party, and the men of the family carried him over the fire...

(more at deviant art)

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Don't forget to toss the meat halfway through

For better roast results it's suggested to toss the man over on the tray halfway through cooking. And while you are at it, make sure you make a few cuts on the flesh before adding more sauce and seasoning. You'll want the meat of those buns to absorb as much flavour as possible, while the skin becomes crispy.

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Mocking the meat

Imagine losing your head and being made fun of for crying...

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Post-decapitation selfie

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Failed Balkan model roasted and sold on the street

He thought a modelling career would save him from being sold as meat. Unfortunately he failed badly in this direction and couldn't even sustain his own life properly. It seems like good looks are not always enough to guarantee a man's survival in this world. His appearance ended up being more of a curse than a blessing.

Out of desperation he signed a deal with an agency that was actively involved in the male meat industry. He's been in adverts for male meat farms, restaurants and supermarkets, always posing as meat in various photoshoots. It paid well and he was okay with it, as it was just a few hours of roleplaying as meat in front of a camera.

But for his last photoshoot, he was required to play something a bit more than a simple role... Maybe he should have been more careful when reading the contract and the script of the photoshoot before he agreed. It was clearly mentioned that it would involve spit roasting, but his naivety led him to believe it would simply involve being tied temporarily on a spit with rope.

... (more at deviant art)

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Fresh college meatFresh college meat

The best college in the country found a way to sufficiently fund itself by selling a proportion of 10% of their male students as meat. The lowest performing 10% of young men at this college, ends up becoming meat which later gets sold at markets, restaurants and school cafeterias.

The amount of extra funding coming from this practice, has allowed the college to reach the top of the rankings, with the most pioneering programs, best facilities and research opportunities. The prestige of having a diploma from this specific college, is what leads young men to enrol there anyway, hoping that they won't end up in the bottom 10%. You can imagine how competitive it can get for the male students. It's no surprise that the successful male graduates of this college are all employed in high positions right after college.

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No man cheats on his daughter!

A father would never let his daughter be cheated on and heartbroken by a man without any consequences. Bill found out the hard way, when his in-laws abducted him and prepared him for their daughter's birthday. They made sure he was washed, shaved, cleaned up, marinated, trussed up and roasted alive, all before their daughter had arrived at the surprise party. They wanted the meat to be ready for her to dive in. Revenge is sweet and it's best served HOT.

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Memories from past Easters 4

Some restaurants in Greece choose to spit roast imported meat from abroad on Easter Sunday. Many locals love tasting exotic flavours too on this special day. Also some businesses and individuals see this method as one less complication when it comes to dealing with the meat, as meat is usually unable to communicate in the language, causing less trouble and making the process much more straight forward.

This man was imported from neighbouring Turkey, where the male meat industry is thriving, and the two countries have established an unprecedented trade and cooperation between them, with thousands of men being exported as meat annually from one country to the other.

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Cooking class

Yesterday I joined this cooking class/workshop, where I was shown how to roast a whole man in an electric oven. The organisers provided the man, and all the participants contributed towards his preparation. The meat himself was very upset about it, as he would turn 36 next year, meaning he would have been a free man forever after that. But maybe he was just too tasty-looking to allow him to become a free man. His wife was there too as one of the participants, and she was glad she managed to sort this out in time. She wouldn't be able to live her whole life with regrets for not eating him when she had the chance.

The class took around half a day, because apart from preparing him and shoving him in the glass oven, we had to wait 4-5 hours for him to finish cooking. The price included unlimited drinks, snacks, and of course a piece of our own creation once he was fully cooked. If you can ever join such a class, it is absolutely worth it.

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That's what I call a centrepiece!

Every time I get invited to a dinner party at friends' or relatives' house, I make sure to double check and guarantee that they've got the meat already sorted, just to be safe. I usually ask them to send me a receipt of purchase or a picture/video of the man. Even when it's people I trust and respect, I still wouldn't wanna risk ending up butchered and cooked randomly just because I wasn't careful enough.

This guy in the picture was obviously NOT doing that. His step-mom's parents invited him over for dinner, and he ended up becoming the dinner for the whole family. How do I know that? Well, I was there myself and I took this picture of his delicious feet and cute head once it was served on a platter in the middle of the table. The rest of his body was stuffed and oven-roasted, like a trussed-up turkey. They used his fresh raw feet and head as the centrepiece, which was dominating our view while we were waiting for his roasted body to be served.

Unfortunately the family was not interested in offering or selling us his feet or his head, as they had other plans for those cuts for the weekend. Oh well, after all it was their meat, their choice... Glad I was able to at least take this picture of this delicious specimen.

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When in Argentina...

When in Argentina, do as the locals do... Find an asado where they roast men alive, and enjoy the whole experience. When I was there for a week I went to an asado every single day. And this was one of my favourites, cause this dude just tasted like HEAVEN. If you are wondering where his legs had gone by the time this photo was taken, let me just tell you I had just devoured a whole calve and foot of his with my girlfriend, and the rest of the lower body was already reduced to bones in people's plates. We rushed back for more cuts before all of him was gone. I'll never forget how good his meat tasted. 10/10

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Passing down family secrets to the next generation

My friend Mark knows how much I love feet. His dad is a podiatrist-turn-chef, so you can imagine how well he knows the foot anatomy and how easy it is for him to spot the best pair for each occasion.

In this photo he was showing us what to look for on a foot when we want to buy some from a butcher's or a market. He pointed out that the toe-nails can tell more about the meat than we can imagine. And the toes themselves can demonstrate how meaty or tender a foot can be. The flat soles are great for grilling, and higher-arches are perfect for roasting. Also hairy feet show that the man had good blood circulation. Smell can also indicate specific qualities, and different foot smell intensities can really make a difference in the final result of a dish.

He also bought this delicious foot himself from his favourite butcher shop. The previous owner of the feet was an old patient of his when he had the podiatry clinic. Mark's dad remembered how he was drooling over this pair of feet back then, and he was glad to see that the young man had looked after his feet for all those years.

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Crispiest crackling

This dude was presented in the online menu of this restaurant as the roast of the day. When I saw his pictures and videos from his preparation in the man farm, I knew I had to book a table. This place roasts their meats to perfection. I need to find out their secret for that perfectly crispy skin crackling... and the meat under that heavenly crisp is always tender, juicy and full of flavour. The feet and hands are sometimes too crispy for my taste though, I would personally remove those parts and cook them a different way. But as this restaurant only specialises in whole roasts, they want their men to enter and exit the oven without any prior adjustment to their bodies, apart from, of course, shaving them and cleaning them.

[primefan15]

Chapter 2: The painting

Green pastures, still waters and a restored soul...

all from a Savior worthy of following forever.

"Gone astray"

Journeys with the Messiah

A painting hanging in our living room.

Representative of protection and strength in troubled times.

Summer turned to Fall.

With the leaves changing into illustrious red, yellows, and orange hues, winter was on the horizon.

I woke up to find the painting, crashed to the floor, cracks and dents in the wall it was hanging on.

What on Earth?

My husband Paul, says "What the hell happened here?" 

Recalling an incident many years before, we had an issue with yellow jackets coming through the cracks and crevices of our fireplace.

The fireplace was completely taped up with painters tape.

Ironically, the tape was taken off the night before our Jesus painting hit the floor.

Bewildered, the family was pondering the events of the night before.

What happened?

What did we miss?

Downstairs doing the dishes, suddenly images were being shown to me.

There was an altercation, a confrontation.

Good vs. evil came to head.

"Roy" who has seemingly become our "guardian" was waiting in anticipation this particular night.

He knew that some evil entity was waiting its moment to strike.

With Roy on high alert, ready to pounce the enemy, Roy struck fast and precise, sending the enemy into the wall.

With all his might, the intruder was defeated. He fled in an instant.

This intruder was no man. No, I can only describe it as a half man/half reptilian.

Standing on two feet like a human, but having scales as skin, and a head that resembled an Iguana.

I couldn't believe the images I was seeing.

The room where the altercation took place was very dark at night. It's a TV room.

No lamps on, but yet, I could see what happened clear as day.

With all this new knowledge, I went upstairs to tell Paul what I was shown.

Silence came over us in this room.

The nail the painting was hanging on was bent in half indicating to us the force used to dispel this intruder.

Funny thing, no one heard a single sound that evening, everyone in the house slept soundly.

A first for our family, which alone seemed odd, because of insomnia-related issues. 

With this fresh in my mind, I decided to do some research to find out what I could. I couldn't believe the amount of information regarding 'Aliens", paranormal, and Spirits. Whether this information is true or not, we were realizing what WE were dealing with here. Some information seemed consistent with our experiences, and yet, some were outlandish.

Through our exploration, I came to discover that this intruder closely resembled a Draconian Reptilian alien.

I cannot make this shit up. What I saw in my visions from Roy were now coming on screen in my research. I have never seen something like this before in a book, movie, or elsewhere.

Draconian aliens are Reptilian aliens from the Draco constellation, or so I'm finding out.

They apparently are very deceptive and seek to destroy like the devil.

They have no good qualities about them, despite what some publications say.

 The question is, why would a Draconian Reptilian be trying so hard to get into my house? 

I've got my suspicions as to why, but later Roy will reveal its purpose in another communication to me.

Roy, however, is a mystery.  He hangs around our house. He seems cautious, yet hidden, compassionate, yet shy. He does not flee from the name of Jesus, nor does he run when my Christian music is playing. This makes no sense to me.

We know he stands for good, but what is his story, why is he here?

Is he alien? And if so, what type?

Why our house?

The answer to this will forever change our thinking about the spiritual realm.

[minorhoursmagazine]

Issue 31, containing: Easy Ways to Explode One's Kitchen, A Lip Pomatum (for the At-Home Apothecary), &c.

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SOME EDITORIAL NOTES

Another issue? So soon? YES I AM ALSO SURPRISED.

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EASY WAYS TO EXPLODE ONE'S KITCHEN

Gentle readers may recall the start of my apothecarical interest was, to an extent, the joy of Syllabubs (in too many issues to list here)--but when I first started wandering into the world of household goods, my gateway drug was a simple recipe in Nicolas Lémery's Arcana Curiosa: Or Modern Curiosities of Art and Nature. 

I have hinted at what that process was like, but have only ever written it up elsewhere--let me share it here now, the first write-up I made in May of 2022.

Fig. 1. A second copy of a recipe originally printed in Issue 29, on the topic of Poisonings and the avoidance thereof. I am in violent love with the use of " 'em" in 1711. 

The text reads:

"A Pomatum for the Lips. Take Four Ounces fresh Butter, and an Ounce of Virgin's Wax, melt 'em together, and when you have boil'd a Quarter of an Hour, strain and take your Pomatum from the FIre; then take Two Spoonfuls of Orange-flower-water, with which boil again and again; then thicken with a little Orcanet, which you have diluted with some Orange-flower-water, and beat up your Pomatum with a Spoon, taking it from the Fire and setting it to cool."

In my first experiment with this pomatum, I changed the butter for coconut oil, because of who I am as a person. I also used a cleaned yellow beeswax (note: in the recent past I tried a rendered white wax and it looked unfortunately like an unappealing paraffin when complete, and so I would not recommend it).

Fig. 2. Behold, the bad beginnings of my very tiny lightbox for overly arty photography. 

I forgot to boil everything, but I did leave it on the range for about thirteen minutes or so before bothering it with the next instruction or ingredient--the wax and oil melted very quickly (surprise surprise), but it did smoke a bit further into the process, so I wonder if anything got burnt off. (Something something burning points something? Perhaps.)

What with the 21st-century purity of the stuff being used, there was no reason to strain anything, so I skipped that step--which, put a bookmark on that, because it may have caused me to move on to the next step slightly too fast. 

Orange-flower water I had in abundance--

Fig. 3. And the brand I recommend is Cortas. 

–and I prepared a soup spoon (since that seemed closest to whatever “spoonful” might be in these contexts). However, upon dropping in the spoonful, I very quickly discovered that without a moment or three for everything to cool down, what happens is that the entire mix explodes in an astonishing fountain of aerosolized wax. 

Behold, the aftermath on a stove-top:

Fig. 4. I've heard of cleaning with elbow grease, but this is just unreasonable. 

I prudently removed the mixture from the flame at that point. I less than prudently tried putting in the second spoonful, because obviously I only had the theory that that was a bad idea, and as we all know science requires that results be reproducible.

Even with my small sample size, I afterward felt confident in my conclusion that one should wait until the mixture has cooled somewhat--and possibly been strained, just to add more air--before adding the flower water.

After the various explosions, I did try to “boil and boil again,” but it didn’t seem to do much. I instead just stirred it every once in a while while I was mixing up the next bit of the recipe.

As I mentioned previously, I do not enjoy the concept of casually giving others liver damage, so for this first batch I ended up switching the alkanet with arrowroot powder and cosmetic-grade colored mica. The mica did give a nice color, but the arrowroot creates a...fascinating goo that must be discarded, and the majority of the mica gathers within it.

Fig. 5. A lovely photograph of mostly discarded ideas. 

To be honest, though, I’m not sure how much the arrowroot actually thickened anything, and I’m really not sure the mica added any color. I think I’m going to need to try something more robust in future if I want to replicate the alkanet effect.

As I mixed that all together with a little more orange-flower water, I took the wax mix off the stove and set it to cool. Feeling that I had Learned My Lesson somewhat, I also hauled some ice packs out of the freezer and set it up around the saucepan to cool it faster (because “patience” is something that happens to other people).

I was, after a minute or so, able to put tiny drops of the mica mix into the wax-and-oil. They spat and rang a bit, so if that sort of alchemy excites you, hooray. That being said, I should have probably let it cool even further--so let us say, if you put anything into the superheated wax and oil, add first a tiny drop, and check to see if it sinks and solidifies a bit like an egg yolk in its shell--that seems to be a good level of warmth/chill to do the next bit.

The instructions say to “beat [it] with a Spoon”--I found, however, that a tiny whisk was infinitely preferable. As soon as the mica was thoroughly mixed into the wax (which took a couple of minutes, longer than I would have assumed), I then hauled out some lip balm sampler containers, spooned some of the finished pomatum into them, and threw them in the freezer because, again, I am Patience Personified.

The finished product was, to be frank, kind of lovely to look at:

Fig. 6. Something far prettier than it has any right to be. 

I took the opportunity to scoop up some of the warm pomatum and apply it on some of my dry skin--it soaked in very easily, though left my hands a little greasy. As a lip balm, though, it was and is excellent. When cooled, it’s definitely a more solid kind of balm, but it still melts excellently and not too fast:

Fig. 7. There is no square millimeter of dry skin upon my person that I have not put this mix on at one point or another over the last two years. 

…But here’s the thing.

When I first tried this pomatum, I was deeply surprised to learn how little the “old auntie’s potpourri” smell remained from the undiluted orange-flower water. Instead there was a certain…depth.  Similar to the more woodsy/herbal scents that I also happen to favor, like sandalwood and such. But also a sweetness? My lips didn’t taste of anything I could readily discern, but I was very happy to have the scent of the pomatum wafting upward.

I then left my apartment for about an hour; enough time for my sense of smell to return to neutral, so that I could return and get a fresh impression of what cooking this stuff--or, let us say, using it regularly--would make the environs smell like. I was fully expecting something smoky and unpleasant that I just hadn’t clocked when I was still in the apartment.

And gentle reader: It. Smelled. Like. Cookies. 

Fig. 8. Look at them. These tiny little perfect cookie spheres based on a recipe from over three centuries ago. That I have the power to create whenever I want.  

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A LIP POMATUM (FOR THE AT-HOME APOTHECARY)

Now, in 2024, after two years of experimentation and study, I have a proper recipe that you, gentle readers, can also follow.

4 ounces (1/2 cup) oil, coconut or sweet almond

1 ounce clean yellow beeswax

2 teaspoons arrowroot powder

2+ tablespoons room temperature orange-flower water

Set your cooktop to 130℉ (a low simmer). Fill a small pan with a scant 1-inch of water and set it to heat. Put oil and wax into a silicone melt pot and put in water to create an ad hoc bain-marie. Melt for 15 minutes or until completely incorporated together. Take off heat, whisk to aerate and cool enough to add orange-flower water. (TEST TO AVOID EXPLOSION.) Heat again for 5 minutes; while heating, make a paste of more orange-flower water and arrowroot powder in a small cup. Take off heat, add arrowroot paste, and whisk together for several minutes until completely mixed. Pour into containers; there may be an ARROWROOT GOO that sinks to the bottom of the melt pot. Try and avoid pouring it into the containers, but if it does, it can be spooned out again (though it will not have as nice a top to it). Makes about 20 5g containers--but probably more.

Fig. 9. BE ADVISED: ALL TOOLS USED WILL BE SACRIFICED TO THE BEESWAX GOD.   

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ANNOUNCEMENTS

A reminder--the Historically Inaccurate Goods Patreon tier for this month, and until June 30, is a choice between:

A pomatum for the lips (in either sweet almond or coconut oil varieties--the very one discussed in this week's issue);

A half-scruple tester of The Green Knight eau de toilette; or

A copy of The Apothecary's Pocket Companion: Regarding How to Read and Translate Recipes, volume 1 of an octavo-sized minizine series intended to help others on their journey to becoming just as unreasonably enthusiastic as I am about this entire venture

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If you would like to write a letter to be produced/answered in the magazine, please email me at minor.hours.magazine@gmail.com with the subject line:

Letter to the Magazine: [subject of letter as you would like to see it printed]

If you wish the letter to be anonymous or under a nom de plume, please state so in the body of the email; similarly, if you’d rather not be printed at all, please also state so in the body of the email. It will otherwise be assumed that mail sent to that address is intended for print.

Alternately, commenting on the Patreon post will get you a similar result, with much less fuss.

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As always, you can find me at my regular website, katherinecrighton.com, or sometimes via bluesky, at katherinecrighton.bsky.social.

To support the magazine and get it delivered directly to your inbox, join the Patreon.

-Until next time, be safe.

[le-souriant]

#MusicMonday Review - December 2022

#MusicMonday is the hashtag I've been using for quite a while to share music recommendations from up-and-coming artists. Always fresh, and always different, trying to look for trends before they become one. You can check November's review for more music.

Welcome to the last #MusicMonday of the year! Let's have a recap of the most popular genres of the year with some cool tracks, and a word from the artists themselves. 🎧

Michi Sanz – Hey Siri

¿Será que no me quiere? ¿Será que ya no me ama? ¿Estará con sus amigos diciendo que no me extraña? Que no me quiere pero se engaña, Por qué todas las madrugadas (El me llama)

Qué raro que tú, diciendo que esto fue mi actitud, Y no se que tú esperas de mi De mi parte esto ya se acabó.

We begin with a (not so) upbeat Latin Pop track from Maracay, Venezuela. Can we ask the virtual assistant how to unbreak a heart?

"The theme tells a story of heartbreak in which Siri is the main protagonist and virtual confidante. I went for old Avril Lavigne, Olivia Rodrigo sounds. My favorite part of creating this track was being able to flow organically with genres that were new to me."

Rolling Thunder – Sunny's Song

 As nice as you look I'm sure you can tell No one in this room wants to buy what you sell

A face on the board and a staple in time 'Til one off the belt comes and takes all the light

A wink of the eye and a stick of the tongue Distracts from the fact that you're not having fun A half empty drink warm and flat in your hand Allows you to think that it's all gone to plan

Next genre: Indie Rock from Northampton, England, with a tale of the life of those who make a living giving discount codes with a fake smile:

"I started writing the song just as the first lockdown happened, I was up in Nottingham by myself away from the rest of the boys and the only thing I could do was write.

Thematically the biggest inspiration for the song was influencer culture. I was seeing pictures of these love island contestants getting spat out onto club circuits and they all had nothing behind the eyes and looked miserable. A lot of it is about describing the experience and trying to show how quickly you can get it and how quickly it can be taken away."

The Collectors – Don't Be Afraid

Well there's no easy way out All you do is doubt All your hopes and dreams away

You need to find a way for a better day But all you got to do is pay Now you're on your own and close To the bone when you Think about it again

Representing Brit Pop, a band from Stockton-on-Tees, England with a song about understanding there's no one to blame about the life you decide to live. Just don't be afraid:

"It was just one of them days where you worry but you can't really do anything about it but daydream your thoughts away."

Lantern By Sea – Ghost Story

I was never too good at goodbyes I’d pace the backyard beneath a veil of light Oh, how was I supposed to move on With a love not gone away?

On this long road I’ve been so alone Passing through towns that I’ll never call home But God I wouldn’t take another path If my will can last the nightFrom Provo, UT, this cinematic song takes us on a journey about watching from a distance, in true Indie Folk style:

"Ghost Story was inspired by being stuck in over-romanticized memories, memories of being young and care free, memories of being in love. Constantly revisiting them and never moving on."

Arrester – The Worst People... Having the Time of Their Lives

We never miss our rent Got every seasons clothes We can't afford to buy a house Just like everyone we know

Keeping our heads down Has served us well so far Never seem to get ahead But we've got a nice new car

Open my eyes to find a shocking surprise The worst people having the time of their lives

Finally, let's travel to Toronto, CA to get a taste of Australian Indie with a song that warns about staying in our lanes, and being complacent:

"Just seeing the glee with which the right wing in the US and elsewhere we’re going about their awful business. That and feeling my middle class white guy-ness was part of the problem essentially. The whole album is kind of in that vein."

#MusicMonday 2022

What a way to finish the year! We say goodbye to 2022 with this year's compilation. 99 titles from original artists covering plenty of different genres, all representing the multiple trends independent artists are proud to establish. Have a listen:

Preview 2023 and much more on the complete Playlist

@osornios

[manikrege]

People around me always leave and I'm learning to make peace with it.

You know my biggest fear?

It's not people leaving.

It's that part of me somehow knows.

Part of me knew it the last time I chatted with my best friend who told me "we'd never drift apart because we'll always figure it out."

She moved to another country after that, we promised to keep in touch, but she gave signals indicating she wanted to have a completely fresh start after being held up all her life in the shithole we grew up in. There was no explanation, no closure, neither of us ever reached out. And every now & then, I think of her but I know our roles in each other's lives ended long ago.

I had an instinct that my "farewell" was an actual farewell, like the foreboding you get when you see the veins in the petal of a flower growing greener in wake of its wilting. But when that hunch turned true, I felt betrayed & awkward ... initially. I've seen people do this. I've done it myself to someone else but we got back together after a few years and now I kinda know how they must've felt.

Sometimes humans walk away not because they hate you or love you less.

It might also be because we just focus so much on our own journeys, especially when moving cities, forgetting that we're not mutually exclusive cars traveling on roads but rather droplets of water up in the clouds, with the fingers of our molecules woven tightly more & more with every second we spend knowing each other.

So when we choose different directions out of nowhere, we stretch out other droplets that have become part of our stories, into painful positions. And sometimes, the cloud breaks into tears.

Understand this harsh reality - you cannot avoid displacing others when you're growing. And others cannot avoid hurting you when they grow (they may not even intend it).

Growth is painful for everyone involved.

You cannot just "leave" people, even if it is for good mental health reasons or because you've outgrown them (which is totally acceptable). Thing is, you are people. And people are you.

Every song I have on my playlist is connected to the place I first heard it (I don't know how I can remember them all but I do). And many times those places have been faces of people breaking into grins as they realise I'm liking the tastes they're introducing me to.

What am I supposed to do after these folks have left? Disassociate? Detach? Forget, forgive, move on? I wish it was that easy.

I listened as a special someone tell me recently over call that they don't like me the way they thought they would and I should look elsewhere. Like it's a job and I'm being fired. What is one exactly supposed to do when one hears that?

The worst part is, I knew it this time, too. As I stood in the lift with them weeks ago, giving them a farewell hug before they flew off for the holidays, my heart told me it would be the last time I get to be with them.

I wish I acted on it. I wish I hugged them a little longer and tighter. I wish I made them make some sort of a promise.

But you can't "make" people like you or stay around if they don't want to. And until recently, I used to feel so helpless, anxious and emotionally naked whenever it hit me that I cannot predict the time horizons of most of my relationships.

What these experiences have taught me is that building a relationship, romantic or platonic or professional, has very little to do with love or intensity. Because I know for sure that I loved and gave everything authentically in every relationship that was destroyed for some reason.

Love is an emotion. It comes and flows and goes. It can change, just as people do.

Relationships are an equation of comfort divided over phases of change. To organisms that are constantly changing, which is you and me, comfort can mean giving each other healthy space, trusting judgements, co-operating, being honest and reliable, making yourself available, supporting their dreams, knowing what they like and delivering more of it, being OK about each other's tastes & priorities getting re-arranged over the years, etc.

But at the end of the day, comfort means comfort only yes. And this comfort is also a variable - it changes unequally for different people. Some of us grow out of the zone, willingly or because life tells us we must, while it may have become home for the other half.

Some of us with commitment issues panic when we see that home taking shape so we take premature evasive methods, thinking that it'll be easier if things end before they settle down. But I've spent just a few hours with people and loved them so much, so this stupid idea of time spent together being equal to how close we're with someone completely knocks me out.

If people around us always seem to leave, maybe it's because we look at them as entries & exits? So in response, we either clamp up into ourselves or let bitterness take over.

The problem with seeing relationships as events with beginnings and endings is that it assumes that the characters in it will always stay the same.

Never happens! I will be a different person next year, and a completely different one in a decade by the power of compounding. You will be, too.

I've been with friends who've been four different people over the duration I've known them for. The only reason I think I stuck by is that maybe those changes have aligned with mine or what I think are good for both of us.

This doesn't happen all the time. Sometimes we change against the favour of those who we love. And so we grow apart. That's completely okay.

Maybe for just a moment, if we allow ourselves to just get hurt & grieve in the unfairness of how we're built rather than trying so hard to keep everything together, then maybe it'll hurt for a shorter time.

I am telling myself I met a version of someone when they were perfect for me at that point of time and vice versa. And we're no longer those people because so much has happened so fast. And even if we said so many hurtful things that day, maybe all we were trying to say is that we miss each other an awful lot and we're afraid of it meaning something.

I am learning to let myself get to know people without making up plans for them. I'm learning to build new friendships without feeling the burden of having to maintain them forever.

I am learning to normalize missing someone without feeling guilty about it. We can miss people who hurt us, too, because we miss the parts of them that helped us heal at that point.

It will hurt less once you understand that every person you've met and are about to meet, is a droplet swinging from cloud to cloud, pouring down on hills that hold caves within. You can be interlinked with so many people but are never bound or dependent on them. You'll be fine on your own when it's dawn. Your relationships will always be fluid and unpredictable, their only goal is to give you the chance to craft layer after layer in the caverns of your soul.

People will leave because people are not contracts. And even contracts fall apart.

So go ahead & listen to the songs they liked and let the tune make you feel whatever it is.

Cherish the memories you made. Learn from the mistakes. Rather than trying hard to move on and put things behind, collect the memories and find your strength in keeping them close.

Lastly, every time you feel you're getting more & more broken with every person who leaves, and fear that you will become completely incapable of loving by the time you meet someone actually worthy, just remember that many times, a string of broken seashells can be the most beautiful ornament from the beach.

[lordfrezon]

It’s 2023

I played video games and became a Dr. last year.

Let’s go over that first one.

Here’s a list of (most) of the video games I played this year, in a semblance of order of how much I think they’re good. Order subjective and up to change. But enjoy.

1. This position was up in the air for a while. Both games 1 & 2 could switch in a week, but at the time of writing, my favorite game I played this year has to be Elden Ring.

Elden Ring is a triumph of everything that makes video games great. Alternative story telling. Beautiful environments. Great music. And an open style of gameplay that allows and rewards experimentation. A triumph of a game by FromSoft and likely their best game ever made.

It's not perfect; the difficulty swings wildly, and like Breath of the Wild before it so much of the thrill is in the discovery that repeat playthroughs really lose a lot. But this truly is the current pinnacle of open world video games.

2. Just and this next game is honored to share it's spot next to Elden Ring, Elden Ring is equally as honored to be next to my number 2 game, Vampire Survivors. A game that is custom made to deliver serotonin directly into your brain. All the excitement of a slot machine with none of the predation. A game that proves greatness doesn't need a high cost, or great visuals, or the soundtrack of the year, just the ability to allow it's players to go nuts and have fun. To reduce the buttons to 5, to take away so much "agency" so players can focus on the decisions that matter. The DLC almost pushed this ahead of Elden Ring. And make no mistake, I will play (and have played) this game more than I will ever play Elden Ring. There is just so much that you can do.

3. I wanted to wait to write this list until I finished a particular game, thinking it might make the list. And at the #3 spot, Ultrakill delivers. Like DOOM Eternal on amphetamines, Ultrakill is a relentless, hardcore, high intensity experience where the only thing standing between you can getting destroyed is the fresh blood of your enemies. This isn’t an easy game, it’s punishing at times, but hot damn is it fun and it is still in early access. Can’t wait for Part 3: Godfist Suicide. Like come on.

4. Is it cheating to have an 18 year old game on my games of the year list? Maybe, but I first played Ace Combat 5 this year, so it makes the list at the #4 spot. Because it's insane. I've got a full review of this one but suffice it to say Ace Combat 4, 5, and Zero are probably the best trilogy of games ever.

5. At number 5, we have Sucker for Love: First Date, which while not the scariest game I played this year (thanks Anatomy! ) was way more unnerving than the silly concept of dating lovecraftian monsters seemed at first blush. Guess that as long as Lovecraft himself ain't writing, eldritch stuff is just real good.

6. Prey rounds out the top 6, an immersive sim that is great fun for 15 hours, and kinda plodding for 5 more but still a time I'd recommend. Full review for this one exists elsewhere too.

7. Procession to Calvary comes in at 7. While not high art (unlike what it's spoofing), the game is silly enough and a decent enough puzzle game that I can recommend it without many caveats. You're a "noble" knight on her quest to kill the heathens when you get told, hey, the war is over and you can't kill anyone anymore. Naturally, this upsets you, but you do get a chance to kill once more, with the enemy leader still being alive and all. So you hunt him down to get your last hurrah of murder in. It's not perfect, but it has enough charm for it's short runtime so deserving of a recommend.

Interlude: I played a bunch of things that I’ve previously beaten/written about in years past, so just gonna list some of those off.

Project Wingman: Still great, still fun. 100% recommend.

Katana Zero: See above, this is one of the best games of the past decade for sure.

Hollow Knight: I replayed the bangers this year, what can I say.

Ace Combat 4: yep more bangers.

Metal Gear Rising: eventually I’ll stop listing off contenders for top games ever made.

The Stanley Parable (ultra deluxe): but that time’s not now. Also this one is technically new and actually well worth it even if you played the original.

Bloodborne: another all-time GOAT.

Path of Exile: This one was real weird. It started off fantastic with the first two leagues, but Lake of Kalandra was turbo ass and had me uninstalling the game. Current league is back up to par, and am having fun, but the future of the game is kinda shakey.

League of Legends: Game is still garbage, but friends still want to play.

Dead by Daylight: Ditto.

End Interlude

Now for a list of stuff that doesn’t make the top 7, an arbitrary cutoff point.

Anatomy: Among the scariest video games I have ever interacted with. It's fucked.

Last Epoch: When PoE was crap, I played this. It’s... fine. There’s not much egregiously wrong with it (except the current final boss lol). It’s less diverse than PoE though so that’s something. But still, fine.

Neon White: I didn’t finish, but I had some fun with this one. Then it started hitting the wrong parts of my brain. Ya know, the ones focused on perfectionism and frustration. So put it aside. But the game is pretty cool.

Hypnospace Outlaw: Best wish fulfillment game ever, I played for 2 hours, realized my in-game boss was an abusive asshat, and I decided the most in character thing to do was quit my job and uninstalled the game. 10/10.

Halo 1: I had never played the original Halo. Probably should have kept it that way because it’s... not great.

Deep Rock Galactic: This is a game that’s pretty good if you want to do something repetitive. But I have a lot of things that do that, and this wasn’t the best of those.

Risk of Rain 2: This one was too much for me, godspeed if you like it.

Ace Combat 7: This game sucks. Except for the DLC. Which just shows how much the rest sucks.

Have a bunch of things I’ve started but not finished (and do intend to finish), but this wraps up all the stuff I can think of for now. Video games good.

[edengarden]

(google says about -18 celsius is the same as 0 fahrenheit) (also i’ve been reading way too many prep/jock x outcast fake dating fics recently) [tw cigarettes]

“so what’s your superpower, princess?”

[person b] adjusted their jacket, clearly nervous but clearly trying so hard to hide it behind a wall of disapproval. “not that it’s anything you’d need to know for a dumb fake relationship, but i can breathe smoke.”

[person a] took a drag of their cigarette. “so can i, cupcake,” they said, voice raspy as smoke indeed curled out of their lips, “got anything else?”

I've got zero experience writing for toji. i have never read toji fanfics ever. i barely have a grasp on his character. but fuck it, i'm writing a little something, this sparked it! Although i switched it up a lot lol

Make yourself useful

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x reader

Synopsis: When an intel agent and an assassin have to infiltrate the mafia as a soon-to-be-wedded couple to gain information. Oh; and as someone of more than decent intelligence, you’re not very fond of Toji. How fun!

Warnings: none, really. Toji being a flirt and borderline insufferable.

Dread filled your veins as you waited for your partner. The partner supposed to infiltrate some stupid mafia with you, posing as some stupid couple with. Honestly; there must have been better characters to enact. Better people to be than some stupid, fictional powercouple. You could have gone in as extra security, or cleaning staff, or you could have gone as simple acquaintances. Working individually couldn’t have been that bad, considering that working with him would feel the same, but worse.

Now keep in mind that, had your mission partner been different, maybe you wouldn't be pissed. The agency is full of very capable, very skilled and enhanced individuals. The asshole they paired you with was simply the exception to the rule. A fluke that had you hating this mission before it was even completely debriefed to you.

The doors of the conference room swung open, earning your attention as you watched that bastard of a Fushiguro walk in. The cigarette in his mouth looked fresh. You almost wanted to laugh at the thought of him lighting it simply for this show he was putting on. His eyes swept the room, giving you an acknowledging nod when they met yours. "You’re my fiancé?"

"No, actually, it's the chair." You nodded at the furniture next to you. Of course you were the pretend fiancé. There was no one else in the room, damn it. Your name was on the case file.

Your little outburst of sarcasm earned a chuckle from him. Toji sauntered to you, completely unashamed in the fact that his eyes were taking in every single part of you. As if he was evaluating just what he was working with. And, to be honest, he didn't find much on the surface. Because, unlike him, you worked with intel. While he was the brawn that would probably charge (and according to his mission history; kill) first and never ask questions, squeezing info from people (and leaving them capable of answering questions later) was literally all you knew.

"Well, my love," He crooned, fixing his already tight t-shirt that had been riding up his abdomen. "Tell me; what's your superpower, hm? Mind reading?" Turns out that he wasn't illiterate after all! He read a part of your file. But not the part about abilities, obviously.

"Not that it'll be of much help on the mission, but I can breathe smoke." You muttered, avoiding his expectant gaze. After years of making up for such a useless ability, you still couldn't quite escape the humiliation of it. Especially in front of a man who, as an assassin, probably expected to be paired with someone on his level, physically. He most likely was unaware that you were here to level out his... difficulties elsewhere. But mostly to monitor him.

The raven haired man let out another series of deep chuckles. His raspy voice, which was most likely a side effect of smoking (if he wasn't doing it simply for show), seemed to have travelled. It sounded near you. Out of pure curiosity, you lifted your gaze once more.

A sudden cloud of smoke had you squinting. You grimaced at the feeling of his hot breath on your face. When the smoke spread and dissipated into the air, you frowned at Toji. You weren't exactly enjoying his forced second-hand smoking. "That's not very special, darling. I can do it too." He breathed. Too close. This man, albeit his new status of being your fiancé, was way too close for this to be deemed professional. His eyes raked up and down your body again before they met yours, now hardening to send a spiteful glare his way. "Try to make yourself useful to me in other ways, baby. 'Kay?"

[clever-and-unique-name]

4, 5, 10 and 22?

Thank you, Mika! <33

4. How do you experience communication from parts?

Hm...me personally, I mostly feel them as strong urges and desires that feel strangely foreign to me. It doesn't feel like "me" wanting things, it feels like being nudged in that direction by someone else--someone else's anticipation, someone else's fear, someone else's anger. I feel it all as signals in my body that don't register in my conscious thought, and in the past I would be left bemused in the best cases, terrified in the worst because it felt like my body was being "hijacked" by emotions and thoughts I didn't personally have.

Sometimes, but not often, I "hear" the others as spoken words inside. It's rarely very clear to me, it sort of fades into my "hearing" and I catch the main gist of what they actually said. (I tend to listen to music a lot to drown it out when I'm overwhelmed.)

(5 answered elsewhere)

10. What does denial look like for you?

Mm...very quiet, actually. I rarely get big debilitating denial crashes anymore. I think I've made it to a peaceful place where...I accept that some less-than-ideal things happened to me during childhood (I can even call it "trauma" sometimes), and those things disrupted my ability to form an integrated identity. I have dissociated parts of self--whether that means I have CPTSD, OSDD, DID, it doesn't really matter to me. They're here. They make themselves known whether I like it or not, whether I want to accept it or not. And I live with that daily.

I think that since I've accepted their presence and the reasons for them being here--however vague and reluctant that acceptance is--there's less of a push for them to "prove" themselves to me. Prove their trauma to me. Which means I get overwhelmed less, and fall into denial less.

It still happens, but it's, like I said, quiet. Faint musings of "What if I'm making this all up?" countered with someone else's sharp "Who the fuck cares? You're just living your life." Wondering when I'm going to hear from the others again, or when our Symptoms are going to flare up.

Of course, that's all just my personal account of it. I wonder if others still experience strong bouts of denial. I'm honestly not sure.

22. What would the perfect day look like to you?

Hmm...I wonder...

I would wake up late to a quiet house, and make the snoozing ferrets food while husband cooked us breakfast. We would go for a walk in the empty woods, picking blackberries together until we got to a shady clearing to have an afternoon snooze. Then we'd make our way home, have some fresh blackberry snacks, and play our favorite videogames together with friends until we couldn't stay awake any longer. (Astrid insists that we'd end the day with...well, if you know her, you know what she wants.)

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust / 9 - the moments of peace

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

—

a/n - hi! I've gotten some requests to start a tag list for this series. If you’d like to be tagged with updates, please send me an ask / message / reply! Thank you. :)

—

ch 9 | the moments of peace

“To the left, to the left!” 

With an embarrassing screech, you lunged forward, desperately searching for any movement in the dry grass. You came up empty. Adrenaline still hot in your veins, you jumped violently when Xiangling pat you on the shoulder.

“ Your left,” Xiangling corrected, pointing in the opposite direction of which you threw yourself. 

You both stared wordlessly for a moment as the squirrel scurried away and out of sight. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks hot against the morning air. This was the third expedition you’d embarked on so far, and you’d still yet to catch anything that could move faster than a sweet flower.

“That’s okay! Just means that I’ll need to come up with some dishes to make with the ingredients we have so far!” You could almost hear the gears grinding in her brain as she rummaged through the basket of plants that you had gathered, murmuring to herself. “Is this everything we gathered today?”

You hesitated before rifling through your pockets and producing the brown, lumpy object you’d found at the start of your expedition. You weren’t sure it was even edible (it certainly didn’t smell like it), but you wondered if it might suffice to salvage the botched trip, even a little. 

“OH!” Xiangling’s eyes lit up soon as she saw what was in your hand. “Where did you find this?”

You peered at her cautiously, not sure if this was a good reaction or not. Also, her voice seemed to have hit a new high and you were worried it would begin to attract monsters. 

“Uh, back there, in those ruins. There was a bunch,” you offered, pointing in the direction. “Is it usable?”

Xiangling seemed to have begun visibly vibrating. “Usable? This is Matsutake! It’s a rare mushroom, and it’s so versatile that it can be used in place of any— Oh, I’ll explain later, let’s go get them all before a boar finds them first!” 

The sun was well above the horizon by the time you gathered enough Matsutake to fill the two baskets you’d brought. Xiangling had already started a fire with some Dendro slime concentrate — the way she’d taught you to do — when you returned from washing the mushrooms in a nearby stream. 

“Could you chop the Jueyun Chilis for me, please?” Xiangling said, barely looking up from the wok. No matter how bubbly she had been, the moment she stood in front of a blazing fire and a vast array of ingredients, Xiangling always adopted a demeanor of complete calm. It was almost unnerving to watch, sometimes, how focused she could get. You hurried to obey.

“How many?”

She peered up then, the licking flames painting her grin a bright orange. “Hansi, have I taught you nothing over the past week?” She thumped her chest twice with a flour-covered hand, “in Mondstadt, they might use measurements like cups and tablespoons— but that’s not how I do things! In Liyue, we listen to our hearts. Just let Rex Lapis guide your hand!”

You stared at the chilis. If you’re just giving out guidance nowadays , you directed your silent thoughts towards the earth beneath your feet, I’d love to know what your deal with the Vision is.

In the end, you emptied just half a chili into the wok, because even just chopping it was beginning to make your eyes water. It instantly stained the hot oil a bright red. For the rest of the morning, you watched as Xiangling bustled around your little campsite, tasting this and that, asking you for various small and bewildering favors — you certainly hope that she didn’t really use the lizard tail that she had you go hunt down. 

While at first you paid careful attention to Xiangling, the sight of a piece of Cor Lapis gleaming under the morning light dragged your thoughts elsewhere — towards what ( who ) was waiting for you when you returned home. 

“Okay!” Xiangling finally said, making you jump. “Sorry that took so long! I’ve never had so much Matsutake to experiment with at once.” She held out two neatly packaged lunch boxes. “Take these, one for you, one for Mr Zhongli! It’s Matsutake Stirfry with Potatoes and Carrots! … I’ll come up with a better name later.”

You accepted the boxes with gracious thanks, just the smell wafting from them making your mouth water. 

“I really want to see the look on your face when you taste it, but we’ve been out here for a little over five hours now,” Xiangling mused. Had it really already been five? Time seemed to fly when you were with Xiangling. “You should probably hurry home or Mr. Zhongli will get worried.”

You absently thanked her again, all the while wondering at the truth of that. Zhongli had certainly seemed a little worried after the incident with Tartaglia, briefly, though he quickly returned to his usual, unreadable demeanor. The idea that someone was waiting for you, would get worried if you never came home — it was bafflingly foreign, but also… so very warm. 

As you turned to go, you could hear the grin in Xiangling’s voice when she called after you, “and here you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to help. This dish was only possible because of you, Hansi!”

Briefly and painfully, you yearned to understand how Xiangling managed to make a good thing of any situation. It seemed that there was far more than just cooking that Xiangling could teach you.

—-------------------

“Wonderfully seasoned,” Zhongli praised that afternoon, and you prayed that he didn’t notice your cheeks blushing as red as the chili oil. “A perfect balance of spice. Did you help make this?”

You bit back a smile as you nodded, and sent Rex Lapis your silent thanks for his... guidance. 

—-------------------

Easing into Zhongli’s life was easier than you would ever have imagined. 

After your disastrous breakfast incident, you had made a habit of waking early and accompanying him on his walks in the morning — at first to make up for setting his house on fire, then later, out of enjoyment. You found yourself looking forward to your long walks, breathing in the fresh air and seeing Liyue Harbor bathed in the dawnlight. 

Before you knew it, you had memorized a few things about the mornings of Liyue: which routes to Yujing Terrace let you catch the early sunrise; what time Wanmin restaurant’s fresh shao’bing buns come out of the oven; and when little old Madame Ping, whom Zhongli always greeted respectfully, hobbled up the hill to water the glaze lilies. 

 It was only when Zhongli mentioned black perch stew and you lamented that Mr. Sun from the fish market wouldn’t get new stock until Monday, that you realized just how deeply entrenched in domestic life you had become.

There were other things you noticed too; the street corner where you used to play, sleep and beg. The sink behind the souvenir shop that you snuck to at night just to get a drink of clean water. Children who’d had the misfortune of being born like you, into families who couldn’t imagine feeding another mouth. 

These things struck you with increasing guilt — of every child of Liyue who grew up without a home, what made you deserving of salvation? — but mostly, with fear. If Zhongli got tired of you, if you once again found yourself in that life... 

Well. 

You swept those thoughts deep deep deeper into your head, and forged on.

—-------------------

“Another umbrella, Mr. Zhongli?” You raised a brow. When had you begun to point out his eccentric purchases? You weren’t sure. “We’ve bought four today.” 

“Ah,” Zhongli smiled, already reaching for the fifth. “Yes, so we have. Do you like white rabbit candy? Let’s get two bags.”

Resigned, you followed along, your exasperation quickly fizzling out as soon as you turned a corner and came face to face with the wide-eyed, dirt-smeared faces of a group of orphans. Dressed in lovely clean clothes and with so much color in your cheeks — you couldn’t imagine how you looked to them. You saw so much of yourself in their hungry gazes that you had to look away. 

You watched as Zhongli bent down so that he met them at eye level. “Please, accept these,” he held out the umbrellas, and suddenly you began finding it hard to breathe, “it looks like there’s a storm coming. And also, won’t you all also take some sweets—?”

—-------------------

You, of course, kept your contract with Zhongli, as religiously as you would one with an Adeptus, or Rex Lapis himself. Each book that you enjoyed, you meticulously brought to him as though an offering, and each time, he seemed to have something to offer of his own. A book about the Five Yaksha, tales of the Dragon King, the legend of how Guyun Stone Forest was formed, memoirs from Guili Assembly — Zhongli always had some twist of his own to add to the stories. 

“Did you know that before they came to serve Rex Lapis, the Yaksha were bound to a cruel, tyrannical God? Yet when they were freed, they chose to honor a contract to protect the humans of Liyue. How admirable.”

“Precious few stories speak of it, but the Dragon King was not sealed by Rex Lapis due to a disagreement, but rather, because he broke a contract. What contract exactly? Well, I can’t be ruining too many books for you now, can I, Hansi?”

“These illustrations of the spears that originally comprise Guyun Stone Forest are… certainly interesting. Why did they deem that stone spears formed from the essence of Geo themselves would possess tassels and a ribbon? I doubt that during the Archon War, Rex Lapis had time to consider the appearance of his weapons.” 

“My my, these books certainly are taking their liberties with their descriptions of the Goddess of Dust. Kind, yes, gentle, perhaps, but weak? Why, is the Guizhong Ballista not one of the most powerful mechanisms in all of Liyue, even thousands of years after it was built? I would truly like to see what these authors consider strength.” 

Each time you marveled at his vast pools of knowledge, Zhongli would, without fail, exhale deeply and smile his small smile. “I have a good memory,” was always his explanation. You couldn’t help but wonder just how many books the man had read in his lifetime — and where he found the time to do anything else. 

While you were frequently more than impressed by his reserve of stories, the sentiment did not seem to extend to others in Liyue. More than one time had you and Zhongli been escorted, forcibly, from the Third-Round Knockout after your companion stood up to correct the storyteller on the stage. 

The first time, you were mortified, though by the sixth you had learned to laugh it off as breezily as Zhongli did.

—-------------------

Sometimes, you recalled your earliest days at Zhongli’s house; how he had told you that your first order of business was to recover your health. 

You had recovered, and so, what was next to come? 

The house was always spotless despite the increasing number of items that Zhongli seemed to bring home each day from his walks. More than once, you reflected on his claims that he needed household help, and realized that he may not have been entirely truthful.

On particularly bad days, when the haze of doubt threatened to overtake every logical thought in your mind, you waited for his gaze to turn cruel, for his fingers to grip you painfully and for him to take whatever he wanted. 

Yet — never did he so much as touch you. 

—-------------------

The Vision sat as heavily in your conscience as it did in your bedside table.

You opened the drawer frequently to stare at the thing, more of a plague on you than a blessing, at this point. If you could not use it, then it was just an ornament — an ornament that put your  amicable acquaintanceship with Zhongli at risk. 

If he were to find out on his own, it would be so much worse than if you’d told him. The very notion of hurt, betrayal and fury in those amber eyes was almost too much for you to hear.

And so, one day, you decided that it would simply be best if you told him.

—-------------------

You rehearsed a script for hours on end, trying to guess each and every one of Zhongli’s potential reactions. Certainly, he would be upset, perhaps disappointed. You were almost sure that he would not hurt you over the discovery. And even if he did, perhaps it wouldn’t be anything you didn’t deserve, for lying for so long.

When you were finally ready, your knock on his door was answered by a deep, rich, “yes?” 

You had never seen the inside of Zhongli’s room before, and so as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt at the idea of seeing more of the man, learning more about him.

Your gaze first laid upon his face, edged silver in the moonlight. Then, immediately, it trailed downwards, to his shoulders, then—

Zhongli wasn’t wearing even a scrap of clothing. 

“Oh,” he said, slightly raised brows betraying nothing but mild surprise, “I was changing.” 

Wordlessly, you slammed the door shut and returned to your room.

—-------------------

When Zhongli came knocking ten minutes later, you were still a little dazed. 

“Come in,” you called, and as he entered you were somewhat relieved to see that he was clad in his usual four layers of clothing. “Do you see how I said come in, Mr Zhongli? Because I wasn’t changing?”

“I believe what I said was ‘yes’.” It was never easy to tell what Zhongli was thinking, with his carefully neutral expression, but was there a small smile in his voice there?

“You can’t—“ you realized with a certain degree of shock at how casually you had begun to address Zhongli. (You searched yourself for fear, and found none.) “—You can’t just say ‘yes’ when what you mean is ‘hang on, I’m completely nude!’” 

“I do apologize. I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zhongli said, and there was absolutely, definitely a small smile in his voice there. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Hansi?”

You opened your mouth, but paused. 

In the darkness of his room, you had barely been able to make out what seemed to be odd lines down his arms and chest — tattoos? You hadn’t expected a nobleman like him to be so covered in them. But more importantly, in the few seconds you had beheld Zhongli’s well-toned form, you had seen what you knew all too well — scars, raked across his torso, stomach, legs, the raised tissue gleaming under the moonlight. 

He had mentioned he had been fighting all his life, that he had been a soldier— but it was difficult to imagine even the Millelith facing foes so formidable that it could have left such injuries, and so many. What could have hurt him so badly? 

What was he hiding from you?

The way he was looking at you expectantly suddenly felt strangely alien; the same Zhongli you had come to know and trust, but— not quite.

And so, you swallowed your question about the Vision. “Xiangling wanted me to get a backpack,” you said instead, “for when we gather herbs. Do you think it would be okay if we got one next time, Mr. Zhongli? I promise to pay you back for it when I earn enough Mora.”

“Hansi,” he said, after his usual few seconds of careful studying, and he sounded so concerned that it was almost comical. “Whatever gave you the impression that you would be forced to pay for anything of the sort while living under my roof?” 

—-------------------

Perhaps in a valiant attempt to dissuade you of your sudden preoccupation with paying for things, Zhongli began to shower you with them. The first of the gifts was a beautiful bookmark, a thin piece of metal shaped to look like the Xiao lanterns of the Lantern Rite. It seemed to glow iridescent under lamplight, and you loved it so much that you carried it everywhere you went, the same way you never took off your glaze lily necklace.

Once Zhongli had ascertained that you did not mind gifts, and in fact enjoyed them, the floodgates swung open. Over the next few weeks, he would bring you various small items each time he returned from work or a walk: a Noctilucuous Jade hairpin, a painting of Luhua Pool, a golden gemstone that he called “Prithiva Topaz”, a small and surprisingly heavy pillar-shaped charm which he claimed came from a formidable monster from Guyun Stone Forest—

And on the most barren days, when the bustling markets of Liyue offered nothing that could meet Zhongli’s most particular standards, he would bring home various steamed buns, fresh fruit, and beverages, noting with keen amber eyes which ones were your favorites. Today, he had brought back a pitcher of “the finest gui’hua tea Liyue has to offer”. 

Sitting in a room full of memorabilia that Zhongli had picked out for you, and sipping hot tea that warmed you to your core, you began to understand the feeling of home.

—-

The men were furious. You could feel their blunt rage in the air, tense enough to cut with a blade. If your wrists weren’t tied up, you might have been able to make a run for it. 

“Welcome back. Do you know how much you cost us?” They snarled, one, two, three, four pairs of eyes staring you down. In the back, you could see the man with the scar on his eyebrow, the one who had escorted you to Zhongli. “Are you ready to pay us back?”

“Where is Mr. Zhongli?” You managed to whisper. 

“Don’t you remember? He got tired of you,” they sneered in unison. “Surely you didn’t think someone like you would be enough to satisfy his appetite?” 

Desperately, you shook your head. “He wouldn’t have. What did you do to him?”

One of them stepped forward and slapped you so hard that you briefly see white. “How stupid can you get?” His jaw cracked open into an unnatural, teeth grin, and the others followed suit all at once. “To start to trust, to start to dream ?” 

You tried to back away, but your knees would not move. They were close enough to touch now, and together, like one grotesque entity, they reached out. “You should know better by now. You should know your place .”

Before their melting, festering fingers could touch your skin, you opened your mouth and screamed for Zhongli.

—-------------------

Across the house, Zhongli’s eyes snapped open, casting the room in a golden glow.

It wouldn’t be the last, but that had been the first time you had called him simply by his name.

—-------------------

You woke up to Zhongli calling yours, and couldn’t help the violent flinch that shook your shoulders when you saw him looming over you. The relief you felt at recognizing Zhongli’s silhouette was unimaginable. 

“I heard you calling my name,” Zhongli said, raising both palms in a placating gesture. “Are you alright? Were you having a nightmare?”

Was that all it was; a dream? Your throat was hoarse — the screaming certainly wasn’t dreamed — and your chest raw from the fear and desperation. It felt like your skull was stuffed with cotton. Blindly, you reached out, relief washing away the last vestiges of the social norms instilled within you.

“You didn’t send me back?” You whispered, clutching at any patch of silk and skin you could find. “You didn’t leave?”

“No,” Zhongli met your fingers with his, holding your hand in a firm, gentle grip. He wasn’t wearing gloves, you realized absently. “Never.”

You stayed there for a few long seconds— or was it minutes? “Don’t go,” you begged when he began to pull away. Your eyelids were growing heavy, but the lingering haze of fear had you terrified of going to sleep again. “Please, don’t go.”

You heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. “I’m here, Hansi,” Zhongli said, as you watched him sit down next to your bed. He was still holding your hand. “Get some rest. I will be with you.”

Zhongli’s rich, clear voice resonated through every inch of your body. You trusted him, you realized, letting your eyes shut. You would trust him with every breath of your being.

—-------------------

When you dreamed again, you found yourself in an endless land of clouds. 

Zhongli sat in the midst of it all, eyes closed, unmoving. The soft glow of stars formed a nimbus of gold and dust around his temples. His chest rose and fell gently, and you were certain that you would see no better embodiment of peace for the rest of your life, not even if you lived for a thousand years. 

You wanted to call out to him, but to break the tranquility of the moment seemed unforgivable. 

And so for the rest of the night, you watched him breathe; and you were content.

[mysticdoodles]

hello!! as a high school student who wants to go into marine biology (or a related field) as a career, do you have any tips on how to get started? what approach should i take for college/what are some useful skills to practice and keep in mind?

Oh boy, I've never been asked this before! Bear in mind it's been a while since I did the high school-to-college song and dance, but I will do my absolute best c: I will also be answering this based on MY experience of what worked best for ME and experiences my colleagues went through to get to the same place, but you may want to try a different approach, and that's totally fine! I'm not necessarily an authority on this, and I am human, so bear with me mgfhmkdf

To start off with, having a college degree is technically not necessary, but it IS incredibly helpful and a lot of jobs in the field will require you to have at least a Bachelor's. What ultimately matters is that you have the experience the job you're gunning for requires you to have learned - college is simply a fast-track to getting that experience in a controlled environment, and an easy way to link you with internships and networking opportunities that can do the same thing outside of a school environment. A college degree also just sounds fancy on a resume, so there's that. Here's my advice, based on MY particular path, bearing in mind that you want to go through the college route (NOTE: AGAIN, this is ONE method of approach, not the be-all-end-all). This will also be dependent on whether or not you want to work WITH animals, like I did- you may want to do remote research or go on a vessel for on-water studies! Those options will also be available to you and I strongly recommend you look into them if that's your desire cx It went a bit long, so I'm putting it under a readmore to save your dashboards |D

If you can help it, don't put all your eggs in one basket. Powering through the courses you need in order to get the degree you want can certainly build your portfolio. But oddly enough, the thing that got noticed on my resume the most wasn't the course selection I took in order to be skilled with different animal clades- it was my second degree in art that made me stand out, made application reviews pause and go 'huh that's new!' and offer me interviews. So don't sweat having the perfect selection of courses under your belt! Focus on taking the ones YOU want to learn about, and they don't all have to be biology related! Pad out the rest of your electives in order to fulfill the requirements you need for the degree you want while also being something you would enjoy learning. Hell, I took a course on classical fairy tales in order to fulfill an elective (and stay sane), and I still look back on it fondly.

Do research on the colleges you want, and trust your gut feeling on which one you would be happy to join. The location and facilities of the college itself can be important. Scout out which colleges are equipped properly for the particular field you want to partake in. Some colleges have facilities with direct access to a beach for samples and providing fresh water sources for enclosures that have study animals. Some colleges are nearby to NOAA or AZA accredited facilities that would love to have extra hands assisting with their research while also providing you with valuable hands-on experience. Some facilities will be nowhere near the ocean itself and entirely remote. Take into account how each college can help you, and whether or not you'll be comfortable associating with or living nearby on-campus. One of the biggest reasons I didn't attend a particular college that accepted me was their lackluster response to my questions - when I asked if I could pursue a certain path of study, they were very wishy-washy and vague, so I ultimately chose to go elsewhere.

Do internships! Internships are INCREDIBLY valuable for both your resume and your practical experience in the field. Studying animal skeletons in class and doing simulated pattern studies on algae growth in tide pools or calculating bio-accumulation of mercury in sport fish will do nothing to prepare you for what it's like to work in an actual husbandry environment. It can be dirty, hot, humid, and no matter what you will be getting wet. Equipment can be the highest top of the line sand filter, or a sieve someone cut out of an old ice cream tub. Internships also strongly encourage team-building skills, because marine animals are very high maintenance, and the simple reality is that it's just so much easier when you have colleagues helping you. This is another time to focus on learning! And don't worry too much about WHERE necessarily you take these internships- the location doesn't matter so much as WHAT you learned while you were there. Did you learn water quality control? System maintenance? Quarantine procedures? Husbandry basics? Take notes!

Get PAID experience in animal care of some form if you want to go into a field that involves husbandry. This is something that personally tripped me up because only ONE job I ever applied for told me that this was something heavily desired. Internships are crucial, but some jobs in marine biology will specifically require you to have been paid in a position of animal care at some point or another. It's a stupid obstacle, I know- what should it matter whether or not you got paid as long as you learned what was important? This can be anything from working as a contracted aquarium maintenance worker for folks who own saltwater tanks (usually rich people lmao), to a paid internship with NOAA hatcheries, to working at Petsmart in the fish section. It really doesn't matter where, as long as you did work involving animal husbandry and maintenance, and were paid for your time.

If you are not already, GET. SCUBA. CERTIFIED. I cannot emphasize enough how HUGE scuba certification can be on your resume going forward.

Had to add this after due to text block limits (boooo): In college, you'll have to get through the weeds of introductory courses before you actually get to the good stuff. Nearly every science major requires you to go through a certain number of math, chemistry, and other universally applicable "weed-out" subjects, and you have no choice but to power through those to get to specialized instruction like vertebrate anatomy or marine mammal studies. As someone with ADHD who hates the tedious nonsense, this was rough for me xD Don't get discouraged if those first courses are a slog, they're kind of designed to be that way. If you decide the path ultimately isn't the one you want to follow, you have time! You are welcome to switch to another and try something else you think you'd enjoy studying, there's absolutely no shame in it :)

When you transfer from college to research/employment, don't worry about getting a job in the field right out of the gate- it's extremely competitive right now, and opening that door can be a challenge. Get a foothold in other ways! Assist with student research, get entry level jobs in another department at the same facility or similar, or even get another unrelated job to pay the bills while you build up your skills. You'd be surprised how much any sort of job can add to your portfolio! A lot of my colleagues had retail jobs before they joined us.

As for useful skills, as a baseline you need to learn proper water quality maintenance for enclosures - no matter where you work, marine animals require extremely specific parameters for their living situations. And they'll vary by the animal! Be it a five-gallon quarantine tank for an anemone or a multi-thousand-gallon enclosure for a sea lion in rehab. Some animals do better in schools, and some are better in less crowded environments or can be the only individual of that family present without there being inter-species conflict. Understand the nitrogen cycle, and how to properly do a water change without endangering the animals if they're still present in the environment. You WILL be doing this at every facility, and that is a promise. It's also very good to be adaptable, and respond to change, because the animals' needs can shift on a dime- for example, you might get called for a crisis that sprung up in the middle of feeding (or even the middle of the night!), like a leak sprung on the side of a holding environment and someone needs to manage an emergency dive while someone seals the breach. Do what needs to be done for the sake of protecting the animals, because they're YOUR animals now. And as a final note, try to learn the scientific names for the animals in particular that you'd like to study and work with- it's not imperative, but in my experience it helps to communicate with a lot of the Old Salt professionals and tracking system oriented guys, since they usually use the abbreviated scientific names over the common name (Like Boops boops would be Bboo). Very few facilities, but SOME, may require you to know at least a few scientific names of animals on site after a certain time period working for them.

That's all I can think of at the moment, but hopefully this helps at least somewhat!

I need to finish my laundry ||D

[katsukikitten]

Back at it again since tumblr didnt want me in the tags the first time

Bakugou was irritable today. Not that his irritability was anything new but every little thing set his skill crawling. His forearms littered with threatening pops as he bared his teeth to anyone brave enough to look his way. 

He figured the only way to get his agitation out was to hit something, anything.

 So he headed to one of the two closest gyms from his small apartment to blow off some much needed steam. The local 24 hour gym that was open to the public was a no go, not just because it was always over crowded but also because he got banned after cussing out some damn extras who were snapping pictures of him instead of working out like one should. Leaving his only other option to be the agency's "gym". 

When he first set foot into the sorry excuse of a gym he demanded a better upgrade for it, if they expected to keep him and Kirishima in top shape. Otherwise he would begin to look elsewhere considering other agencies were dying to have the newest upcoming pro hero in their rankings. The agency obliged, delivering his expectations and more in less than a week. Guess being in the top five really did have its perks. 

The ash blonde pulls his shiny new coupe into the parking garage and finds a spot closest to the entrance. He grabs for his water bottle from the passenger seat before exiting the car, locking his black beauty as he made his way inside.  He swipes his fob over the keypad before it beeps while flashing green, allowing him entrance to the back door of the basement. Walking past the long corridor of support labs that had long since closed to get to the gym. The rooms illuminated by the low light of locked computers, secrets and redesigns stowed away behind bullet proof glass. 

Nearing the end of the dimly lit hall he spies harsh light flooding onto the linoleum floor, indicating that someone seemed to be collecting some major overtime. From his experiences at UA he figured each room would be filled to the brim with over eager support, eccentrically yelling at one another over specs and improvements, sharing their love of science at a volume much too high for Bakugou's taste. Shortly after his hero debut he discovered just how wrong he was about the support labs. He had needed a 2am, mid shift, costume adjustment so he came here, expecting the place to be brimming with brilliant minds only to find one person still working. 

So it should be no surprise that at 10:30 at night there was one room that was clearly occupied. Still a rare curiosity takes over the hot head as he peeks into the room while passing, wondering if he will catch a glimpse of you again. 

He found you odd, as you seemed to be nocturnal or better yet maybe you didn't sleep at all. No need for it as your hunger for knowledge seemed to outweigh any basic human need.

Bakugou had only seen you a handful of times, here and there in passing towards the gym at all hours of the day and night. Maybe it was just coincidence that he would find you hunched over something with this gleam in your eye as you destroyed and rebuilt the item over and over again.  

He shakes his head, he doesn't get it. Doesn't get why you dedicate so much time when no one else in your department seemed to give as much of a damn as you did. Or maybe he did get it, maybe it was similar to how he pushes himself so he can be number one, except yours was just for intellectual stimulation. 

After an hour and a half of throwing weights and punches around and becoming heavily drenched in sweat, Bakugou finally calls it a night. Gulping water from his water bottle before wiping at the sheen that collected on his forehead. He sighs out, before catching himself in the mirror. Smirking as he flexes, letting go a few pops. Admiring not only his improved physique but also his new hair style. Sides faded but top long, ash strands looking borderline messy, as if someone had just caught him and a lover kissing heavily in a dark hall during a house party, their fingers desperately pulling at his hair. 

He reaches for the ceiling in a grunting stretch as a yawn forces its way out. He leaves the gym, switching off the lights before making his way back to the parking garage. A furrow of his brow as he notices the light to your lab is still on, maybe you had forgotten to kill the light when you left or maybe you were still tinkering away.  Crimson eyes peer into the room, spying you as you begin to stretch. Your eyes latch onto his as he watches your expression go from concentrated to elated. You jump from your seat, causing Bakugou's brow to furrow more before you're flinging open the door and yanking at his wrist.

"Wow what are the odds?! Well I guess they would be around 4.64% considering you don't normally frequent this gym but I should also factor in your recent ban raising it up to.." 

"Oi, shitty woman, quit the nerd talk!" He yanks his wrist from your small, delicate hands. Totally unsure of what your name is and even if he did know it, he would sooner address you with an insult than your family name. 

"Ah I forget, not everyone loves numbers. But still I am quite lucky tonight." You beam up at him, hair threatening to fall loose from its haphazardly shaped bun, "You're just the man I needed to see, Bakugou." 

He isn't sure why but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks, was it your bright smile that threw him so off guard or was it the way your lips formed around his name?

He sucks his teeth, looking away from you with crossed arms. 

"Well I'm sweaty as fuck, so you really don't need me." He huffs but before he can turn on his heel you're clamping cool black metal to his forearms. You guide him to the door to the testing area of your lab, turning his arms this way and that to make sure your measurements are perfect as you ramble on. 

"No! No! That is the perfect condition for this experiment. I've been working on your winter costume since there are deficiencies with your current one. Since you, and I'm sure you already know, sweat less in the winter there needs to be some sort of counter balance to offset the possibility of little to no stored sweat. Preventive measures could be made sure and you collect sweat from previous activities but 'stale' sweat does not ignite as quickly or as violently as fresh sweat. One could argue that using heavier and denser materials could help aid in more sweat production but this risks overheating should a mission need you inside or a rapid change in environment all together outweight any benefit. So not only are these bracers less obnoxious than your gauntlets, no offense, but they collect 56 to even 62% more of expandable sweat compared to the normal 54% all while reducing the amount needed for ignition. Sure my colleagues could say that's a marginal improvement at best but…" Heat radiates off of him in waves, pulling your eye upwards. You're met with a red hot gaze that seems to rake over your skin. An odd chill runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. 

Nerd talk.  And rambling nerd talk at that. 

All the while Bakugou wonders why your hands are so damn cold and yet they feel good, soothing to his warmed skin. Refreshing even as it reminds him of a passing breeze in the summer or hiding in the shade from the sun.

A bit of heat rushes into your cheeks as you suddenly realize how close you are to THE Ground Zero. Someone who you knew so intimately through paper and yet knew nothing about all at the same time. You knew his measurements, the circumference of his head, his biceps, the number of inches around his thighs. Hell, you had them memorized since the big boss upstairs assigned you his costume and accessories well over a year ago. And yet you couldn't even fathom to name his favorite color or favorite food for that matter.

You swallow thickly, clearing your throat as you move on, dropping his deadly hands as you do.

"Ah, anyway, these bracers are designed to help with not only better sweat collection in both summer and winter but to aid in some stealth missions as they make no sound compared to your heavy gauntlets." You smile at him once more causing his stomach to flip before those small icy hands press harshly into his toned hot back, pushing him into the testing chamber behind diamond glass. 

"I just need you to test them. I need to make sure they can withstand your heat and power." With that you shut him away, quickly trotting to the mic on the other side. Pressing the button to speak as he turns his arms over looking at the smooth black material 

"Now, remember, it takes less sweat. So don't go all out!" At first you worry it falls on deaf ears before he gives a nod your way. Suddenly you are in awe of the power house that stands before you as his expression changes from utter agitation to complete determined focus, all with something as simple as a deep breath out. He focuses on producing enough sweat to ignite, calling on his quirk as if it were an extension of himself. Pooling it onto his skin, permeating the air with the slight smell of burnt sugar before he let's go a small pop. 

But the medium sized explosion he had expected was anything but what was produced.  Suddenly the brace on his arm explodes from the pressure as does the diamond glass in the room. Fear grips Bakugou as shards of glass go flying towards you before you flick your wrist harshly.  

The deadly shards bypass you, glistening shrapnel sinks deeply into the tile floor around you like a piece of jagged art.

And yet you seem unphased, delighted even as a manic smile paints your lips before it sours. Eyes noticing that the bracer barely stood up to the challenge. 

"Fuck…the density still cannot withstand the joules output or force that Bakugou is capable of…" A string of murmurs that remind him all too much of Deku as your fingers curl in the air, calling forth the failed experiment with unseen forces. The blonde long forgotten as you hunch over the workbench, going back to square one. 

Crimson eyes dissect your form and actions as you pull various books and tools towards you with the influence of your quirk, hovering around the work space. 

Suddenly you feel heat radiating behind you when normally you're enveloped in the cool air of the air conditioning, kept extra low in the labs to prevent overheating of parts. You look over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the Pro hero who's beginning to wonder why you're in support with a quirk like that. 

"I know, I know. The last bus and train left hours ago. I'll catch them in the morning." You guess at why he's lingering as you wave him off with your hand. He's caught off guard by your statement before he notices the clock, going to open his mouth to scold before snapping it shut. 

Why should he care if you work through the night? What was he gonna do? Offer you a ride when he didn't even know your name? 

He sucks his teeth biting out as he leaves. 

"Just call me when you're ready to test these again." 

Weeks pass and it's as you never left the lab. Glued to the same spot as he tests the product every other week only for you to grow more and more frustrated with each failure punctuated by shattered bracers. 

And every time he enters the lab room he learns something new about you. He can tell when or if you've left the lab for longer than a few minutes by how tidy the space is or lack thereof. A chaotic circle encompasses you filled with random items that you hope will ignite a spark of inspiration. Anything from books to thin sheets of metal and even to soft fabrics that haphazardly lay atop metal tools. Anything one could possibly imagine was probably there, sitting along-side several empty cups that once held iced coffee. He notices the bags beneath your eyes as they darken with each passing week and he's beginning to wonder if you've ever left as he leaves anywhere between 12 to 3am most nights. 

Tonight is no different as he makes his way to the gym at midnight while you're hunched over his bracers. A part of him wants to tell you to stop being an idiot, to rip you from your little stool and drag you to your bed or wherever the fuck you'll sleep as the other part points out 'why do you fucking care?' So he watches silently, eyes fixated on you until he runs out of glass to look through before he locks himself away in the gym. 

Bakugou puts in his black wireless earbuds before cranking his music up, tossing his phone onto a nearby workbench. He stretches this way and that, reaching for the sky as he looks at his form in the mirror, his hard earned V and bottom two abs wink at his reflection beneath his signature black tank top and his black hoodie. 

His fist connects easily with the heavy black bag suspended by a large chain. The sandbag swings back and forth with a creak with each heavy handed blow. Bakugou loses time with each kick and hit thrown at the bag, each passing song fueling his desire to melt his frustration until his hair is plastered to his forehead. He lets out a steadying breath as his heart roars in his chest,he rears his fist back for a final blow backed by a bit of his quirk. It connects with the well worn leather with such force a weak link in the chain snaps as the fabric obliterates, the 200lb bag flies into the mirror behind it. Shards of reflective glass glitter as they rain onto the matted floor. 

"Fuck." He huffs, stretching and turning to the opposite mirror. Sending a quick snap of his tongue out with the caption "Oops" as the background showcases the decimated gym to Kirishima. He picks up his bag, removing his ear buds to be met with the cool air of the hallway. 

Your light is still on causing him to grind his teeth as his phone reads 2:45am. He's angry enough he chooses to avoid looking into your enclosure as he walks past, fearful his sharp tongue will give him away. He misses you perk up, frantically waving for him to come in before you're at the door, flinging it open to yell out much too loudly in the empty halls. 

"Bakugou!" Your voice is hoarse and cracks from disuse before you clear your throat, lightly jogging to catch up to his large stride, "I've done it!" 

He ignores you, lips pursed in a tight line before your cold hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Pulling him back to the lab with eager steps. He rips away his wrist with a growl and follows you reluctantly, you seem unphased by his harsh actions. 

"I've finally perfected it. I'm sure this time. I was looking at it all wrong. Larger surface area does not always equate to better absorption. Not to mention the pressure for the explosions beneath the bracer is what was causing the failure in the first place. A marginal error that I should have caught earlier. This new design covers less than 15% of your skin but increases…." You ramble but it all falls on deaf ears. 

Bakugou sees that your hair is so loose in its ponytail it might as well be down. The bags beneath your eyes weigh heavy on your pretty features, your skin showing signs of dehydration as it seems to have lost some of its elasticity. Your lab coat is wrinkled and your nametag, that you're wearing for once, is pinned on upside down. He commits your name to memory although he finds it odd that it must be your first name instead of your family name, then again you do hail from overseas. As the two of you walk into your lab he realizes instantly that it has become your main living space. Shards of diamond glass still litter your floor, there is no rhyme or reason to the placement of objects.  Tools, and trash commingle in dangerous piles and stacks around the room. Something knits itself as it floats in the air, wavering a bit when you pause your rambling to yawn.

"Oi nerd!" Bakugou's voice is sharp, authoritative as he grips onto your wrist. Eyes still washing over the room before they land on you. Somehow you're too daft or too tired to pick up on his concern. 

"Yea yea nerd talk. I fucking get it." A half snap from your exhaustion, "Just…" 

You lose his grip before grabbing onto his arm, finding a mesh woven bracer somehow on that disastrous desk. It seems to be made of a soft, elastic fabric as you slip it over his thick forearm after shoving away his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Perfect, your sweat output was pretty close to max earlier. I could smell caramel from the gym. This is going to be so fucking great!" You giggle in delight as the other mesh bracer finishes itself, dropping before you frantically reach for it. He notices your faulty step, your under the breath curse and the long moment your eyes flutter. He almost bites his tongue clean off. 

Again your cool hands find his burning skin as you try to keep your tired brain focused on the task at hand and not how his forearms have grown nearly a half inch since your first encounter. It's difficult not to fall victim to his intoxicating smell as you force yourself to not sway on your feet and collapse into a lovely muscular man. His heat seems to have some sort of affect on you, causing an odd affinity between you both.

"Okay all done! Please give a medium sized blast!" You encourage, shoving him into the testing chamber as he glares down at you. He isn't sure why your chaotic state is bothering him but it does. He rolls his eyes as you slam the door shut. He brings clarity to his mind, focusing on his quirk and how the sweat feels against his skin. How it yearns to be something more, to explode into a whispering flame that may catch something ablaze. 

He gives in, just a little, giving it what it wants, igniting it with a simple thought. An explosion he would have considered large if he were still at UA but since all he's done is grow these past five years, earning him the number 3 rank, it comes to no surprise when the glass shatters yet again. 

Except this time you're too entranced with the smoke clearing, of seeing if your baby you've slaved over has made it through to comprehend the sharp threat. You notice the flying glass a moment too late, flicking your wrist to change the trajectory from what was supposed to be your entire body but your arms are grazed by the razor sharp shards. You grit your teeth, cursing to yourself calling forth a first aid kit. 

But nothing shows up in your peripheral except for a looming presence. One you give your back to in order to find the first aid kit with your gaze, when was the last time you ever had to look at something to summon it? 

Damn it, how could you be experiencing quirk failure from exhaustion right now? Sure it took a lot of brain power for your quirk but it takes weeks of no sleep for a failure plus you had been eating...your eyes glance around the room. You hadn't been eating, or so it says from the lack of any sort of plate or take out aside from your iced coffees with the added protein and carbohydrate shots your body needed to process your quirk with ease. 

Fuck, guess it really was quirk failure. You bite your lip, unable to find that damned kit hoping the hot head wouldn't catch on to your short coming. 

Vermillion eyes watch crimson spots bloom across the white fabric of your coat. He grinds his teeth, searching for the first aid kit only to find it knocked beneath a shelf. He rights himself, stalking your way with a grimace just to stop in his tracks. He watches you slip your oversize jacket off of strong shoulders, toned arms adorned with several thin slices that weep red, but what has really caught his attention was that body con dress. 

Sticking to you like a second skin, but looking somehow comfortable at the same time, he wonders for a moment if you've made it yourself. It's similar to the fabric used to make his shirts, breathable, soft, always smelling a bit sweet like you when they are fresh from the lab. His hand twitches as he can imagine how supple your curves would feel in the delicate yet sturdy material, palm already too familiar with the soft sensation. Red catches his eye once again pulling him from the trance that is your body. He sneers at the cuts as he grabs onto your cold shoulder, shoving you into your chair so he can work on you. You look up a bit shocked with a pinch of anger mixed in and a dash of hurt pride. He takes no notice as he wraps bandages tight around your arms, your eyes locked onto the bracers. The smile on your face cannot be helped as you stare proudly at your work, it was able to withstand so much power and remain not only in tact but unsinged. You grab onto his wrist turning it this way and that, a pen and pad float near by as you take notes. Bakugou cannot hide his astonishment as he watches the invisible hand borrow your neat yet rushed script as it is unable to keep up with your thoughts. You pull the bracers from his arms, fabric begins to tear itself thread by thread before spooling itself, wrapping around wood as if it were a snake. He pulls away, eyes hard as he talks himself out of whatever the stupid "heroic" side of him is saying. He takes a step back and with it taking his warmth. You shiver but you are too busy to notice, teeth chattering ever so slightly but you're too busy studying. He growls to himself. 

Suddenly you're enveloped in a dizzying sweet smell and warmth, it is then you realize that Bakugou had shoved his hoodie over your head. Slinking your arms into the holes to move the hood of the sweatshirt back, quickly realizing the material is not damp as you had once thought. It's warm from his quirks use, material dry as a bone, reminding you of pulling your favorite blanket fresh from the dryer just to wrap yourself in it as rain taps on the window of your apartment. 

Subconsciously you snuggle into it, opening your mouth to state how much work you have to do but instead you have to stifle a yawn. 

Had the cold of the lab always kept you awake, were you starting to actually feel the weight of your work only because you were warm? 

"I think it's time for bed, nerd." 

He places his hot palm on the back of your neck in a power move as he speaks. He enrages you and entices you all at once as your face snaps up to meet his gaze, your own eyes burning holes into him. He smirks down at you, deciding in this moment that he really likes you.  

"I'm taking you home. Get your shit." He squeezes your nape as a warning. He isn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll take the bus and train in the morning, three hours is child's play." Hitting his hand away, trying to return to your work. He scoffs in response. 

"You sure are oblivious for someone so smart. Tomorrow is Saturday." He crosses his exposed arms, unable to hide his smug smirk as realization washes over your stunning features, "That means the bus won't be in the business district til 10am." 

"I think I'll be okay." You say after a moment of silence, "I've waited longer. Or I could walk..." 

"Will you?" He retorts, "Your office says otherwise." 

You follow his gaze, your entire office in disarray, as if a bomb went off. 

You guess in a sense one had gone off. Biting your lip as you mull it over, eyes finding Bakugou's file shuffled across your desk, spying your own hand written cliff notes. 

Stubborn your script reads, you sigh admitting defeat as you wave your hand over the file. It tidies itself, papers folding neatly back into the Manila folder before you snap your fingers. 

Bakugou watches items soar around the room, books fighting and bickering over their order, pens and pencils long forgotten in corners of the room race back to their place on your desk. Papers flutter and fall into the trash or shredder in defeat as plastic cups sink into the plastic bin in the corner. The diamond glass follows suit as your own hands grab onto the bracers, giving them a gentle squeeze before you access an invisible drawer on your desk, hiding away your project before pushing it back. Wood flush against wood as if there were no drawer at all. 

A question burns on the tip of Bakugou's tongue, it dies in his throat for now as a new one is born. 

"That Kirishima's faceplate?" The question comes out in the form of a bite, for some reason the thought of his more likeable friend coming in here as often as Bakugou has set his blood boiling. 

"Ah yes, I just got this assignment from the big boss. Kirishima's new unbreakable breaks his faceplate everytime. Otto had it before me, which was odd. He is more of a reverse engineer. Taking an unknown material and figuring out how it works." Your eyes linger over the empty office across the way, "But he's been out and Kirishima can apparently no longer be on the back burner. Especially now that I've finished with the company's top hero." 

His heart melts just a bit as he watches a smidge of pride form in your dazzling eyes. He scoffs to change the topic.

"Come on, shitty woman." He guides you to the parking garage. 

Once there he acts out of character. At least what you would believe to be out of character as he holds open the door to his car for you, waiting for you to step in. 

"What?! I ain't fucking kidnapping you but I ain't letting you weasel out of this shit either." He growls, waiting impatiently by the door. You step in as he gently shuts the door behind you. He steps in himself, the engine purrs to life as you give him your address. 

"That far out? And you were gonna fucking walk?" He laughs, "Hell no, never again. You'll call me before you do that next time." 

"I don't have your number asshole." You grumble to yourself but he grabs your unlocked phone from your hands, plugging in his number and calling it. 

"There now you do." He locks it and puts it in his cup holder, demanding your attention. No longer can he keep that burning question to himself, "Why are you on support?" 

It puzzles you for a second before you realize he means it as a compliment to your quirk and not an insult to your intellect. 

"Oh that's easy. Being a hero wouldn't benefit me, it's too restrictive. I'm more of a…." You ponder on your words, vigilante was wrong, you wouldn't take justice into your own hands for the sake of others and villain was too strong, "Chaotic neutral. My moral compass is pretty grey and being in this lab benefits my need for knowledge." 

Bakugou glances your way, respectful of your honesty while your eyes become heavy watching the street lights blur, the hum of the engine pulling you deeper into relaxation.  There was something about a car ride that took you back to your childhood days in America.  The outskirts of the city would quickly wind into back roads lined with corn stalks that scrapped the sky. 

The street lights slowly became fewer and farther in between as the black coupe took you further from the heart of the city, soon more stars began to dot the sky.  You see just the tip of his zodiac constellation, it stirs a question within you. 

"So why do you want to be a hero?" You keep your eyes focused on the backdrop that lies beyond the tinted glass, missing Bakugou's knuckles turn stark white. 

He doesn't speak and that's answer enough for you.  

It took him an hour to get to your side of town, an hour. One you had said you would walk, one you mentioned you had walked before. He pulls up the sidewalk by your building, turning to you. 

"We're here…" His announcement turns into a sigh as he sees your slumped form. Head limp but thankfully not leaning on the glass as you're snuggled into his hoodie. You're murmuring how you need to update your measurements in your sleep causing Bakugou to roll his eyes. He pulls away to parallel park. He debates, should he wake you? 

No, who's to say you wouldn't attempt tor eturn to your work? He sighs, pocketing your phone and pulling the lanyard out of your purse that has, what he assumes,your house key on it. 

Katsuki's blood runs ice cold in his veins as realization sucker punches him square in the chest. He had NO fucking idea which apartment was yours. He turns your key over and over but why would that have the number on it? 

"Fuck." He would have to pray your mailbox was both clearly labeled and inside. He shoulders your purse before scooping you into his arms, sure to cradle you like the princess you are. 

He steps through the automatic doors, relief washes over him as a wall of mail boxes greet him. Better yet, they were neatly labeled with names AND apartment numbers.

But it is not long lived as his red eyes rake over the names, the family names, last names. He only knew your first and of course, of fucking course the Gods would laugh at him as panic rises in his throat. You had to have the most common first initial didn't you?  He had spotted it six times already but none of the last names seemed out of the ordinary, if anything they were all ordinary, run of the mill Japanese last names. Nothing foreign about them. 

"Fuck." He murmurs, plan B wouldn't work either, he can't just try out every fucking apartment with your first initial, how weird would that be, some guy shoving keys in random doors with a passed out woman in his arms. 

"Fuck." He cusses again. Was he going to have to take you to his apartment? Fuck, fuck fuck! He couldn't do that, the press slunk around his apartment like vultures, even at this hour.

"Oh you must be the guy that's been keeping her up so late at night." A voice sounds behind him, he turns towards the sound. A smaller young man smiles at him as if he and Bakugou share an inside joke. 

"Quite nice of you to bring her home, and get her mail." He laughs softly reaching for something in the desk, he approaches slowly, "But she must have forgotten to tell you she lost her key a couple of weeks ago. She always asks me to get the mail instead of paying the lost key fee. Don't blame her though." 

The desk clerk, Wantanabe, rambles on as Bakugou's sharp eyes watch closely. Silently thanking the Gods' for their blessing as he watches Watanabe slide the spare key into your mail slot. He commits your last name to memory, but more importantly 5C burns into his retinas. 

"...she hasn't been home in four weeks,  so she has a lot of mail." That snaps Bakugou back to the present, a small stack of mail is presented to him. He stares down at your form unable to keep the scowl off of his face. The dark circles beneath your eyes seem to become darker by the second. 

"Thanks." He growls through gritted teeth, snatching the mail as best he can without disturbing you. He looks for an elevator and when he sees he will have to climb five flights of stairs he wonders if this is the reason you don't come home often. 

Soon enough 5C is staring Bakugou in the face. He is hesitant, even if he does bring you home safely he wonders if you would misread his actions. As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. Still his hands move quickly, sliding the key into the door and unlocking your mysteries. The apartment is sizable for the area, clean at least what he can see from the light of the hall flooding in. He flips on a switch with his elbow, he expected harsh light but instead ambient string lights that line the ceiling illuminate the space in a warm light. A three chair island with a marble water fall looks out into the living room, a large sectional couch swallows the space, a TV atop a nice entertainment table while books litter the coffee table and one part of the couch. The apartment feels as if it had been warmed by the sun through the drawn curtains but not overly hot, it feels cozy really.  As if Bakugou could imagine himself spread out on the grey sofa while you're curled against him, half dozing half reading your book. 

The thought jarrs him, he feels too close to you now, feverish almost as he rips your key from the door, shutting it softly before placing the lanyard onto the kitchen island. He spies a hall and passes a full bath, then a freshly vacant guest room to see a final door closed that he assumes is the master. He flips the switch and again light snakes around the ceiling washing the room in this comfort. He can understand the soft yellow lights considering you spend forty plus hours beneath harsh, bleaching white lights. He pulls back the comforter as best he can and lies you down gently. He removes your red bottom heels and praises the Kamisama when he sees you do not have on tights not that he would remove them anyway. You snuggle deeper into his hoodie, smiling as you do, dreaming of whatever little scientist's dream about. Katsuki imagines it's all math, measurements, molecular structures, nerd shit. You begin to murmur in your sleep.

"...gotta update his chart…" 

"Fucking nerd." Bakugou smiles to himself, you look peaceful even as your mind races with reminders. Another snuggle deeper into his hoodie, he goes to reach out to push hair from your face and stops himself. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" He growls aloud, he doesn't know you. Barely figured out your last name and that was by both chance and stupidity on the desk clerk's. He heads for your bedroom door, stopping with his hand gripping the handle. He peers over his shoulder before killing the switch, flooding your room with darkness. 

He shuts the door and with it the odd ache that's growing in his chest. 

[helloalycia]

hey, stranger | lena luthor

summary: after Lena leaves for National City shortly after her brother's attempt to kill Superman, you're left to learn to live without her. Until a year later, when you find yourself as CatCo's new junior photographer and discover Lena Luthor owns the company.

warning/s: none.

author's note: buckle in folks, this is a long one

masterlist | wattpad

One Year Ago...

"Look, I know that what happened was terrifying, and I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like, but Lena, you can't just leave."

The raven-haired woman avoided my eyes as she crossed her arms nervously.

I felt a pressure on my chest at the mere thought of her leaving Metropolis, and stepped forward to lace my fingers with hers.

"You're not your brother, and people will see that," I told her, my stomach doing somersaults when her glassy green eyes stared up at me. "They just need time."

She swallowed hard. "I don't want to wait for the rest of Metropolis to play catch-up. I can help better the world in National City, where there's a fresh start and a different Super there that hopefully won't judge me on the premise of my name."

I frowned when I heard her say that with such determination and ferocity, as if she'd given it much thought. It was too late, I knew that voice. It was the voice she used when she'd truly made up her mind and there was no convincing her otherwise.

"Y/N, I love you so much," she spoke again, grabbing my attention when she pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and stepped closer to me, our bodies pressing together gently. Her eyes were bright and piercing as she continued, "I need you to know that you are one of the few good things I have left in my life, probably the only good thing." She chuckled dryly and rested a hand on my cheek. "I know that I'm not the easiest person to be with–"

"Lena, I've never thought that," I cut her off instantly, shaking my head. "Don't say that."

She smiled sadly, glancing down to the floor. "Look, I know that what I'm saying sounds insane. But I need this fresh start. I don't think I can stay here, having this constant reminder about what Lex almost did."

I knew where she was going with this, but she was beating around the bush. My heart was crumbling with each second passing, but at the same time, I felt a small sense of relief that Lena may finally have the chance to be truly happy elsewhere, without the immediate ties of her family.

"I'm not asking you to come with me," she finally said it, eyes meeting mine as a tear dropped down her face. "You have a life here. A job. Friends and family. You can't just pick up and move with me."

"I could try," I said, a little hopefully as I gave her a small smile.

She shook her head, her voice cracking. "I wouldn't let you."

I breathed out slowly, feeling a lump form in my throat. "When are you leaving?"

She sighed regretfully. "Tomorrow."

I raised my eyebrows with surprise. "Tomorrow? Lena, you can't be serious! I thought you meant a few weeks, maybe a month, but–"

"I know, I know, but if I stay longer, it'll only be harder, and I'm afraid that I may change my mind," she cut me off, holding my arms now. "It's better this way." She leaned down to find my eyes, certainty shining through. "Y/N, it's better this way."

I pursed my lips, my eyes watering as I realised how real this all was. She was really going to leave and I wasn't sure when I would next see her again. If I would see her again.

"We still have today," I said, a statement rather than a question.

She flashed me one of those rare beautiful smiles she had, only reserved for me. "We do."

I lessened the gap between us by leaning forward and going in for a kiss. I didn't spend long thinking about it, knowing I didn't have time to waste. I pressed my lips to hers in a passionate kiss, wrapping an arm around her waist and another on the nape of her neck.

Her floral perfume filled my nose as she kissed back, lips agape as she sucked on my lower lip. It was a salty kiss and it didn't take long before I realised we were both crying into it.

We pulled apart for air and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, feeling my warm tears soak my face.

"I'm really gonna miss you, Lena Luthor," I admitted, forcing a smile on my lips.

She sniffled adorably, wiping away my tears. "I'm really gonna miss you, too."

***

Present Day...

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N, the new junior photographer," I introduced myself to my superior.

"Oh, shoot, you're here," the head of the photography department, Mr. Rodriguez, said startled.

I knitted my eyebrows together with confusion, a smile still politely on my lips. "Er, yeah... should I not be?"

His mind seemed like it was racing a million miles a second. "Yeah– no! I mean, no, you should be. You're in the right place. It's me who's all jumbled up..."

He headed to his computer at his desk as I awkwardly stood by the window, waiting for further instructions.

He tutted to himself. "Sorry about this. My assistant wrote you in my diary to be showing up tomorrow. I had a whole thing planned and everything."

"Oh, I'm, er..." I didn't know what to say though, as I remembered clearly getting a call asking to begin today.

"It's not your fault," Mr. Rodriguez said, waving a hand dismissively before looking up from his computer. "She's new, you see. Still getting used to the computer systems."

"I guess I can come back tomorrow," I offered awkwardly.

"No, no, that would be silly, you're already here now," he said quickly and apologetically. "I'm just thinking..." He crossed his arms with thought as he began to mumble to himself. "I've got several meetings today... Sasha is out sick... Nick could– no, no, he's out working on a story... so is Jamila and Markus..."

"You sure you don't want me to come back tomorrow?" I asked again, feeling like an inconvenience.

He looked up as if suddenly remembering I was stood there. "What? No, of course not." He glanced at the clock on his wall before widening his eyes with realisation. "Follow me for a second, will you, Y/N?"

I had no choice but to follow the older, slightly baffled photographer, as he led me outside of his office. His office was an all-glass box essentially, as every other office in this place was. We stood outside the door a moment and I took in the hustle and bustle of CatCo's newsroom for a second time that morning. I wondered what we were waiting for when Mr. Rodriguez seemed to have an idea.

"Kara! Kara, can I borrow you for a moment?" he called out, stepping forward to get some blonde woman's attention.

The blonde stopped walking and greeted Mr. Rodriguez with a chirpy smile. "Yes, sir?"

He seemed to breathe out with relief as he checked his watch. "Kara, I'm sorry to do this but my assistant messed up my schedule and it turns out that the lovely Y/N Y/L/N, my new junior photographer, has showed up and I am unprepared."

I awkwardly smiled at the blonde as she glanced my way.

"Do you think you can show her around the place? Just until lunch and then I can make time to do things properly."

This Kara woman seemed unsure as she laughed nervously. "I'm only a reporter, sir, I don't think I'd be the best person to–"

"Please, Danvers, I'll owe you one," Mr. Rodriguez said with a pleading smile.

"I really don't mind coming back tomorrow," I chimed in, looking to him. "This seems like a bad time. You're really busy and–"

"It's okay, I'll do it," Kara cut in, smiling at me.

"Yes, Danvers, you're a life-saver," Mr. Rodriguez exclaimed before looking to me. "I'm very sorry for the unprofessionalism, Y/N, especially on your first day, but I will make it up to you at lunch. Meet me in my office at half twelve?"

"Of course, sir," I said with a smile. "You should probably go, don't want to be late for your meeting."

His eyes widened with realisation. "Right! You're absolutely right! I'll see you ladies later."

I suppressed a laugh as he speed-walked away, leaving me alone with the reporter.

"Is he always that panicked?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kara chuckled. "Yes, he is. It's probably best you saw him like this. Now you know what you're getting yourself into."

I snickered. "So, your name is Kara?"

"Kara Danvers, yes," she introduced with a smile, putting out her hand.

I shook it and returned the smile. "Nice to meet you, Kara. I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

"The new junior photographer," she filled in jokingly.

"Right," I agreed with amusement.

"Well, I guess I'm your personal tour guide for the morning," she said, before motioning around us. "This is the kitchen."

I laughed at her lame joke. "Look, I can totally make myself busy until lunch if you have stuff to do. I didn't know Mr. Rodriguez would ask somebody to help me."

"Nah, it's fine, I don't mind," Kara said dismissively. "I used to be an assistant for Miss Grant, so I'm pretty familiar with this place, including where you'll be based."

"Wow, assistant for the boss, huh? That must have been... an experience."

Kara laughed as she led me around the newsroom. "I guess, yeah, but I learned a lot. Miss Grant taught me things I wouldn't have picked up elsewhere and..."

***

"That was James Olsen," I said with amazement. "I just met James Olsen."

Kara suppressed a smile. "He's kind of the guy in charge around here. If you weren't introduced to him, it would be strange."

"You know he took the first ever photo of Superman, right?" I said, glancing at Kara, still a little starstruck.

"Yes, I do know that," she said, crossing her arms and watching me with an amused smile.

"His photography is amazing," I rambled on. "He's got so many great shots of Superman, and now Supergirl as well. He manages to capture the most heroic moments in a single photograph without fail. It's amazing."

"I know that, too," Kara teased. "You said all of that and more just a moment ago when we were in there."

I felt my face grow warm with embarrassment. "Right, right, sorry..."

Kara laughed at my dismay, patting me on the shoulder. "It's alright. Besides, I think I've almost shown you everything. There's a few people I can introduce you to though, if you want. It might make settling in here a bit easier."

"Oh, wow, yeah, that sounds great," I said appreciatively. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said happily, before adding, "I think my friend, Nia, might be free to–"

"Kara!"

Kara looked over my shoulder and a smiled brightly at whoever was there. "Lena, hey!"

I widened my eyes, unsure if I'd misheard the name or not. I turned around and forgot how to breathe for a second, realising I hadn't. Because none other than Lena Luthor was stood before me, her smile fading as her eyes flickered to me from Kara, flashing with recognition.

I swallowed hard, before offering a small, friendly smile. "Hey, stranger."

She looked stunning, absolutely radiant. Just as I remembered, save for her hair which had grown a little longer. My heart was suddenly remembering what it was like to be with her, beating up an uncontrollable rhythm in my chest.

"Y/N," she finally breathed out, recovering from her momentary shock. "You're here."

"National City is a big place," I said, feeling like a teenager with a crush as her green eyes were trained on me. "I didn't think I'd see you."

"I own the company," she said quietly, still surprised.

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow. I didn't–" I cleared my throat, "–I didn't know that."

"Wait, you two know each other?" Kara asked, and I forgot she was standing there until she spoke up, looking between us with a puzzled expression.

I licked my lips and stayed quiet, not sure what to say. Thankfully, Lena spoke up for the both of us.

"Y/N is an old friend of mine," she said carefully, eyes never leaving mine. "Back from Metropolis."

Kara's mouth was agape with confusion, but she didn't speak. I could feel her looking between us both with much intrigue.

"What are you doing here?" Lena asked, cocking her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed.

I straightened up as I found my words. "I'm the new junior photographer. Today is my first day."

"Oh, well, congratulations." She seemed like she was still catching up with everything, as was I. "Have you met James Olsen? He was our lead photographer and art director before being promoted to CEO." She glanced behind me at his office before nodding that way. "I'll introduce you, come on–"

"Lena, it's fine, Kara already introduced me," I said, smiling appreciatively. "Thank you though."

Lena bit her lip and nodded, before looking down to her shoes uncomfortably.

"Anyway," Kara began, filling the silence, "is there anything you needed, Lena? I'm not on my lunch break yet, but–"

"There's no rush," Lena said, shaking her head. "I just came to check on things. I needed to speak with James about a few things." She glanced at me, adding, "Er, we're going out for lunch, if you'd like to join us? I mean, you don't have to, but if you'd like, you can..."

This whole situation was so out of the blue and neither of us could ignore the awkwardness between us right now.

"I've got plans with Mr. Rodriguez, but thank you anyway," I declined politely, forcing a small smile.

"Okay, yeah, of course." Lena nodded before smiling at us both. "I should get going."

"See you later," Kara said with a wave and a smile.

Lena returned her smile before looking to me, her eyes softening. "It's nice to see you again, Y/N."

"You, too, Lena."

I watched as she walked away, before releasing a breath when she was out of sight. It was just like we'd met for the first time all over again, myself feeling butterflies in my stomach and unable to get her piercing green eyes out of my head. And here I was thinking a year would make a difference.

"You okay?"

I blinked and looked up, realising Kara was staring at me with concern. I put on a smile and nodded.

"Yeah, sorry, yeah. I just– I didn't think I'd see her again. At least not today."

Kara seemed hesitant as she stayed quiet for a moment, before finally saying, "I'm guessing old friends means something else in Metropolis..."

My smile faded as I nodded. "Yeah..."

Kara led me away, the two of us walking down the hall.

"Are you and Lena, er–"

"No, no," Kara said, reassuringly. "We're just friends. Best friends, actually."

I felt embarrassed for even thinking I had a right to know. "Sorry, it wasn't my business."

"It's okay, don't worry about it." Kara flashed me a small smile. "She's not with anyone right now by the way."

I raised an eyebrow and Kara gave me a knowing look, as if she knew what I was thinking.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to Nia," she changed the subject, thankfully. "She's a reporter here."

I nodded and followed Kara, but I would be lying if I said Lena hadn't plagued my thoughts.

The last time I'd seen her was just over a year ago, when we'd said our goodbyes before she left. It was a hard goodbye, a hard breakup in general. I loved her a lot and knowing she was moving away to be someone better hurt because I couldn't stop her. I would never stop her. But I couldn't leave with her either.

We were friends long before we were a couple, so we made sure things wouldn't be weird when we broke up. Of course I still had feelings for her, but we agreed to try and remain friends.

It worked for a while. We would text and occasionally call, whilst she was settling into National City and turning L Corp around. But then the calls were fewer, and the texting lessened, and before I knew it, we'd lost touch. I wasn't sure if it was because maybe we both knew it would be easier and hurt less, to not have each other at all if not in the way we wanted, or if it was because we were getting busier, but it happened.

When I stopped freelancing as a photographer and decide to apply for a permanent position somewhere, the job from CatCo practically fell into my lap and I couldn't turn it down. I genuinely didn't believe I'd bump into Lena – this was a big city! But of course she owned the company. Just my luck.

***

I'd been in National City for a few weeks now and hadn't seen Lena since that first awkward encounter. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or not, since we were friends before being a couple so I at least thought we could pick up where we left off, but that was naïve of me.

I was enjoying my job at CatCo and already had a few things in the works with the help of Mr. Rodriguez. I'd also befriended Kara and a few of her other friends – Nia and James. It was still weird that I was 'friends' with James, since he was such a talented photographer and I couldn't imagine it, but it was great. They were a fun lot to be around at work, along with a few other photographers in my team.

My latest assignment was covering an L Corp gala, which wasn't my first choice, but I couldn't argue with it. Thankfully, the reporter I was partnered with was Kara, so I wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Apparently Kara had covered a lot of Luthor-related stories, so was the best person for the story.

So, that's where I found myself now, standing in the doorway of a massive ballroom, full of important-looking, rich business professionals. The gala was a charity ball, raising money for children's hospitals around National City, that Lena owned. I felt proud of her when I looked around and saw the impact she had made by moving here. She was certainly just as determined as I remembered her to be.

"This is very fancy," I commented aloud, feeling a tad bit underdressed in my dress pants and blouse.

"Wouldn't be a Luthor event if it wasn't," Kara joked, before nudging me in the arm. "Come on. Let's have a look around."

I followed Kara as we showed ourselves around, myself looking at the best vantage points for some nice shots, as well as subtly wondering if Lena was around.

Eventually, I left Kara to do her interviewing as I wandered about, taking photos of everyone. There was a lot going on, so it wasn't hard to find interesting subjects. I spotted Lena at one point, mingling with other guests. I almost forgot I was supposed to be taking photos when I saw her because she looked amazing.

She was wearing an elegant off-shoulder black gown and her long dark hair was sleek and straight, shining under the lights. I could make out the bright green of her eyes from the other side of the room and I had to remind myself that I was there to do a job before I began to drool.

I snapped some photos of her, maybe a few more than necessary, but she looked beautiful and I couldn't help it. I took more photos of everyone before deeming it enough and settling on a table on the 'quieter' part of the hall.

I was snacking on some of the hors d'oeuvres as I looked back through the photos I took when I heard Kara call my name.

I looked up mid-bite into a salmon puff when I saw Kara approaching me, Lena in tow. I straightened up and finished chewing my food before smiling at both women.

"Hey, Kara," I greeted, before meeting Lena's gaze. "Lena. This is a lovely event. You've done an amazing job."

Lena smiled bashfully. "If there's anything rich people love more than lavish events, it's lavish events that showcase their charitable donations."

I cracked a smile – her sense of humour hadn't changed.

"You get any good shots?" Kara asked, nodding to my camera.

I looked down at it. "Yeah, I was just looking through them."

"Can I...?" Lena smiled as she motioned to my camera.

I nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

She stood beside me, a little closer than I expected, or maybe it seemed that way because I was holding my breath. She accepted the camera from my hands and began to flick through the photos. She was smiling down at them all, nodding with approval.

"Still as talented as I remember," she muttered.

I didn't even realise she'd spoken because I was too busy taking in her profile. The sharpness of her jawline contrasted with her long dark hair pushed behind her ear was distracting, and I felt my mouth go dry when she looked up at me, dark eyes suddenly staring right at me.

"Huh?" I spluttered, unintelligibly.

She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. "Never mind, Y/N."

I felt my face grow warm. "Sorry, I'm just... is this strange? Me and you?"

Lena cleared her throat and suppressed a smile. "If it's strange, it's my fault, sorry. I should have greeted you properly a few weeks ago. I really wasn't expecting to see you again."

"Me either," I said, shaking my head. "No need to apologise. I think we both thought it was a little weird... but it is really good to see you again." I glanced around. "You've achieved a lot, Lena. And I have a feeling this isn't even the half of it."

It was Lena's turn to get embarrassed as she avoided my eyes, smiling to herself. "Thank you, Y/N."

It went quiet for a moment, a comfortable silence between us, until Lena looked up and lost her smile.

"I know that things ended a little... suddenly between us, but I never intended for us to stop speaking." She frowned a little. "I don't really have any excuse for why we stopped. But I am sorry it did."

"Hey, it takes two to tango," I joked to lighten the mood, making her glance up at me. "We both lost contact with each other. It happens. But I'm here now, and you're here, and well, maybe we could try and be friends again. If you want, that is."

A beautiful smile graced her lips as she nodded. "I'd like that."

My heart skipped a beat at how her eyes lit up. "We can get coffee and catch up, if you'd like. I'd love to hear about all you've done this last year."

"Coffee sounds great," Lena agreed. "And it's not just me who's been up to new stuff. I wanna hear all about how you ended up at CatCo."

I chuckled. "It's a date." I widened my eyes when I realised what I said. "That's not what I meant, sorry. It's just a plan and–"

Lena's laugh cut me off. "Y/N, it's fine, I know what you meant."

I nodded, a little flustered. I soon realised we'd been talking a while and Kara was nowhere to be found.

"She left a moment ago," Lena said, realising I was looking for her. "Between me and you, I think she got us together today for a reason."

"She cares about you," I pointed out. "She seems like a great friend."

Lena nodded, smiling nostalgically. "Yeah, she is. One of the first I made when moving here."

"Come on, we should probably chase her down and let her know we're good."

"Lead the way, Y/L/N."

***

Lena and I followed through with our plans, meeting up for coffee to have a big catch up. It was amazing hearing all she'd achieved in the past year. I wasn't surprised in the slightest however, as I knew that if anyone could do it, she could. It was also lovely to see her look a lot better, health-wise. When she left, she was still shaken up about what Lex did – it was reassuring to know she'd recovered, even slightly.

We hung out a few more times, mostly with Kara, Nia and James present, but it still felt good to see her at all.

Kara even invited me over to her place one evening, claiming she hosted a weekly game night and would love if I joined. That was where I met Kara's sister, Alex, and their friend, Brainy. The two worked for the government, but weren't as serious as they let on.

Nia and James were also present, along with James' sister, Kelly, who was also Alex's girlfriend. Lena was there, too, and admittedly, I looked forward to seeing the raven-haired woman yet another time.

"Charades?" Alex suggested, already grabbing the bowl of charade ideas.

Everyone agreed and naturally got into teams. They'd been playing a while, so it seemed that they had teams organised in advance. The Danvers sisters were one, the Olsen siblings were another, and Brainy and Nia (who had been flirting all night) were the last, leaving Lena and I to pair up.

"Is that okay with you guys?" Kara asked, realising we had been left to team up. The blonde had been hesitant in pushing us together too much when we hung out, clearly worried about pressuring us into anything. It was thoughtful and I'm sure Lena appreciated it as much as I did.

"Being partnered with the smartest person in the room?" I asked rhetorically. "Why would that be a problem?"

Kara seemed taken aback as everybody laughed. Lena nudged me in the side jokingly, just like old times, and Kara finally came to her senses and grinned.

"Game on, Y/N," she played along, before standing up. "Alex and I will go first."

The Danvers sisters performed alright, managing to get eight points in the 60-second round. Next up was Lena and I.

"You wanna go or should I?" I asked, glancing at her.

"You go, you've always been better at it than I have," she said, ushering me to stand up.

I chuckled and stood up, readying myself.

"And... go!" James said, starting the timer.

I grabbed the first slip of paper. Water bottle.

I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering how one could act that out, but nonetheless, I locked eyes with Lena and began to make a drinking motion.

"Glass!"

I shook my head and repeated the action, emphasising it a little.

"Water! Glass of water?"

I repeated the action, motioning to the 'bottle' in my hand.

"Water bottle!"

"Yes!" I shouted back, before moving onto the next slip of paper.

Watching a romantic comedy.

"Ooh! Okay, okay, er..." I sat down on the floor, looking ahead at the TV as if I was watching it.

"Watching TV," Lena guessed.

I pretended to laugh one second and then cry another.

"Watching a comedy!"

I wiggled my hand to show she was almost there. I made a love heart with my hand and did the whole thing again, hoping it would make sense.

"Watching a rom com!"

"Yes! You got it!" I shouted with a grin, before moving to the next one.

Finding Nemo.

I began to make the whale noises similar to how Dory does in the film and Lena guessed it instantly.

She laughed as the others were watching eagerly, curious to if we would mess up or beat Alex and Kara.

Scuba diving.

I pretended to dive off the couch onto the carpet and she guess it immediately.

"Five more to go and thirty seconds left," Nia reminded us.

Hide and seek.

I covered my eyes and began counting backwards from ten.

"Hide and seek!"

Walmart.

I wasn't sure how to act that out, so I said, "Er, that, er, the shop opposite the McDonald's down the street!"

"Walmart!" Lena said with a laugh.

"Can she do that? Talk in the game?" Brainy asked as I moved onto the next slip.

"Technically she didn't say the answer, so yeah," Nia said with a shrug. "Three more left and twenty seconds, guys!"

Having a bright idea.

I pointed to one of the light bulbs above as and motioned to it on my head, making a 'ding' noise with my mouth.

"A bright idea?"

"Yes! Okay, er..."

A penny for your thought.

I dug out a penny from my pocket and held it up before pointing to my head.

"Penny for your thought!"

"Okay, how is she getting these?!" Alex complained, mildly confused.

Kelly laughed at her girlfriend as I moved onto the next one.

Coconut.

"Shoot, er..."

"Five seconds left!" Nia called out.

"That thing your car ran over on our second date!" I shouted, meeting Lena's eyes and hoping she'd understand.

"Three!"

"Oh! Er, it was..."

"Two!"

"Come on, Lena!"

"One!"

"A coconut!"

"Time's up!" Nia called it, and I looked to her to see how many points we got. She looked at her point system before sighing disappointedly. "Nine points."

"Yes!" Lena and I shouted with excitement, and she stood up to embrace me in a hug.

We were laughing as James tried to get our attention.

"You drove over a coconut on your second date?" he asked, probably for everyone, and all eyes were on Lena and I as we remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Look, I don't know how it got there, or where it came from," Lena began, a hint of amusement in her voice, "but we were driving back from this restaurant when I drove over a bump or something."

"We stopped to take a look and it turns out it was a coconut," I finished, shaking my head. "Weird time. But yeah."

Everybody seemed confused, but Lena and I exchanged amused knowing glances.

"Okay, well you two aren't going to be partners next week, since it's unfair how well you work together," Nia commented, before standing up. "Brainy, it's our turn."

Lena grabbed my hand and led me to the couch, the two of us sat side by side watching the others have their go. I didn't even realise we were still holding hands at first, then I felt the warmth from her skin touching mine and smiled to myself. Friends could hold hands, so it wasn't a big deal, but it felt right. I had missed this.

***

Some time passed and any hint of awkwardness between Lena and I had disappeared. We were friends, like we used to be before we got together, and it was nice. I tried to ignore any old feelings that were trying to resurface when I was with her, and I assumed it was working since I hadn't done anything stupid to ruin what we had.

It did feel good to spend all this time with her as well. I'd forgotten what it was like to have her in my life, to have someone with me who understood me. We had inside jokes, memories, time spent where we knew each other inside and out. It was almost a relief to have that, knowing we didn't have to start from scratch.

I guess it was always expected – we'd loved each other dearly. That couldn't be erased, not even after spending a year apart.

A few months into the midst of this friendship, I was at CatCo, in the darkroom processing photos from my camera when I heard a knock on the door.

"Y/N? You in there?"

I recognised the voice as Lena's and called back, "Yeah, you can come in, just be quick!"

The door opened and closed quite quickly, barely a sliver of light creeping into the room thankfully.

"Woah," Lena said, looking around.

"C'mon, you've been in a darkroom plenty of times," I teased with a half smile, glancing up at her.

"Not for a long time, actually," she retorted, playfully glaring at me.

I grinned at her as she joined my side, watching as I hung up some prints I'd just processed.

"So what's up?" I asked, glancing between her and what I was doing.

She was distracted by my hand movements, finally looking to me when I spoke. "Huh? Oh, right. I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch with me. I was free, but now I think you're a little busy."

"No, lunch sounds great!" I said, smiling at her. Her eyes were dark in the red light, yet they made my stomach do somersaults nonetheless. "I just need to finish these last prints. You can stay if you want."

Lena nodded and watched as I moved some more prints from the stop bath to the water tray.

"Where are these?" she asked, looking at the photos hung up already.

"That rally downtown," I remembered. "A few days ago, I think."

"Oh, right."

I glanced at her, watching as she stared at everything with awe. I smiled, admiring how adorable she looked. She always used to do that whenever she'd join me, back when we were dating. No matter how many times I showed her, she still found it all fascinating.

"You want a go?" I asked, earning her attention.

Her head darted to me as she raised her eyebrows. I nodded to the prints that needed 'washing' and she nodded.

"Sure, what do I do?"

I handed her a pair of metal tongs. "Just pick that up," I pointed to the first tray, "and put it in here." I pointed to the second tray. "But first, hang that print up on the line above so it can dry."

She did as I said and I watched to make sure she didn't spill any of the chemicals on herself or her fingers.

"Okay, just a few more here," I said, pointing to the last few prints. "You think you can handle it?"

She rolled her eyes at my playfulness and I smiled as I watched her finish up. When she finished, she set the tongs down on a paper towel. I spotted a little bit of developer solution on the counter and spotted the rest of the paper towels on the side, next to Lena.

I rested a hand on her back as I leaned over her, grabbing the paper towel. I cleaned up the last spot and tossed the paper towel in the bin, about to speak, but I was surprised when I looked to Lena and saw her move forward quickly, pressing her lips to mine.

She pulled me close by the waist and kissed me hard, making my heart beat faster and faster in my chest. I relaxed into her embrace, resting a hand on the side of her face. She moved closer, my back hitting the counter behind me as she swiped my bottom lip with her tongue.

It was like we hadn't been apart when she pulled away for a second, before reattaching her lips to mine. I was still surprised and I knew I should have stopped us, but my heart was saying otherwise as I kissed back, missing the taste of her lips against mine.

She slipped her tongue between my lips and I let out an unsolicited moan, definitely knowing I should stop this now.

"Lena," I breathed out, managing to part our lips for a second, but she reattached them in an instant, and I almost gave in all over again when she began to suck on my lower lip, enticing me with her Luthor charm.

"Lena," I tried again, using every ounce of willpower to pull apart from her.

She finally listened and pulled apart, her eyes meeting mine apologetically, realising what she'd done. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I assured her, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. "That was... unexpected."

"I actually wanted to do that for a while," she admitted, eyes flickering to the ground. "I tried not to, but I couldn't not do anything..."

I felt a little hopeful as I watched her. I couldn't help but blurt out, "I think I'm still in love with you."

This got her attention, as she looked up and searched my eyes. "You are?"

I nodded slowly, holding my breath for her response.

She pursed her lips, raising her hand to caress my cheek. "I think I'm still in love with you, too. I don't think I ever stopped."

I smiled as she looked between my eyes. I always felt a sense of calm when looking in hers, and I guessed some things didn't change.

"I really missed you when you left," I admitted. "I tried really hard to get over you, but I don't think I did. Not really."

"I missed you, too," she muttered. "I hated that I left you."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I said, shaking my head. "Sometimes, the timing is off. But I'm here now and I think that maybe the timing is in our favour again."

"Are you saying you want to try this again?" Lena asked, a hopeful smile on her lips.

"Well, it's either that or we make out every now and then without any real resolve," I joked, and she laughed, smacking me in the shoulder before pulling me close again.

"Nothing will get in the way of us this time," she said confidently. "I won't let it."

I wrapped an arm around her waist and smiled down at her. "You do tend to get your way."

She smiled and leaned into me, her head fitting into my shoulder. I held her close, closing my eyes and smelling that familiar floral scent of her perfume.

She pulled back and met my eyes, a sense of relief present in them.

"I'm really glad you're back," she said softly.

My heart was still pounding in my chest as I smiled at her. "Me too."