#might have this one as a print for my store re-opening too just for the moira fans

[nyamcattt]

i’m here to appease the moira o’deorain fans

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Acoustic Music Project 1990 Acoustic / Folk / Singer-Songwriter / Indie Folk / Acoustic Rock

Beware of benefit comps, folks. They tend to be made for good causes, and for that reason alone, you should still ultimately buy them, but most of the time, the music on them ends up leaving a lot to be desired.

Case in point, this release here from 1990 called Acoustic Music Project, a compilation that both showcased the Bay Area's growing acoustic music scene at the time and benefited a local nonprofit called Project Open Hand, which served as a Meals On Wheels-type of organization for people who had been infected with HIV/AIDS. When POH was first established in the mid-80s, there were little to no social services that specifically helped people who had been afflicted with this awful, fatal disease, and there was no treatment for it, either. So, out of what seemed like pure necessity, Project Open Hand tried to fill this void, and have now expanded their scope to far more than just HIV/AIDS patients. 

Now, benefit comps are, like, the most ephemeral releases that are out there, mainly because they're not really part of any artist's discography, and they're usually made to serve a highly specific moment in time, when someone or some organization is looking to raise funds for some kind of cause. Most compilations are already inherently ephemeral, but these ones, specifically, tend to be the most ephemeral of them all, because unlike a lot of artists' own albums, they don't get reprinted and re-released; once every copy's sold, it's usually out of print forever. 

So, imagine my surprise when I was looking for this thing the other day and managed to find it digitized in the iTunes store for $9.99! I truly have no idea whether or not its proceeds still end up going to Project Open Hand three-plus decades after it was first released, but I really hope that they do, not only because that money would then help people who are in need, but also because I bought the album with an iTunes gift card that had been given to me years ago for Christmas by some homophobic relatives of mine 😏.

Anyway, this comp came out during the time when MTV Unplugged had managed to help spark this new and sort of bohemian movement that tried to assert an idea that if you stripped away all the studio contraptions and electronics that went into making most modern popular music, you'd get to, like, the true inner-soul of the artist who was performing it, and then you'd find out just how real and talented that that artist actually was. And I think that there's, maybe, a small nugget of truth to that sentiment, in that you tend to get more soulfulness in a quieter and intimate setting, but I'm not sure that that necessarily makes for a better product in the end. Some people really convinced themselves that that was definitely the case, though 🤷‍♂️.

Either way, as was to be expected, this isn't a very good listen. People don't usually contribute their best work to a benefit comp, and that holds true with this one too. Half of this album is comprised of live recordings, all performed from San Francisco's Great American Music Hall, and the other half was recorded in a variety of studios. And you'd think peoples' opportunity to bear their soul in front of a live audience might translate well to an acoustic comp like this one, but it really doesn't. Not even serious stars like Penelope Houston from local punk legends The Avengers, kings of the indie slowcore/sadcore sound, the American Music Club, or Alex Chilton—frontman of beloved power pop band Big Star and psychedelic-pop-rock-blue-eyed-soul group The Box Tops, who had a big #1 hit in the late 60s with "The Letter"—could save it. At the end of the day, this album just mostly falls flat and no one performs anything that's very remarkable. 

That is, except for one song, really: a cover of pop and rock singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson's Grammy-winning "Everybody's Talkin'," by San Francisco's The Sneetches. Nilsson's version was also famously interpolated in 2002 by Paul Oakenfold for his electronic pop-rap single, "Starry Eyed Surprise," which featured Shifty Shellshock from everyone's favorite turn-of-the-millennium one-hit wonder rap-rock group, Crazy Town, who scored their only Hot 100 Billboard hit by topping that very chart with "Butterfly" back in 2000. "Starry Eyed Surprise" never hit the top 40 on the Hot 100, but it was featured in this pretty memorable summer-dusky Diet Coke rollerskating ad in the early 2000s:

And The Sneetches do a wonderful job of reproducing the jangly and swiftly strummed folk guitar melody from the original version of "Everybody's Talkin'" here, with a wistful, 70s-styled vocal to go along with it too. By far, this is the most full, complete, and satisfying song within this whole collection here.

So, even though you never *really* know if a benefit comp is going to wow you, chances are good that it won't. But with that comes the solace that your money most likely wasn't flat-out wasted, because it's going to a good cause, and sometimes, even if the album isn't consistent, you still come across a gem or two, like you do here with this album. 

Highlights:

Chuck Prophet & Stephanie Finch - "Step Right This Way" The Sneetches - "Everybody's Talkin'"

[awrldalone]

28th September 2023, 11.08pm

I haven't been sleeping properly. I wake up early to get to class on time, before the sun rises and stores open, but I also go to bed late at night. 

Yesterday I had a nightmare, its memory is already foggy in my mind but what I remember from the end, before I woke up, is that I was putting on my clothes, tightening my belt, when someone started opening the door to my apartment. I yelled to stop, and a small old lady dressed in hiking gear showed herself. Her face covered in wrinkles and furrows, her teeth were yellow with decay. Grotesque is the only word I can use to fully describe her. Behind her, a few steps back, there was a man. He was taller than both of us but just as old as the lady, rotting like her. I was horrified – not because of their mutilated appearance - but because I recognized them. We had already met, in Venice, and with evil in their eyes they had sworn they would find me. The woman spoke, her voice like a creaky door. She said she had finally arrived to my house. She said she arrived in M. when it was too late already, when I had already left. I was petrified. I woke up, breathing heavily in the dark. It must've been a few minutes before 2am. The only thing I could think of was that I was tired, but my body was scared, my nerves tensed, and I struggled to fall back asleep just to wake up a few hours later. Had I not slept so little in the past week I would have stayed awake, but finally exhaustion won over fear and for a few hours I was calm.

The dream contrasts so greatly with how yesterday went. One of my poems was accepted for publishing, after so many e-mails and so many submissions and so many rejections. It's the second one ever, but this time it's in print. When I saw the notification I was chatting with R. We talked for the first time yesterday, before class, because I sat next to him. He recommended me a book. I want to become good friends with him. He doesn't smile much, I noticed. We were talking about Anatomie d'une chute, a movie we watched, and I saw the e-mail notification. I did not open it, I just read the name of the sender. I assumed it was another rejection, but when I clicked on it my heart started beating so fast. Every letter I laid my eyes on was at least three beats of my heart. "Thank you for sharing your writing with us. We are pleased to accept – for inclusion in our Winter 2023 issue." 

They wrote that they will be publishing it online in November, and that the physical copies of their issue will be available in December. I don't even like the poem that much anymore, but the relief I feel is immeasurable. I told no one at university, I kept it to myself and texted M. His reaction disappointed me. Maybe I was expecting too much, maybe it is not in fact that big of a deal.  

This morning's class was long. Three hours. For the first twenty minutes I struggled to keep up with the professor's pace, writing down words with a weak handwriting, sloppily making letters look like one another. Taking notes seems to be hard for French students already, and it's only harder for me. But I'm stubborn. I hold my pen and listen to what the professor says, the regularity of all the laptops in the room being typed on is like a metronome. It's easy to take notes on a laptop: you just have to write fast, if you're a good enough stenographer you might even be able to type every word without missing a beat. When you write your hand, not only does it hurt after three hours, but you have to already begin a process of re-elaboration of the information that's being absorbed by your brain. Sometimes I end up writing a few words in English or Italian, because I cannot figure out how to quickly express the same concept in French.

The ink of my pen ran out. I had a spare one. I have been writing so much. 

After class I did not go home directly. I walked around. Finished reading The Year of Magical Thinking, and in turn bought a used copy of Slouching Towards Bethlehem. I like Didion's writing. I have a tendency to get interested in a specific kind of writer – Didion, Sontag, Ernaux – who writes so personally, so precisely. No words are wasted, every word weighs the correct amount. I waste a lot of words, especially when I write. I'd like to be more concise.

I walked, my new book in my bag, in Rue Voltaire. I wanted to visit a showroom by an art collective I follow on Instagram, but when I reached the address something stopped me from opening the glass door. I looked inside, a girl was sitting at a desk, scrolling through her phone. The room was small, dark, the light was off, and I could only see two sculptures and some mannequins wearing knitted dresses and two-pieces. I turned around and ended up wandering in the Marais. I will not hide the fact that part of me would have loved for a photographer to stop me in the street, asking me to take a picture of what I was wearing – but none of that happened. 

Paris is so big that you could go months, years maybe, without passing by certain streets. The places of the city I spend most of my time in did not even feel like what I had envisioned Paris during fashion week to be. But the Marais was livelier, I saw some well-dressed people and took a mental note of their outfits.

I noticed there's a Max Mara on the way to my house. I associate the store to my mother and to the city center, so the idea of living next to one makes my stomach turn. Not yet sure why.

It feels odd, profane, to call this apartment my house, my home. I'm eating at home, I said on one the phone when An. called me earlier today to ask me if I'd have lunch with them. But I still call Venice home, instinctively. I mentioned a store when I was talking to Ca. I told her it was near my home, and that I could get glass beads for ten euros a kilo. Then I corrected myself, adding that the store neat my house in Venice.

-c.

[thornedrose44]

It's Funny Right Up Until It's Not

Read on AO3

It's funny because it's harmless…

It's funny because it's never a big deal…

It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day…

It's funny because she's fine.

She's always fine…

Until… she’s not...

It's funny right up until there's a growing pool of blood.

It's funny right up until Kara's hands just can't seem to stem the flow.

It's funny right up until Kara can't get her to open her eyes no matter how much she screams.

It's funny right up until the moment Kara realises Lena might actually die this time…

*****

Lena always said she would start to worry if she didn't have an assassination attempt at least once a week, claiming she would phone her enemies to check that they were all still kicking - concerned they might have passed away or even worse… lost interest.

Lena was the one that joked about it from the start, her dark-edged humour and flair for the dramatic finding their niche with the topic of the failed attempts on her life.

Alex jumped in next - her humour similar to the youngest Luthor and her affection for Lena not high enough for her to find the subject of Lena’s death off putting like she would with anyone else. Her amusement at the failed attempts taking a harsher edge towards Lena than necessary. "You know why they keep missing you? You run so stupidly that logical aiming no longer applies."

Kara could chart Alex and Lena’s friendship by how the jokes changed. How Lena was no longer the punchline but the assassins, how they were idiotic for daring to take on Lena, "I mean seriously! What sane being in the known universe would think: 'I know that Lena Luthor stopped an alien invasion, is probably the smartest person on the planet and is practically a sharpshooter but me and my crappy store bought pistol will be more than enough to take her on'."

Alex's shift into more positive banter led the way for the rest of the Superfriends to get in on the action. They placed bets on when the next attempt would come. They would reminisce about the most ridiculous attempts so far - the spiderman impersonator that had used suction cup gloves to slowly climb the side of L-Corp was a particular favourite, exhausting themselves halfway up and crying for Supergirl to save him.

It became one of the most regular jokes amongst them, an old and familiar friend that they could fall back on and break the ice with when the need arrived.

Kara had hated it to start with. Had hated Lena's nonchalance and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes after her latest would-be assassin was carted away in handcuffs. Had hated Lena’s morbid humour. Had hated the bullying disguised as playful banter that Alex had inflicted on her best friend who always shook it off far too lightly. Had hated how it became a comfortable staple amongst her friends.

But… with every failed attempt that Lena walked away from without a scratch… Kara's hatred reduced. She started to laugh at the jokes and appreciate the compliments that Alex now tucked into her banter (each one an apology for those that had cruelly come before). She started to engage in the bets and fondly roll her eyes in faux exasperation when she would find Lena working away even as they swept up the glass from the latest attacker.

And once the Supergirl secret was out, their friendship more solid than ever, Kara finally poked fun as well.

It was funny because Lena was never hurt.

It was funny because Supergirl would always, always, always be there to save her in the nick of time.

It was funny right up until Supergirl was too late.

*****

Kara had been in the training room at the time, her powers dampened by the green suffused walls. She hadn’t heard the ringing from the watch calling - screaming out - for help. She hadn’t heard the gunshots. The skyrocketing heartbeat.

She hadn’t heard any of it.

Alex had insisted, after assessing Kara’s technique to be a little lazy in a fight the day prior, that they re-sharpen her skills in the training room. The sisters had spent the morning laughing between thrown punches; exhausting themselves and bickering good-naturedly. Kara had made Alex swear that they would be finished before eleven, not wanting to be late to her standing brunch with Lena that she always looked forward to.

It should be noted that it takes Kara a minute to somewhat recharge in the morning light streaming through the DEO’s windows on the mezzanine balcony after her training sessions. It was something Alex and Lena had spent a significant amount of time working out, taking into consideration the kryptonite strength in the training room and Kara’s typical sunlight absorption rate - neither liking the idea of Kara powerless for an extended amount of time.

So... it took a minute.

A full minute spent talking to Alex about… Kara wouldn’t even remember after everything that happened next.

She would, however, remember the moment when her super-hearing kicked back in and she was overwhelmed by the high pitched warble from Lena’s watch, followed by the sound of Lena’s barely there breath and thready heartbeat.

Kara won’t remember taking off so violently that Alex was thrown back several feet. She won’t remember smashing through the DEO’s ceiling nor the sonic boom that accompanied her flight and shattered hundreds of windows.

She won’t remember landing with such ferocity the entirety of L-Corp shook, matching the tremble running through her body.

She will, however, always remember the growing pool of blood and how she dissociated at the sight of it. Some strange voice in her head whispering that it must simply be red wine that had slipped through Lena’s fingers. She’d always liked wine, the voice would soothe, a particular cabernet with a price tag that would make Kara’s eyes water, that’s all it was.

She needed it to be wine.

It didn’t matter that the puddle - lake, ocean - was more than a single bottle’s worth.

It didn’t matter that Lena only drank wine with others, her solitary drink of preference being whiskey.

It didn’t matter that Kara had never seen Lena’s elegant fingers ever let a single drop fall from her glass, let alone an entire bottle.

It didn’t matter because it could not be blood.

Lena doesn’t bleed, not that much, not ever.

Because Lena was always fine. Kara was always there on time.

Always.

The next thing that would be forever ingrained in Kara’s memory, seared into her mind’s eye like burnt pixels exposed to the same image endlessly - a ghost overlapping everything else - was Lena’s body taking centre stage on the red carpet of her own creation.

Lena, pale beyond comparison, curled into a small ball, single arm stretched out and stained crimson. She was wearing Kara’s favourite dress - green with a white printed flower design - she had worn it to their first brunch after they had reconciled. It was associated with hope, reunion and new starts. It complemented Lena’s green eyes making them sparkle and twinkle even more when the light streaming through the little restaurant’s window had hit them at just the right angle.

Lena’s cheeks had flushed a pleased pink, ears burning a warm red when Kara had stuttered out a compliment that day. That brunch had settled something between them, ensured they walked with linked hands towards their new future rather than struggling on different paths that occasionally converged.

Now it was stained red. Splattered almost beyond recognition.

Kara won’t remember crying or screaming for Lena to wake up. She only knows she must have done it when she looked in the mirror hours later to find her cheeks marked with semi-permanent tear tracks whilst her throat ached from overuse.

She won’t remember flying Lena so carefully and tenderly to the DEO.

She won’t remember landing.

She won’t remember the expressions of utter devastation on Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn’s faces.

She won’t remember Alex having to shove her away so that she and the medical team can get to Lena.

She won’t remember Brainy and J’onn forcibly restraining her.

She will remember the sound of Lena’s heart stopping for thirty seconds and feeling like the whole world had ended.

*****

The space was filled to the brim with loved ones that couldn’t bear the idea of leaving whilst the medical staff fought to save Lena’s life

Brainy and Nia were sat huddled together against one wall, Nia running a calm hand down Brainy’s ramrod straight back. J'onn stood in the corner, observant gaze sweeping protectively over everyone, ready to swing into action at the slightest indication someone required him. Sam and Ruby - who had flown over using the L-Corp jet the second they had heard - were curled up on one of the two benches, Ruby’s soft cries muffled against Sam’s curled shoulder. Kelly, meanwhile, was hovering nearby, flitting between people, providing endless comfort and support.

It was Kelly that had gently tugged Kara to the bathroom and washed away the crimson marking her skin and brought her a change of clothes, telling her in gentle tones that she didn’t need to be Supergirl in this situation.

It was permission to fall apart, to just be the best friend and not the hero.

Kara didn’t know she needed that until she finally realised no one had touched her since she had brought Lena in, that she hadn’t sat down or rested either. Her stiff posture and clenched jaw warding off all those that wished to provide comfort.

The second permission was granted to her, Kara immediately sought out her adoptive mother, who had just arrived, and collapsed into her arms, willingly breaking down and begging between sobs for Lena to be okay.

Kara and Eliza took up the other bench - mirror images of Sam and Ruby - Eliza, intermittently, pressing reassuring kisses to Kara’s head as they waited and waited and waited.

“She’s stable.” Alex announced with little ceremony as she stepped into the room, cutting right to the chase knowing a delay of any kind would not be appreciated by those sitting in the makeshift waiting room/DEO hallway. There was an instant audible expulsion of air that accompanied the sheer relief of the room's occupants.

Kara, however, didn’t sigh in relief, didn’t whisper a thank you to any deity listening, instead she got to her feet and approached Alex, desperation clear in her eyes and in the shake of her hands. “Can I see her?”

Alex blinked taken aback by the suddenness of the request but not the request itself, “Kara, she’s-”

“Please.” Kara begged, blue eyes pleading, legs shaking, ready to drop to her knees in supplication if need be.

“Kara, I don’t-” Alex murmured, looking quickly over at Eliza for support.

“Take her.” Eliza interrupted, tone serious and grave after spending hours holding her daughter who hadn't cried this much since the destruction of her entire planet. “Take her to Lena.”

“Okay, come on…”, Alex shook her head in wary acceptance, moving to hold open the door to Lena’s room.

*****

“She’s in a medically induced coma.” Alex explained quietly, her voice only just audible over all the whirring machines that Lena was hooked up to.

“Will she...” Kara asked, trailing off unable to finish the question.

Unable to imagine the still, pale mannequin laid out on the bed before her being all that Lena will ever be.

“Her body needs time to heal.” Alex explained carefully, not directly answering Kara’s question, “Once we’re more confident that she…” Alex cleared her throat, trying for tact and simplicity, “That she’s improved, we’ll back off the medication and gradually encourage her out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Kara accepted, sliding into the seat beside the bed, fingers reaching out tentatively to wrap around Lena’s limp ones.

“Okay?” Alex repeated, confused by Kara’s lack of pressing questions.

“She’ll wake up.” Kara murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Lena’s knuckles. “She’ll be fine. She’s always fine, isn’t she?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbled, uncertainty twisting her insides as she approached her sister who seemed so… lost.

“How many attempts has she survived now, huh?” Kara asked, her tone light but so dreadfully wrong and out of place like an easy-going dinner with friends jarred from its natural rhythm by the sharp squeak of a fork against a plate.

“Kara?” Alex whispered, stepping towards her sister like she would a wounded animal. "She's really hurt and I don't-"

"She’ll be fine, Alex. She’s always fine!" Kara hissed, blue eyes turning fierce with an ethereal red glow that had Alex stopping dead in her tracks. "It happens every week like clockwork and Lena is always fine!"

"This… this isn't like those other times…" Alex said slowly.

"YES, IT IS!" Kara screeched, the embers in her eyes sparking dangerously.

Alex swallowed thickly, a genuine trickle of fear running down her spine at the disturbing mish-mash of emotions flickering across Kara’s shadowed face. The only thing that made Alex see her sister in the dark swirl of emotions was the tender way she continued to cradle Lena’s hand as she ranted so loudly it shook the walls, every word undoubtedly audible to those seated just outside.

"They're all the same, Alex. It doesn't matter if they are professional or amateurs.” Kara snarled. “It doesn't matter if the plan is simple or complex. They've all tried to kill her and failed! It’s the same fucking thing as all the others! It’s not different."

"I-" Alex began in a futile attempt to soothe her sister’s heartbreak and loathing, but she might as well have tried to turn the tide.

"It's a joke, right?!” Kara laughed darkly, “That's how certain we are that they will always fail. That she will always be okay! We wouldn't joke about it if there was any actual risk, right?!” Kara asked, not waiting to hear the answer as the question itself was enough to punch a hole in Alex’s chest and leave her gasping for breath. “Because how fucked up would that be? That I laugh about my best friend… the woman I… my Lena, dying nearly every week." Kara’s voice cracked with true despair.

"Kara, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did and so did you. So did everyone.” Kara accused, laying out their crimes that they were all undeniably guilty of. “We laughed. We placed bets. We minimised it but didn't actually do anything. There is an assassination attempt on her life every week and yes, we stop it when it happens. But have we ever actually done anything to prevent it in the first place? Or did we just like the joke too fucking much?" Kara sobbed, finally turning away from her sister to gently lay her head atop of Lena’s frail hand.

"Kara…" Alex croaked; hot tears spilling from her own eyes at the sight of her sister becoming undone and knowing that any comfort she could offer was limited.

Lena’s state was precarious, her life still in the balance.

And with regards to the source of Kara’s anguish and the failings she had thrown at all of their doorsteps… well, Alex couldn't refute them especially knowing she had been the worst of them. The guilt was like that of a thousand blades slicing her up from the inside out, and she barely staggered to the door where Kelly was waiting with sympathy and love that Alex had never felt so unworthy of.

"She's going to be okay." Alex called out over her shoulder as she fell into Kelly’s arms, knowing Kara couldn’t hear her over the sounds of her grief and pain… but needing to say it nonetheless. Needing the words to be out there in the universe.

Needing them to be true.

*****

Kara stayed by Lena’s bedside for the entire week that Lena remained unconscious - an ever present sentinel that barely slept and only ate when Eliza forced the food onto her. The tumultuous swirl of fear and guilt that had become her constant companion, weighing heavier than the two worlds she already carried on her shoulders, kept her ever-vigilant and on a hair-trigger for even the smallest of threats to the young Luthor’s life.

Alex stopped by once a day to check in but she kept her distance, neither sister ready to address the crimes Kara held them both accountable for. The older Danvers looked almost as wrecked as Kara, dark circles under her eyes revealing deep-levels of exhaustion and stress - Kara wanted to ask how she was and check that she was looking after herself but the words just wouldn’t come. When Alex stopped by, Kara huddled even closer to Lena’s bedside and kept her gaze fixed and purposefully away from her sister’s.

Brainy and Nia, on the other hand, more than made up for Alex’s short visitations, setting up shop in Lena’s room whenever they could free themselves from the responsibilities Kara had unwittingly dumped on them - Brainy had stepped up to cover for Supergirl’s sudden disappearance in much the same way Nia was covering for Kara at work. Both had heard Kara’s distraught cries when she had seen Lena in the hospital bed and both were shouldering their own fair share of blame and guilt.

Brainy wasn’t very good at showing how distraught Lena’s near death had made him, hiding behind a tablet screen as he sat in the corner of Lena’s hospital room, but Kara was more than aware of the grief-stricken glances Brainy would send to his intellectual equal when he believed no one was looking. Kara didn’t call him out on it, merely gave his shoulder a squeeze every now and again before giving the Coluan some privacy - trusting Brainy above everyone to not let anything happen to Lena.

Whilst Nia hadn’t known Lena as long as everyone else, she was a gentle soul with the kindest heart that Kara had ever seen, her loyalty and love was firm and sincere regardless of how short a time she had known someone as was the case with the CEO. Lena was the person that Nia went to for support about sibling drama because Lena, unlike Kara, knew what it was like to truly doubt family love and how to cope when that support which everyone expects to be unconditional vanishes without a trace. Lena was the person that Nia had started to go shopping with, their appreciation for designer and statement fashion providing them bonding time that no one else could easily (or willingly) provide.

Eliza stuck around, the temporary dissolution of the sisterly bond that the two sisters’ typically depended on forcing the Danvers matriarch to step in and pick up the disjointed pieces of her family. She was the one that compelled Kara to shower, eat and nap. She was the one that dragged Alex by her ear into Lena’s room for her flying visits. She was the one that took point on Lena’s care, Alex too emotionally spent and frazzled to lead, and Kara untrusting of anyone else when it came to treating her best friend.

The medication was steadily backed off on the fifth day, Lena’s tests showing promise that she was improving. Lena groaned intermittently on the sixth day, groggy and confused - utterly unaware of Kara who flitted constantly over her with every sound like a worried mother hen. It was the seventh day - Kara’s mind fleetingly linking it with something holy and divine - when Lena awoke.

“Lena?” Kara whispered as Lena’s eyes fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing and showing awareness that had been lacking whenever they flashed open a day prior.

“Kar-” Lena began, her voice fading out after the first syllable, her mouth so dry that her tongue barely managed to apply any moisture to her cracked lips. Kara responded immediately to her needs, her every nerve tuned in exclusively to Lena after days at her side.

“Here, small sips…” Kara encouraged, holding out a cup of water and straw which she pressed gently against the other woman’s lips.

After Lena had drunk her fill, Kara placed the cup back on the side before retaking Lena’s hand tenderly in her own.

“Better?” Kara checked.

“Hmm…” Lena hummed affirmatively, green eyes greedily moving over Kara’s face causing the blonde to flush and wish for the first time in the last few days that she had spent a bit more time on her appearance.

“I-” Kara began, her voice cracking with emotion as her lower lip trembled with barely suppressed sobs.

Kara had so much to say. So much.

The words had come endlessly whilst Lena had been asleep, thousands upon thousands of conversations she was desperate to have with her best friend playing on endless repeat in her mind’s eye scripted to perfection. She had promised herself she would have them all, would say them all the second Lena was awake and listening. She had memorised them and mouthed them to herself as she sat by the bedside, pressing kisses to Lena’s knuckles to mark the end of each sentence.

But now… her signature ramble had deserted her. There was so much to say and Kara was already overwhelmed at simply being able to stare into intelligent green that she so adored.

“Kara?” Lena called out soothingly.

And much to Kara’s embarrassment, the kryptonian promptly burst into tears upon hearing her name.

“Kara, it’s okay…” Lena rushed to reassure, squeezing Kara’s hand and tugging her closer so that Kara could bury her face into the pillow Lena was resting her head on - even in her broken down state Kara was so careful of Lena’s injured body. “I’m okay.” Lena repeated until Kara’s cries began to quieten and her shoulders stopped shaking, reducing down to a mere tremble.

“No, you’re not…” Kara hiccupped, turning her head to peer into concerned green eyes.

“Of course I am.” Lena reassured with a light, dismissive chuckle that made Kara tense up and her jaw clench. “That idiot couldn’t aim for shit.” Lena scoffed with an amused roll of her eyes that meant she was blind to the rage visibly brewing in her best friend’s countenance. “I’m thinking of turning the corridor leading into my office into a target range. Only those that can hit three out of five targets can gain access. That should stop like eighty percent of the assassins and then those that do make it through will at least be worthy of-”

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kara demanded, throwing herself from the bed, hands clamped tight over her ears as she paced the room with such heavy footsteps that visible cracks in the tiles marked her every move.

The sudden silence that followed would have been suffocating if it were not for the familiar beeps of the machines that monitored Lena’s precious heartbeat. Slowly, Kara pulled her shaky hands away from her ears and glanced at her best friend with her peripheral vision, not ready to face those green eyes after her outburst. Lena was watching her curiously, no hint of fear in her expression or body language, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

“Kara?” Lena encouraged, inviting an explanation with that single word.

Kara inhaled roughly, rubbing at her creased forehead with tightly wound fists. “It’s not funny, Lena…”

Lena cleared her throat and began with a tone that always accompanied her dry, snarky wit, “Well, maybe not right now but by the third attempt after this one-”

“NO!” Kara bellowed in total disbelief that Lena completely failed to get it. “YOU NEARLY FUCKING DIED.”

Lena yet again rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if to sweep it aside like it was a meaningless report that she had made a minor grammatical error in. “Kara, you’re over-reacting.”

“I AM REACTING THE RIGHT FUCKING AMOUNT TO SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THE WOMAN I-” Kara’s voice cut out sudden and sharp.

Finally, Lena’s mask of nonchalance and indifference cracked. Round green eyes, slack jaw and hands tightly fisted in the bed’s blanket. A deer in the headlight that had never believed a car would ever come and had just been forced to watch it swerve erratically by, missing her by an inch.

Kara sucked in her lips, holding in the single word with all of her mighty strength before deflating and stating for the record, “It’s not funny. It was never funny. Never.”

*****

Kara didn’t keep her distance after that but that didn’t prevent a sizable chasm from opening up between them. It was nowhere near as bad as the fallout from Supergirl-gate, but it was ten times more awkward. The confession that almost happened, the assassination attempt and Lena’s near-death were swept momentarily under a rug but they loomed over them both regardless.

The Superfriends served as a suitable buffer, all of them (except for Alex) coming in on rotation to catch up with Lena throughout the day, keeping her occupied (though, Kara’s stony silence and brooding glare was definitely the elephant in the room) until exhaustion pushed Lena into a deep slumber.

It lasted two days which is more than Kara thought Lena would let her get away with but she hadn’t taken into consideration how fragile Lena was from her injuries. Kara hated herself just that little bit more for always assuming everything was fine, that Lena was unbreakable and failing to see what was really going on below the surface.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment for?” Lena questioned, peering over at the blonde who was sat in the corner of the room typing up a fluff piece article to keep Andrea’s wrath at bay as she kept herself sequestered in Lena’s hospital room. Kara pointedly ignored the question, shoulders curving forward to keep her tightly locked towards her laptop screen.

“Come on Kara, talk to me, please?” Lena whined, sounding like a child denied her favourite toy and not someone that had gone through an incredibly traumatic event.

Kara’s jaw clenched, self-awareness making her realise that if she hadn’t of been the one to find Lena, hadn’t watched the grim bruises littered across pale skin lighten to murky blues and greens… she wouldn’t be able to tell that Lena had only just escaped the sweep of death’s scythe.

“I hate it when we are not talking.” Lena declared soft and earnest, finally pulling the kryptonian’s gaze away from her computer screen to the woman that Kara knew with absolute certainty would always make her breath catch no matter how much time passed. “I know my humour is a bit insensitive but I genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. Kara, just-”

“I’m in love with you.” Kara interrupted, the words slipping out easily after being held onto so tightly for years.

She was so drained of emotion, of thought, of strength, her heart battered and bruised by everything she had gone through, but the core of her loved Lena without end. With nothing else in her, there was nothing to hold back that limitless source which had been begging to be released.

“I have been for a long time,” Kara admitted gently, fingers shifting away from her keyboard to gently interlace - her gaze dropping down to focus on their interaction, “so much so that I don’t even really remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.” Kara shook her head ruefully. “I should have told you earlier but I just… I was so scared of losing you, in even a small way… What if I told you and we hung out a little less? What if I told you and you stopped hugging me as hard as you do? I know I should have… I know it's the exact same reason - excuse - as why I kept Supergirl a secret and I know how…” Kara swallowed thickly, the crinkle between her brow deepening even further. “I should have learnt but you mean so much to me. I didn’t know… I’ve never loved like this before. When I heard… your heart stop. It was Krypton all over again and I just…”

“Kara.” Lena breathed in awe.

“I am so in love with you,” Kara repeated, practically begging for Lena to accept it as the truth; she didn’t care in that moment if Lena returned her feelings, it wasn’t about that, it was about Lena knowing she was loved. Truly and deeply loved. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you.” Lena whispered causing Kara’s head to jerk upwards to find Lena looking so small and vulnerable. The youngest Luthor timidly tapped the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

“I…” Kara hesitated, afraid of getting close again - so utterly afraid of destroying this beautiful moment between them.

“Come here.” Lena beseeched and Kara was on her feet and settling next to her best friend in an instant unable to deny her anything. Immediately, Lena reached out for her, directing Kara to lie down and rest her head on the uninjured side of her chest. “Just listen.” Lena requested; Kara did as she was told - though her super hearing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner told Kara that Lena’s heart was beating strong and steady, it was nothing compared to feeling it hum under her cheek. “It’s beating for you,” Lena revealed, her voice little more than a whisper muffled by how she pressed her lips to Kara’s forehead, “it's always been beating for you.”

*****

Lena fell asleep not long after but Kara stayed awake until the early hours of the morning… just listening to Lena’s heart and experiencing the regular rise and fall of Lena’s chest with every breath. She slipped out of Lena’s room before dawn, going to shower in the changing rooms before the early morning shift change.

Freshly clean and dressed in clothes that Eliza had brought by, Kara watched the sunrise from the balcony that she had initially heard Lena’s watch calling to her for help. She had returned to the spot whenever she had managed to pull herself away from Lena’s room - her self-flagellation tendency making itself apparent.

“She uses humour to cope.” Alex muttered, moving to stand by Kara’s side as they watched the first peeks of orange appear on the horizon, both blatantly ignoring how the glass was new and that there was a patched up hole in the ceiling above them.

“I know that.” Kara replied.

Alex sighed, resting her forearms on the balcony guard, “There are worse coping methods.”

“I know that too.” Kara acknowledged, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “It’s not about that… not really anyway…”

“Then what’s it about?” Alex inquired.

Kara loved Alex best when she was like this. Encouraging but not overbearing. Guiding but not directing. When she was just her big sister and not her over-burdened protector. She was easy to talk to like this and this version of her had been coming to the forefront more and more with Kelly’s gentle love and care.

“She’s laughing to deal with incredible trauma.” Kara summarised before turning to look at her sister and asking the question that had been plaguing her the most, “But why are we laughing?”

“Because she wanted us to.” Alex answered simply.

“Yeah,” Kara agreed, mouth twisting into a bitter smile, “she wanted us to but she needed us not to more… she needed us to help her… and we just laughed.” Alex cringed at that but she fully flinched at the question that came next. “If it was me that was getting assassination attempts every week… what would you have done?”

Alex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fortifying herself for the truth she was about to announce, “I would have taken the world apart to find and stop whoever was doing it.”

“Yeah…” Kara said quietly, there wasn’t much else to say. “I’m not going to apologise for yelling.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know…” Alex agreed, turning her back to the sun that was halfway to fully risen, “whilst you were watching over Lena, I may have started on something that might help.”

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Kara hummed thoughtfully, “I figured you were avoiding me.”

“I was.” Alex admitted readily, much to Kara’s surprise. “Well, not you. Lena.” Alex corrected, “I couldn’t face her until I had something… done something.”

“She misses you.” Kara revealed.

“Why?” Alex murmured sadly, “I was a terrible friend.”

“You’ve made up for it.” Kara refuted, nudging her sister’s side comfortingly.

“Have I?” Alex scoffed, unconvinced but happily leaning into her sister now that the gap between them had been bridged.

“That’s not for me or you to decide. It’s for Lena. And she misses you.” Kara asserted, giving Alex a moment to consider what she had said before dropping her own truth-bomb, “I told her I was in love with her.”

Alex whirled round to face her, loudly and joyfully exclaiming, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Kara winced, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, “You knew?”

“Not until recently.” Alex tutting at her own blindness, “I should have seen it earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and you’ve always made me brave.”

Alex smiled at that, “How did it go?”

“Good.” Kare coughed, blushing profusely, “She… uh… loves me too.”

“That I’d known for a while.” Alex chuckled. “Are you two-”

“Uh… kind of? We’re acknowledging it but not acting on it.”

Alex’s brow creased at the lack of certainty to her answer, “What? Why?”

“Lena needs time to recover. And after everything,” Kara frowned, “I don’t think a little time to do that is too much to ask.”

“Responsible decision.” Alex complimented.

“Kelly’s advice.” Kara divulged.

Alex’s smile expanded to a proud grin. “Unsurprising.”

“Come on,” Kara ordered, clapping her hands together before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders, “show me what you’ve been working on, then you better go see Lena.”

*****

Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso and one to the right thigh, as well as two broken ribs, a black eye, stitches to her lip and her skin turned into an homage to Jackson Pollock by different shaded bruising. Lena catalogued the injury rundown given to her by the doctor with little interest; she paid even less attention to her treatment plan, the medication schedule and the intensive physiotherapy her leg would require.

All she really wanted was to get back to work; if Kara wasn’t there shooting her stern glares everytime Lena’s gaze wandered, the CEO would have happily been replying to emails on her phone as the Doctor lectured away.

“Did you even listen to any of that?” Kara asked once the doctor had taken his leave.

“I heard his name…” Lena grumbled, phone already in hand and frown settling in as she reviewed the most recent email from her marketing head who still hadn’t quite got it through their thick skull that weapons were no longer their main focus.

“And what was it?” Kara questioned, her phone vanishing from her hands with a flash of superspeed.

Lena huffed out a disgruntled breath. “It was...”

“It was?” Kara prompted, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping the floor angrily whilst her nostrils flared.

Lena pursed her lips, schooling her expression to hide just how attractive she found a stern Kara to be. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Lena said slowly, playing desperately for time. “Doctor…” Kara merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Smith?”

“Not even close.”

“Damn…” Lena muttered with a pout.

“Lena,” Kara began with a sad shake of her head as she moved to sit on the edge of Lena’s bed.

“Ugh, you’re about to lecture me too, aren’t you?” Lena groaned.

“Lena, this is important.” Kara stressed. “Your treatment is important. Your health is important.” Kara’s blue eyes shone with love and Lena couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You are important.”

Their confession of love still hung heavy between them despite Lena not explicitly saying the words in return. It should have marked a huge change in their relationship but it was lost amongst the tidal wave that had come before it, put on pause until the wake from the assassination attempt had dissipated enough for Lena to catch her breath.

“Fine…” Lena relented, reaching out to take Kara’s hand, gaze still shy and ducked. “I assume you were listening then?”

“Of course, I was. It was about you.” Kara replied so honest and sincere that Lena’s heart audibly fluttered on the heart monitor producing a smug smirk on the blonde’s face.

“Go on then, tell me.”

“Will you actually listen to me?” Kara checked, tilting her head to the side.

Lena lifted her head and met Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze of her own, “Of course, I will. It’s you talking.”

*****

The strangest thing about it all was the attention.

And for once it wasn’t negative media attention.

It was Kara and the Superfriends, they were being attentive. Lena hadn’t spent a single minute alone since she had woken up in the DEO hospital bed. Kara had been there the most to start with, her time in Lena’s room decreasing significantly a couple of days after the kind-of-confession (Lena assumed Kara was giving her some breathing room) but she was always present for any appointments and back for dinner, sleeping by her side in the decent-sized hospital bed. As Kara’s time decreased, the other Superfriends tagged in to fill the gap.

Brainy joined her most mornings for games of chess and to talk through some of the sticking points in Lena’s inventions. Nia covered the afternoons, filling the room with light and happy conversation, regaling her with stories of silly work disputes and helping her with her hair and make-up, teasing her like a little sister would when she mentioned wanting to look nicer for Kara.

Kelly would slot in every now and again but she made Lena uneasy, she looked at Lena like she could see right through her armour and it unsettled her. Her usual attempts to crack through awkwardness with a dry comment didn’t seem to faze Kelly and Lena’s obvious discomfort resulted in Kelly staying away for the most part; whenever, she did leave though she always made it clear that Lena could call her if she ever wanted to talk.

Lena pretended she didn’t know what Kelly was hinting at.

Eliza was the biggest surprise. Ever since Lena failed to listen to any of her doctors, Kara had clearly ratted her out to the oldest Danvers prompting the Doctor to personally take over Lena’s care, somehow innately knowing that Lena wouldn’t be able to ignore her like she did all the others. Eliza was a near constant presence in Lena’s room, reading through a pile of medical journals and historical romance fiction that Lena was slowly becoming tempted to borrow as time passed.

Alex was still a complete no-show.

Lena tried not to let it bother her.

Her and Alex had always had a tumultuous relationship - built on distrust and dislike at first sight. Kara had been their bridge and mediator. They had grown past it, grown to trust and like one another as time passed. It had been hard-fought compared to the easiness (Supergirl secret fallout notwithstanding) of their individual relationships with Kara. It was precious because of that.

Alex coming to see her with a bottle of whiskey, after defeating Leviathan and Lex being thrown back in jail, ready to fight to rebuild their friendship all over again was one of Lena’s dearest memories. Alex was the only one to reach out to her first after everything. Lena had to make the first move with Kara, Brainy and Nia. She had been too afraid of Alex to reach out, thinking their friendship would never recover… Alex had proved her wrong.

But now… Alex was avoiding her.

And Lena didn’t really know why, though a small voice in her head told her that Alex just simply didn’t care about her enough to visit…

“Did you have a good day?” Kara asked, stepping out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in cosy pyjamas, shuffling over to the side of Lena’s bed that had become her own.

“You don’t already know with your litany of spies?” Lena remarked, turning the page of her book with a single accusing finger.

“What-” Kara began, brow creased with confusion.

“I don’t think there is a single minute of my day that is not covered by one of your friends.” Lena revealed, snapping her book shut and shooting the blonde an arched eyebrow. “I can’t sneeze without someone already on hand holding out a handkerchief.”

“They’re worried about you.” Kara reminded her softly as she settled next to Lena, arm immediately finding its place around Lena’s waist and gently encouraging her to lie down beside her. “And they’re your friends, Lena.”

“Sure.” Lena tutted unconvinced.

Kara’s pliant body that Lena had become used to snuggling into became stiff and tense. “Do you think they are only here because I asked them to be?”

Lena rolled her eyes, perking her head up to look into sharp, unamused blue eyes, “Are you seriously telling me they’re not?”

“Lena,” Kara said, slow and serious, “they’re here because they care about you. Because they nearly lost you and they… they don’t want to be away from you.”

Lena stared into the deep blue eyes she adored and saw only earnestness reflected in them.

“Oh…” Lena breathed, her heart squeezing tight in her chest desperately trying to contain the swell of emotion that had just flooded it. “I didn’t realise...”

“We love you, Lena.” Kara whispered, her free hand reaching out to tuck stray locks of raven hair behind Lena’s ear. “You’re going to have to get used to us being around.”

“Hmm…” Lena hummed, cheeks blushing a pretty pink at Kara’s tender touch and the realisation that came with finding you have family. Lena buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, suddenly shy and embarrassed - Kara didn’t tease her for it, simply gave Lena the comfort and sanctity she craved.

They were quiet for a long time, the hum of the machines and welcome darkness of the room lulling them both to sleep. It wasn’t until Kara’s breath had started to deepen that Lena found the courage to ask about what had been weighing heavy on her.

“And Alex?” Lena murmured, breaking the silence and calm with those two words.

Kara’s deep, even breaths faltered. “She’s still not been by?” Kara asked carefully; Lena shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to remain steady. “Well… ummm… she’s busy…”

“Yeah… of course…” Lena replied, letting out a sad sigh before falling into another troubled sleep.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Not exactly the first words she was expecting to hear from the older Danvers after a three week absence but Lena had known it would be something along those lines.

It was Lena’s last day in the DEO hospital room that had been her resting place since she woke up from the attempt on her life. Kara and Eliza were taking her back to her apartment that afternoon - both of whom were going to be taking up residence in Lena’s apartment alongside Sam and Ruby who were already staying there to support Lena’s long-term recovery.

Lena folded her hands carefully in her lap as she studied the redhead leaning against the doorway. “You don’t look much better.” Lena said after a long pause, arching a curious eyebrow at the dark shadows beneath Alex’s eyes.

“Touche.” Alex acknowledged with a dip of her head that gave her an excuse to keep her gaze directed to the floor when she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Alex, you…” Lena stopped, grinding her teeth together in frustration before shaking her head, “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Lena answered simply, shooting the hesitant agent a melancholic smile. “Force yourself to be here. I assume Kara guilt-tripped you into being here.”

“Kara didn’t-” Alex began only to stop abruptly at the sight of the unimpressed glare directed her way. “Okay, she might have encouraged me.” Alex admitted, scuffing her toes against the floor in the exact same way Kara did whenever she was guilty of eating the last bit of Lena’s ice cream. “She can be pretty intimidating when it comes to you.” Alex’s eyes twinkled in a blatant attempt to get them to bond, to seal over the cracks between them with cellophane.

Normally, Lena would accept it. Would laugh and blush knowingly, giving Alex the free pass she was angling for.

That was before she nearly died and her second closest friend after Kara couldn’t be bothered to stop by for five minutes until the day she would be allowed to leave the only place they shared.

“Well, I’ll tell her you came by, so don’t worry.” Lena replied politely with a single nod of her head.

Alex flinched at the coolness of Lena’s response, “Lena… I…”

“Alex, I nearly died.” Lena stated bluntly, the truth of it like the swing of a reaper’s blade between them. “If what I overheard from some of the agents is true… I did die.” Lena chuckled darkly to herself at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I nearly die once a week, sometimes more. My life expectancy is incredibly short - don’t tell Kara that, though.” Lena quickly requested, she’d seen how much all of this had affected the blonde and she didn’t want to pile onto her pain. “I don’t think about it because if I do…” Lena trailed off, her gaze turning distant as she whispered, “I don’t think about it. What I’m trying to say is…” Lena exhaled deeply, letting go of her charged emotions and in a far more real way letting go of all expectations of friendship when it came to the older Danvers. “I don’t need to be around people that don’t want to be around me.”

“Lena.” Alex croaked from the door.

Lena didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the effect of her honesty.

So, instead, Lena reached out for the book on the bedside table, flipped it open and promised with a brusque business tone, “I’ll tell Kara you stopped by.”

*****

The return back to her apartment was a welcome shift, having grown sick of the sight of her hospital room’s four walls after the first day of waking up there. Lena was happy to be back in her own space but after a day that’s where the joy ended.

Being back in her apartment acutely reminded her of her current lack of independence.

She was no longer awake at six for work like she used to be, her injuries and medication making her sleep long and late into the day. Then when she was awake she found herself groggy and fatigued.

She couldn’t get up and make breakfast for herself, she couldn’t shower without support, she couldn’t focus for long without her attention drifting. Her penthouse was abuzz with life and activity in a way that it had never been before but she found she couldn’t quite enjoy it to its fullest with how she jumped at every loud sound and struggled to keep herself awake for the length of a film.

That wasn’t the worst part though...

There had been a certain safety and security that had come with being at the DEO: surrounded by armed agents that were there to keep her safe, her super-powered friends just a couple of corridors away at all times.

That’s not to say her apartment wasn’t secure.

It was probably more secure than the DEO with biometric locks, bulletproof glass and a panic room that could probably survive armageddon. And if that wasn’t enough, she currently went to sleep with one of the most highly regarded Doctors in the country as well as one of her best friends who would fight tooth and nail for her staying in her guest rooms and to top it off, she had Supergirl curled up around her every night.

The panic attacks started when she had returned to the apartment and her medication dosage had been decreased enough to lift the fog on her mind and allow the dark thoughts and fears to seep in under the cover of darkness.

She managed to hide it, mostly due to luck more than anything else.

Kara was out for most of the day still, off doing who knew what - the kryptonian had been particularly secretive about her recent activities - and Lena had managed to request privacy when she felt an attack starting that Sam and Ruby were always quick to acquiesce to.

She just needed to get past this, she just needed to push the fear, that she had kept tightly sealed in a little box in some far-flung corner of her mind, back into the abyss it belonged in.

If she could do that…

She just didn’t want to be afraid anymore, not when she had so many good things in her life, like her new bedtime routine...

“And anyway long story short…” Kara grinned, as she lifted Lena gently into the bed, tucking the sheets lovingly around her, “he gave me a camel.”

Lena chuckled, pressing a quick appreciative kiss to Kara’s cheek that had the blonde ducking her head bashfully. “I’m assuming you didn’t keep it.”

Kara winced, admitting weakly, “I kept it for like a week. It destroyed my apartment. Destroyed.” Kara stressed with a horror-struck expression.

“Really?” Lena prompted as Kara supersped to turn out the lights, change into her pyjamas and get into bed by Lena’s side.

“You remember when you popped round to my apartment for lunch one day and you thought there was a gas leak because of the smell?” Kara asked, holding out an arm for Lena to curl herself up under.

“Yeah?”

“Camel.”

“Huh.” Lena muttered thoughtfully, “I thought you were just having really bad flatulence.”

Kara gasped in shock and disbelief, “And you still wanted to hang out with me?”

Lena shrugged, licking her lips before declaring simply, “I’m in love with you.”

It was the first time she had properly said the words.

“I… umm… I…” Kara stammered incoherently, her entire face turning a lovely shade of tomato. “You like making me all flustered, don’t you?” Kara groaned.

“Yes.” Lena answered honestly, “Until I can…” Lena’s smile dimmed momentarily at the reminder that she was still not quite ready for that next step, “it’s the only thing I can do right now.”

“There’s no rush.” Kara assured, even as Lena heard a small clock ticking in her mind, counting down to the next inevitable bullet she would have to dodge.

*****

Lena had learned to be quiet from a young age.

She was told firmly that screams and cries and whimpers were not acceptable. That her nightmares did not warrant waking the house, did not warrant shaming the Luthor name with her tears and her petty fears.

Lena taught herself to wake with a mere sigh whilst her throat clenched tightly to hold in the shout of desperation that wished to escape.

Lena taught herself to sleep motionlessly, to not toss and turn as her dreamed body clawed and swam through a syrupy atmosphere whilst shadowy figures relentlessly hunted her down.

Lena taught herself to hide her nightmares from a young age - it was easy enough to do, she got a lot of practice in the Luthor Mansion and she had regularly brushed up on these skills since she started dodging bullets every other day.

No one would ever know the horrors that plagued her at night as long as Lena had her way.

What she didn’t count on was that the horrors could grow and mutate into terrors far worse than anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time since she was child, Lena awoke with a blood-curdling scream, her entire body trembling and skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Lena, you’re okay. You’re okay.” A soft voice soothed, warm arms wrapping gently around Lena to prevent her from causing harm to herself with her frantic movements. “Shh… you’re okay.”

“I… I…” Lena cried, shaking her head to clear the nightmare veil still shrouding her mind.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara repeated endlessly, each utterance just as soft and gentle as all the others.

“Kara…” Lena croaked, burying herself in Kara’s warmth and forcing the kryptonian’s arms to wrap even more around her. It was the fear that made her honest whilst the pain of her constantly aching body made the words tumble out even easier, “I’m… scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t…”

The pliable cocoon made of Kryptonian muscle hardened to steel in an instant at the confession. The murmured words of comfort ceased and Kara’s breath went from light and even to deep and irregular.

“Lena, you’re not going to die.” Kara whispered harshly, the words cold and vicious - but not towards Lena, never towards Lena - as if she could intimidate away any and all threats just by speaking it into existence. “You’re not.”

“This time.” Lena muttered, timidly reaching out to hold Kara with her own hands as she ducked her head under Kara’s chin.

“Lena?”

“I’m not going to die this time.” Lena breathed, “What about the next one? And the one after that and after that and… It never stops. And I don’t- I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be scared all the time. I want to be excited and happy because you love me.” Lena’s hands clutch handfuls of Kara’s pyjama shirt with white knuckles. “But all I’m thinking about is: how little time we have. How stupid it is to get into a relationship when I know the odds - because they offer them on a number of mainstream betting sites - of me making it to the next year is slim to none.”

Silence followed Lena’s speech, heavy and suffocating. Lena held her breath waiting for the kryptonian to reply.

The lightest touch of lips to Lena’s forehead allowed her to breathe out slow and steady.

“You are not dying.” Kara declared sternly.

“I’m just scared…” Lena sighed, snuggling closer to the blonde encouraging the lips to press repeatedly against her brow until the lines creasing it eased away, “all the time, Kara. All the time.”

They fell asleep entangled together - if Lena had been more with it she would have tried to get Kara to re-position herself into a more comfortable position, not that Kara would have been persuaded, unwilling to move an inch if it distanced her in any way from the youngest Luthor.

Lena awoke the next day to gentle fingers brushing through her hair, enticing her back to the real world that was illuminated by the bright morning sun. Kara was up and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand through Lena’s hair and intermittently stroking her cheek whilst her other hand balanced a tray loaded up with pancakes, strawberries and orange juice.

“Mmmm…” Lena hummed happily, turning her head to press a quick kiss to Kara’s palm.

“Breakfast.” Kara announced cheerily, helping Lena sit up before placing the tray carefully on her lap and pressing a kiss to Lena’s blushing cheek.

Lena took a deep breath, taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty of this singular moment: the woman she loved sat next to her with an adoring look having made her favourite for breakfast. She wanted to be able to enjoy this without feeling like damocles’ sword was looming above her at all times.

“Kara?” Lena murmured, reaching out to interlace their fingers, seeking support.

“Yeah?”

Lena swallowed thickly, squeezed Kara’s hand once, and asked, “Can you ask Kelly to pop by? When she has a chance that is.”

“Of course.” Kara beamed, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Lena’s hand, her blue eyes shining with pride.

“I want to be excited. I don’t want to live in fear.”

*****

It was a few days later when Lena found herself alone for the first time in over a month. Kara was out during the day as usual, Sam and Ruby were out at the cinema enjoying some mother-daughter time whilst Eliza had left for a walk five minutes ago. Lena was working through some calculations at the dining room table - Eliza had positioned her wheelchair at the table and left her a warm cup of coffee to tide her over until she got back.

Admittedly, Lena probably should’ve realised that it was all a ploy because barely ten minutes had passed before the front door swung open and in strode one Agent Danvers.

Lena placed her pen back onto the table and quirked a perplexed eyebrow at the redhead, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Alex declared with a smirk and cocked hip.

Lena pursed her lips, musing thoughtfully, “And here I thought if you ever did kidnap me, you wouldn’t be so open about it…”

Alex frowned, “You’ve thought about me kidnapping you?”

“Not you per se.” Lena explained with a wave of her hand before rolling her temporary wheelchair out from the table and over to her intruder, “The DEO or some other covert government agency grabbing me and hiding me away in some dark cell.”

“That…” Alex began, her intent to deny the possibility of such a scenario occurring dying after a single moment’s consideration. Lena chuckled sadly at the guilty brown eyes that dipped away from her gaze. “Nevermind.” Alex murmured, shaking her head and forcing back her usual confident swagger. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Alex-” Lena sighed, not really in the mood for whatever Alex had planned.

Suddenly Alex was in front of her, knelt down - not to patronise but to easily reach out for Lena’s hands.

“You’re probably my best friend,” Alex announced, firm and beautifully honest (a signature Danvers trait), “not counting Kara or Kelly. But Kara loves me as a sister above everything else. Kelly loves me as a romantic partner above everything else. You are my friend with no other requirements, no other levels… nothing else.”

“Alex, I…” Lena blinked, utterly taken aback.

“You are my friend and I love you.” Alex assured, her expression turning pained and remorseful, “You are my best friend and you nearly died and I realised that I… I haven’t been a very good friend. I was so mean to you to start with. For no fair reason.” Lena bit her lip and stared down at their joined hands, unable to hide how the constant hatred for crimes she did not commit (actively stopped) had left deep and everlasting wounds that she would probably never recover from. “And then when I finally started to pull my head out of my ass… I never apologised, I never… I just smoothed over it.”

Alex cringed with the memories but pushed onwards regardless - admirably brave and stubborn to a fault.

“When the Supergirl fallout happened, I knew you were suffering.” Alex admitted causing Lena to flinch in surprise and nearly pull away but Alex’s hold gently followed after her. “If it was me in your position, I would have… I would have destroyed so much and I was raised in a family filled with support and love and… I knew you were suffering but I… I just didn’t think. You’re always so strong and unbreakable that I just didn’t think. You’re my best friend and I have not treated you like that.”

“Alex,” Lena swallowed thickly, hanging her head in shame, “what I did during that time… I’m so ashamed.”

“You’re missing the point, Lena.” Alex murmured, “I didn’t mean to-” Alex exhaled shakily, rapidly blinking away tears on the cusp of falling. “You’ve made up for it. Now it's my turn.”

“You have nothing to make up for.” Lena rushed to reassure as Alex stood back up, chin held high and determined.

“Yes, I do.” Alex insisted. “Assassination attempts every week, Lena. That is not okay. A short life expectancy for my best friend is not okay.” Alex’s hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. “I should have done something.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Alex grinned bright and defiant, “It is now.”

*****

“Alex, what’s going on?” Lena said slowly, not really sure what she was watching play out on the screens in the DEO command centre.

Alex merely winked at the CEO as she stepped up to the console and called out, “Supergirl, how are things going?”

“Good.” Kara replied, her voice coming through loud and clear through the speakers. Lena watched in awe - as always - of Kara flying through the air, swerving around traffic like it was nothing. “Rounding up the last few stragglers; they thought they could outrun me in a van which has a max speed of like sixty.” Lena laughed at the stupidity of the escape attempt which immediately alerted the superhero to her presence. “Is Lena there?”

“Yep,” Alex replied with a broad grin, wiggling her eyebrows at the youngest Luthor making her blush a bright red, “so you better put on a good show for your girl.”

“Will do.” Kara promised instantly, accelerating and performing aerial aerobatic maneuvers with the sole purpose of impressing only one person.

Lena shook her head, her heart swelling with affection, as she rolled her eyes at Alex’s smug smile. “What’s the mission?” Lena asked, trying to regain some of her composure.

Alex’s smugness faded to be replaced with something far softer at the question.

“Shutting down the final CADMUS outpost.” Alex answered, crossing her arms and nodding over to Brainy who brought a map of the world covered in hundreds of red dots. “We took down any and all remaining Leviathan supporters last week. Lex supporters the week before that.” The red dots flashed to highlight the different groupings as Alex listed them off. “We’ve also finished gathering evidence on Edge, he’s going to be arrested alongside his allies first thing in the morning.”

Lena’s mouth had dropped open at some point and there was a light buzzing in her ears as stared blankly at the crossed off red dots. “I don’t understand.”

“CADMUS took a little longer just because of the sheer number of bases and how they decentralised after Lex was taken down, each working independently.” Alex continued unperturbed.

“Then how-”

“Lillian. She told us where all the bases are.” Alex answered without needing to hear the whole question.

That cut through Lena’s stupor in an instant and wrenched an almighty gasp from her. “What? Why?”

Alex’s expression turned melancholic yet again, clearly upset that the answer wasn’t obvious to Lena, that there had to be a more-than-love-reason. “Because you’re her daughter and you nearly died.”

“I don’t…”

Alex turned so her back was to the wall of red dots, hands on hips and unfaltering in the face of adversity. “No more assassination attempts. No more short life expectancy.” Alex asserted, waving a hand towards the screen. “This. All of this. You deserve this. You deserve to grow old. You deserve to not live in a constant state of fear. You deserve to be happy in love.” Alex’s jaw clenched noticeably as brown eyes shone with a watery film, “We should have done this years ago. We should have protected you years ago. We should never have laughed, Lena.”

“Alex…” Lena exhaled roughly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep in the sobs, feeling so overwhelmed with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Alex didn’t acknowledge the words, she merely walked over to Lena and pulled her into a tight hug, providing her a much needed shoulder to cry on.

*****

“Did I mention how much I hate physical therapy?” Lena huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh you know…” Alex replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “just about every minute or so.”

Lena hummed, somewhat pleased at the answer, “I thought it was more than that.”

“Suck it up, Luthor.” Alex teased even as she got a bottle of water ready for Lena once she’d finished the exercises.

“Remind me again-...” Lena panted, “why I agreed that you could accompany me to PT instead of Kara?”

“You need tough love.” Alex answered, repeating the words Lena had used a week prior when she had requested Alex’s help. “You’d never finish a single exercise if Kara was helping you.”

Lena pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

Kara was loving, affectionate and probably the best support system Lena had ever had. She cared for Lena in a thousand and one ways that Lena had never believed she was worthy of. Unfortunately, all this made Kara the absolutely worst person to accompany her to physical therapy. At the first wince or sign of discomfort, Kara insisted Lena rest and take it easy. She barely made it five minutes through the session before Kara was escorting her back to the apartment to give her a bath and massage - Lena loved every second of it but accepted Kara would not be going with her to the next appointment.

“Not really seeing that as a downside at present.” Lena admitted, her muscles burning as they were steadily rebuilt and restrengthened.

“The sooner you finish PT, the sooner you can get around by yourself.” Alex reminded her knowing it was the single best incentive to get the CEO through this.

“Good point.” Lena acknowledged groaning as she pushed herself through the last rep. As soon as she finished, Alex talked her through recovery, handing her water to sip slowly from before checking her recovered injuries and scars.

“Hey Alex…” Lena began, shifting nervously as her breathing returned to normal.

“Yeah?” Alex prompted, arching an eyebrow having picked up on Lena’s odd tone.

Lena opened her mouth to speak before snapping it decisively shut, “Nevermind.”

“Don’t go shy on me now, Luthor.” Alex remarked, helping Lena unsteadily to her feet and guiding her over to a bench in the DEO training hall where they had been working out.

Lena nibbled on her bottom lip, and glanced at Alex’s profile. “I want to ask Kara out on a date.”

“That’s great.” Alex cheered immediately before quirking her head to the side, “What’s the problem?”

“I know I’ve been…” Lena winced, “hesitant.”

“Lena,” Alex said softly, “you’re recovering from serious physical, emotional and mental trauma.”

“But-”

“And despite all that…” Alex continued, settling into her role as cheerleader and confidant with ease, “you’re still taking Kara’s feelings into consideration. Despite everything you’ve been through you’re still being sensible and thoughtful. You’re not kickstarting a relationship until you’re sure you can give it the best chance.”

“You and Kelly have been talking about this.” Lena guessed.

“A little.” Alex answered only slightly rueful, “You’re my best friend and Kara’s my sister. It comes up in conversation.”

Lena chuckled at that, nudging Alex’s side playfully before announcing, “I think I’m ready.”

“That’s great.” Alex said just as enthusiastically as before, “So I’ll repeat, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t…” Lena sighed before confessing “I don’t know where to take her. I want to do something special.”

“Are you seriously asking for dating advice with my sister?” Alex questioned.

“You’re my best friend,” Lena shot back, “who else am I going to ask? You saw how Brainy handled dating Nia and well… Nia is dating Brainy...”

“Okay, I see your point.” Alex relented, “Though, when we talk about your dating life, Kara is not my sister.” Alex requested, “Just some random person called Kara.”

“Deal.” Lena accepted. “So…?”

“You don’t need to do anything special, she already loves you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do something special.” Lena whined, “But I’m kind of limited by the aforementioned trauma…”

“Let’s get a coffee and strategise.” Alex declared, patting Lena’s back supportively. “Come on, you’re buying.”

*****

Lena adjusted the green dress that Nia had taken her shopping for earlier that afternoon, hating how it clashed with the cane she was using to move around with. A small candle lit table was set up on the balcony - Sam and Ruby having kindly moved it earlier - with one of Kara’s favourite homemade dinners, courtesy of Eliza, steaming in the early evening light.

Lena paced, awkwardly awaiting the blonde’s arrival; Alex’s words of advice and support on repeat in her mind to drown out her anxieties.

Kara, for all her patented Kara Danvers clumsiness, was the epitome of gracefulness when it came to flying allowing her to land almost inaudibly on the balcony by Lena’s side taking her by surprise. Lena jerked back at the sudden appearance but a familiar gentle touch to her elbow settled her in an instant.

“Lena? What’s all this?” Kara breathed, eyes darting from Lena’s green dress to the set table as her super suit vanished to be replaced by her standard shirt and chinos,

“Dinner.” Lena replied, swallowing thickly as she reached for Kara’s hand and mumbled shyly. “I mean a… date-dinner-thing. If you want, that is?”

Kara inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide with shock and barely restrained excitement. “I want. I really, really want.” The blonde dashed to the table, pulling out a chair for Lena clearly not keen for any kind of delay.

“Alright then.” Lena chuckled, walking towards Kara’s dazzling smile and everything it offered.

*****

“An hour.” Brainy said, laying down his opening gambit.

“Pfft… an hour, are you serious?” Nia scoffed, “Thirty minutes max.”

“Twenty.” Alex shot back with a challenging lift of her chin.

Nia pursed her lips as she considered Alex’s suggestion. “You’re on.”

The two women shook firmly on it, much to Kelly and Briany’s amusement, just as Kara and Lena walked back from the kitchen loaded up with snacks and drinks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kara inquired, narrowing her gaze accusingly at her gathered group of friends who had set up shop in her and Lena’s joint apartment for their weekly games night.

Kara had moved in formally two weeks ago following six months of dating during which they had practically lived together for the entirety of it but had been wise enough to keep themselves places that could be just theirs until they were officially ready.

“Nothing.” Nia and Alex answered quickly and in-sync.

“We’re gambling.” Brainy answered guilelessly at the same time.

“On?” Kara asked, dumping the load of snacks in her arms onto the coffee table before crossing her arms whilst Lena laughed lightly as she settled on the couch next to Alex.

“Leave them be, darling.” Lena soothed, tugging gently on Kara’s pocket encouraging her to sit down and lean against Lena’s legs.

“Okay.” The kryptonian muttered, immediately acquiescing to the suggestion, all the fight going out of her as soon as Lena tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks.

“Whipped.” Alex instantly coughed.

“And proud.” Kara accepted with a shrug, tilting her head to look up at Lena with adoring blue eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lena replied without hesitation.

“Ugh.” Nia groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Alex held out a hand to the youngest reporter, wiggling her fingers in demand, “Pay up.”

“She didn’t even make it a minute.” Nia exclaimed in disbelief.

Kara’s brow creased in a cross of confusion and outrage, “You were betting on me?”

“Yep.” Alex answered without the slightest sign of guilt. “On how long it takes for you to say ‘I love you’ to Lena.”

“That’s… I…” Kara squawked, mouth flapping open and closed before snapping shut in defeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s because Lena removes you of all verbal reasoning skills.” Brainy remarked drily.

All eyes swiveled to look at the genius in surprise.

“Did Brainy just make a joke?” Lena asked quietly to no one in particular.

“I think he did.” Nia said slowly.

“Nice one, Brainy.” Alex laughed, lifting her beer bottle up in respect and effectively setting everyone else in the room off with their own chuckles and giggles.

“Laugh as much as you like.” Kara rolled her eyes in amusement, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?” Lena checked, bending down to whisper privately into Kara’s ear, “I can ask them to stop.”

Kara turned to look up at the love of her life, reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and ease away the flicker of unnecessary concern.

“I’m sure.” Kara asserted honestly, her smile widening as she leaned up to kiss Lena slow and deep. When they pulled back, foreheads resting against one another, Kara whispered into the shared space between them. “It is kind of funny.”

It’s funny because Kara loves Lena.

It’s funny because Kara will always, always, always love Lena.

[ineffableplanner]

Wednesday Spotlight #83 - November 24th 2021

What’s new? Store spotlight is giving way to something else this week: An interest check. And not just for anything. Peeps, we all need a planner with the option of printing it, don’t we? I know I can’t keep track of anything without!

Do you have or do you know of a fancomic or zine on sale/pre-order don’t hesitate to let me know.

The store spotlight: I’ll link to one etsy/redbubble/insert-platform here, every week. The rotation goes by order of me finding the links and whatever links you guys might send to me. And yes, you’re more than welcome to send me the link to your store. Store spotlight is not in tonight, as I am a bit tight for time.

Good Omens Fanzines/fancomics open for orders/pre-orders:

Too Wise to Woo Peaceably - a Good Omens Fancomic by Piel Petite

A printed copy of the fully remastered fan comic Too Wise to Woo Peaceably, plus digital download! Ships by December 31, 2021.

Our Omens - a Good Omens Fanzine

Available in physical as well as digital format. Open till December 26th

Enchanted Omens - Leftover Zine Sale!

Did you miss out on this fairy tale themed GO Zine the first time? Now’s your chance to get it!

Last Chance stock! BLITZ 1941

This is it if you want this publication, store closes on Nov 30th

Our Side Zine - ACE WEEK 2021

Link to twitter

—————–

Note: Zine pre-orders have been moved from Saturday’s newsletter to Wednesday’s Spotlight post. Zine’s will be spotlight’ed until pre-orders/orders end date. Personal comics will get one spotlight for now - if more weeks go by without any new ones, I’ll re-boost some of the earlier ones.

If you have a fanbook/comic for sale or a fanzine up for pre-order, please PM me to let me know or email me at ineffableplanner (at) gmail.com. I may catch it on my own but better safe than sorry ;) - same goes for any events or zine signups you’d like boosted in the Saturday newsletter. Also a shout-out to those of you who ping me with links, both for events as well as comics and zines.

For now no commission info as opening/closing commissions happen so fast sometimes the links might not be valid after a few days. As for patreon pages I can’t double check content, so no.

You can find older editions of the Wednesday spotlight by following the tag #Wednesday spotlight

[thiswasinevitableid]

71. you’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account

Sternclay, NSFW, please!

Here you go! Let's end this round of meet uglies with a bang

The post-holiday slump is always the worst; everyone maxed out their credit cards last month and doesn’t want to buy anything, and the tourists won’t be back until the spring. It’s not that he’s concerned about keeping the lights on; Bookworms is popular and has a prime spot downton. It’s that he’s bored out of his mind.

All his orders for the day are in, everything’s been received and shelved, and he’s running out of things to tidy. If he’s lucky, the clouds that have been threatening a snowstorm since this morning will burst and drive some people to shelter among the stacks.

Dingdong

Thank the lord.

“Welcome to Bookworms, can I help you?”

The man stays by the door, peering through the glass onto the street while pulling off his beanie, “Huh? Oh, uh, nope, just coming in to, uh, get out of the cold.” He turns, and two realizations slap Joseph in the face.

One: this is the hottest man he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Two: He’s seen this man dozens of times, just never in person.

Barclay Cobb is a Food Network darling who got his start on Youtube, sharing recipes from vintage cookbooks he found at garage sales. That’s not why he’s starstruck, but it is probably why the taller man is hiding in the craft books alcove and keeps nervously looking his way.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Mr. Cobb.”

“Phew” the man sighs, unzips his jacket, “thanks man. Thought I’d be bundled up enough that no one would spot me while I was out, but I didn’t get my hat on in time coming out of the Chinese place down the block.”

“I love that spot, they have the best beer-braised duck.”

“Yeah, I always stop by when I’m in town, they’re food is worth getting photographed for.”

It’s odd, everything he’s read suggests chef Cobb is friendly and warm when approached by fans in public.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate that people like my shows but, I, uh, sometimes I just want to eat or walk down the street without someone taking pictures of me.”

“Do you want to head into the back sections? There’s no windows in that half of the store.”

“Sweet, thanks. Uh, would it be cool if I autographed any books of mine you have? I like doing that, means I can send a little business towards smaller stores.”

“Of course. Here, the cookbooks are on this wall.” He slips into his office to grab a sharpie while Barclay pulls a stack of books and sits down on the floor. As the scratching of the pen fills the air, Joseph takes a trip to the paranormal and occult section, coming back with three copies of The Case for Bigfoot.”

“Y’know, not everyone stocks these.” Barclay smiles as he adds the paperbacks to the pile.

“Which is terrible business; you’re just as famous in the cryptozoology community as you are in the foodie one. This is the best book on bigfoot ever written, and I should know; I run a, um, a blog where I review books on paranormal topics.”

“You a true believer?” The cook blows on his signature in the copy of Desserts for All Seasons

“More an optimistic skeptic; your book is perfect because you make your case using actual evidence instead of reporting the same ten, poorly verified stories that everyone includes in their books. And I appreciated that you included recipes from the places you visited; that was a very nice touch.”

“Funny story about that” Barclay freezes as the front door opens. There’s definitely more than one person coming in, and when Joseph pokes his head around the corner he sees fifteen people, all with cameras or phones.

“Shit. You might want to hide in my office for a few minutes.”

By the time the crowd reaches him, Joseph is almost done re-shelving the signed books.

“Good afternoon, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, someone saw Barclay Cobb in your store-”

“Strange, we’ve only had one customer” he winces as someone’s shoulder knocks a hardcover off its display, “I didn’t get a good look at them before they went downstairs.” He tips his head at the staircase to the YA and Graphic Novel sections and is promptly knocked into the shelf as the throng hurries away.

“Come on, I can get you out through the back door” Joseph whispers to the Red Dust on his Soul poster on his office door. Barclay is remarkably quiet for a man his size as they sneak across the floor and let frigid, January air rush into the store.

“Thanks man” Barclay whispers, “I owe you one.” He sets a big hand on Joseph’s shoulder, squeezes it with a wink, then pulls on his hat and disappears into a crowd coming off at the bus stop.

---------------------------------------------------

Joseph always comes in through the back, flipping on lights as he goes, so the sea of bodies pressed to the front windows like a zombie horde surprises him. He knows Barclay tweeted about the signed copies, but this seems like excessive excitement even for a celebrity chef.

“Morning, Joseph--whoa, what the heck?” Aubrey clocks in without taking her eyes off the crowd, “why is everyone here this early.”

“Fan culture. I think.” The registers finish waking up, “I’ll pay holiday rates if you open that door for me.”

Aubrey gives a thumbs up, unlocks the double doors, and is swallowed up so quickly he worries she might have been trampled until she emerges near the greeting cards. Some people swarm the cookbooks, but an alarming number cluster around the counter, all shouting for his attention.

“How long have you been seeing Chef Cobb?”

“What?, I, I’m not-”

“Does he often visit your store?”

“No! He just came by yesterday!” There’s a horrible clatter of all the books on display near the door taking each other out like dominoes.

“Do you fuck in the backroom all the time?”

“Oh come on” He pushes past the man who asked that, deals with shouting all the way to his office and slams the door. A quick Google search for “Barclay Cobb” brings up a blurry photo of them in the alley, Barclays hand on his shoulder, and multiple headlines speculating on why the reclusive chef and author has chosen a nobody bookstore employee (he’s the owner, damn it) as his lover.

Okay, there’s a logical, easy fix to this.

He opens the door enough to speak, whistles so everyone will be quiet and listen to him, “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Cobb isn’t in any kind of relationship with me; he just came into the store yesterday for some peace and quiet. So, if you’re looking for information about him, this is not the place for it. If you’re looking for the signed books, the cookbooks are there, and the paranormal section is just around that corner.” He gives his best customer service smile as the paparazzi exchange perplexed glances.

“...Is it true he bought you this store?”

“Wh--no! We rent this space.”

“From him?”

“Arggh!” He closes the door, slumps against it and cards his fingers through his hair. As he contemplates closing for the day, he spots a little, copper card on his desk. It’s Barclay’s, which is what he expected, but when he flips it over there’s a message scribbled in pen.

Main St Hotel, room 503, here until Monday.

He pulls out his phone, tells Aubrey she’s allowed to get the crowd out by any means necessary except for fire, and elbows his way out into the winter air.

------------------------------------------

Barclay almost purrs when he peers through the peephole in the hotel door; Joseph, as his nametag read, is standing on the carpet, looking twice as handsome as he did yesterday. His cheeks are even a little pink, and Barclay has some thoughts on how to make that blush deepen.

“Hey, glad you found-”

Joseph holds up his phone, screen in Barclays face, “please fix this.”

“Oh fuck.” He ushers him in, “I’m so sorry, I thought they’d stopped doing this shit.”

“No, and they’re fucking up my inventory as a result.”

“On it, lemme text my assistant, she’s good at drafting these kind of messages.”

“Thank the lord. Right, thank you for that, I’ll go now.”

“Wait” Barclay reminds his instincts that blocking the door is rude, “do you wanna stay a few minutes? You look kinda stressed.”

“Because my store is being overrun!” Joseph snaps, then takes a deep breath and straightens his sleeves, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for, this morning has just been a mess. And it, um, it’s a little bittersweet to have people thinking I could land a hot chef when I can’t get past a first date with most people. Um, sorry. Too much information. That’s a bad habit of mine.”

Barclay tucks his hands into his pants pockets, “About that. Y’know how I left my card?”

Blue eyes blink, then brighten, “I thought that might be the reason but I dismissed it as wishful thinking.”

“Nope. A guy who's hot, nerdy, and competent enough to sneak me away from the paparazzi? Sign me the fuck up.”

“I’m not opposed to a, um, tryst, but I really, really need to get back to the store, I can’t abandon Aubrey to deal with this mess on her own, that’s not fair, and now we’ll have to reorder things too....” He laughs, a tense sound, “good lord, I get a chance to fuck a celebrity crush and I’m turning it down for work.”

“Hey” Barclay sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “it’s okay. You’re not the first guy to be married to his job. But, uh, out of curiosity, you got any vacation days to spare?”

----------------------------------------------

“This is all yours?” Joseph takes in the sprawling farm as Barclay unlocks the front door of a charmingly rustic house.

“Yep, all the way to the creek and all the way to the road. Might surprise you, but I like my privacy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He replies with faux shock.

“Smartass.” Barclay kisses his cheek, holds the door open with his shoulder so Joseph can pull his bags inside. He packed as light and efficiently as he could for two weeks away (he’d initially planned on one until Aubrey and Moira ganged up on him and told him he hadn’t taken a real vacation in years so he was taking one now, damn it) but his suitcase is still heavy as he rolls it to the stairs.

“I got that.” Barclay shoulders his own travel bag and hoists Joseph’s in the other hand, carrying them to the second floor like they’re nothing more than pillows.

The week the chef was in Madison, Joseph went to his hotel almost every night. Fell asleep in his bed more than once, when discussions of fusion cuisine or the Fresno Nightcrawler turned into frantic, heated kisses under the covers. It’s only when the cook drops all luggage into the master bedroom that the truth of why he’s on this trip sets in.

“You really invited me all the way here because you think I’m hot.”

“Yeah but no.” Barclay drapes his arms over his shoulders, lips still a little chilly as he kisses them, “brought you here because you’re smart” another kiss, this one on his jaw, “and funny” another, on his nose, “and you’re the biggest bigfoot fan I know.”

“You wrote a book on it!”

“Point stands. And yeah” he pushes Joseph back so he lands on the bed, crawling atop him as he growls, “I invited you here because you’re so hot I wanna pour sugar on you and see if it melts. Now get your pants off; I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick since we left the city.”

------------------------------------------

“How did the whole bigfoot thing start?” Joseph sips his Irish Coffee as Barclay puts his feet into his lap.

“Guess the same way any famous person ends up with two gigs; I was doing the thing I love, then was dicking around on cryptid hunter forums and found out I was also hella good at researching bigfoot. By the time I got really into it, I had enough cash that I could write my book without worrying about going broke. Helps that I’d handed off The Arch and The Lodge and was just the exec chef on them, since then I could travel if I needed to.”

Joseph nods, moves one hand down to rub Barclays foot; in spite of no longer working the kitchens of his five restaurants or having to test recipes for the books right now, he spent most of today on his feet making elaborate meals for two. Joseph teases him that he’s trying to stuff him to the point he can’t leave. Barclay always chuckles and says he doesn’t know how right he is. The last two days, Joseph then wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tells him he’d stay forever if he could.

He’s never thought of himself as romantic; he’s pragmatic, knows that relationships are things built out of time, trial, and error. But god help him, he’s fallen for Barclay like they’re rom-com leads with only ninety minutes to reach their happy ending.

They’re out near the creek--really more of a small river--the next morning, talking about books and speculating on the existence of life on other planets, when a storm sweeps through the trees. As trunks groan and roots pull loose from the snow, Barclay calls, “we better head back.”

He gives a thumbs up. Then the ice under him cracks.

He doesn’t correct course quickly enough, the rest dropping from under him and dunking him in freezing water. It’s deep, too deep to stand, but he’s a decent swimmer and kicks towards the surface. When the shadow covers the opening with a boom, panic threatens to push the rest of his precious breath away.

The tree that fell across the ice is heavy, and no matter how he pushes it won’t give. He bangs on the ice on either side, trying to get it to crack, but his lungs scream and his limbs alert him that the cold will soon shut them down.

He closes his eyes, trying to think, not ready to give up, not with Barclay so close. There’s a groan of wood and frozen water. His mouth opens without permission, desperate for air, and chokes him on frost instead.

-----------------------------------

“...be dead, please don’t be dead, please please please don’t be fucking dead.”

“Nnff.” That’s not what he meant to say, but it seems to calm the voice above him.

“Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, I got to you as fast as I could, do, do you need anything?” Barclay sounds exhausted.

“Cold.” He mutters.

“I’m trying to warm you up gradually, that’s what the first aid book said but, uh, here.” Warm, fuzzy arms draw him into a hug.

Wait.

The first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open are arms covered in reddish-brown fur. When Barclay rubs their cheeks together, it tickles more than his beard usually does.

“Barclay? What the hell is going on?”

“Uh. So.” He’s rolled with ease to face a creature he’s never seen and eyes that he’d know anywhere, “I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, a bigfoot. Maybe that’s kinda obvious now.”

His brain crackles to life, “What better way to stay undiscovered than get famous by giving people the wrong information about you.”

“Some of it’s true. Just not anything people could use to actually find me.”

“Smart, big guy” Joseph pets his face.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

“I think my system is too shocked to experience more shock.” He shudders, “relatedly, how’d I get out of the river?”

“I lifted the tree off and pulled you free. Took my disguise off to do that and, uh, the fucking thing fell into the water when I got you. So I’m gonna be stuck like this until a friend of mine can get me a new one.”

“No complaints here. You look incredible.” He runs his hands up and down Barclay’s side and chest, warmth seeping into his fingers as he does, “But I’m a little surprised you were willing to risk someone seeing you or me blabbing to someone and trashing your whole life in the process.”

A low rumble as Barclay kisses his forehead, “It’s worth it. I, this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and there was no way I was gonna lose you.”

“Oh.” Affection and surprise well up in his throat, pressing down his words so all he can do is nestle closer to the cryptid and let himself be loved.

His mind rebounds quickly from his misadventure. His body would like him to remember it for a while so he doesn’t put it in such jeopardy again any time soon. Instead of helping Barclay with cooking and chores, he lays under the covers while the storm rattles the roof and the cook clangs pots on the lower floor.

Barclay, attentive to a fault, is downright doting now that he’s stuck in bed. He’s never without a hot drink or something to read, and the cryptid is happy to answer the majority of his questions about the finer points of being bigfoot. When it’s bedtime, his boyfriend pulls him atop his massive frame and cuddles him, whispering over and over that he’s glad he’s okay, until they fall asleep.

Today followed much the same pattern, though when dinner time rolls around he gets a fantastic surprise.

“Chocolate fondue?” He peers hopefully at the bed tray in Barclays hands.

“Only the best for you, babe.” The cook sets the burnished wood down on the bedside table, “we lucked out, the berries I bought last week are ripe.”

Joseph reaches for the fork, but Barclay beats him to it.

“You should save your energy. Since you’re, uh, still recovering.”

He shrugs, sets his hands in his lap and opens his mouth for a chocolate dipped raspberry. It doesn’t take long to spy Barclay’s ulterior motive. The cook has a whole wardrobe designed to fit his cryptid form, but it’s having trouble concealing certain things.

“You’re getting off on this.”

“I, uh, I, maybe a little” Barclay blushes under his fur.

Joseph raises an eyebrow, tilts his head at the bulge in Barclay’s pants, “You call that ‘little’?”

A rumbly whine, the fork paused halfway to Joseph’s mouth, “I can’t help it. I’ve got a thing for taking care of partners, especially ones who are all competent and put-together the rest of the time, and you look so good when you eat and, ohfuck.”

Joseph inhales sharply as chocolate hits his exposed upper chest. It’s not hot enough to burn, and he moans as the sensation seeps across his skin. Barclays eyes, wide and ravenous, keep flicking between the splatter and his face.

“Looks like you made a mess, big guy.” Joseph begins undoing the remaining buttons on his pajamas, “you should clean it up.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay lunges, mouth first, lapping and sucking at the marked skin as Joseph laughs. Their shirts hit the floor together as he digs his nails into auburn fur. Barclay grunts at the pressure, sits up with a grin, and drips a line of chocolate down the right side of Joseph’s ribs.

“Oops. Better fix that too.”

“Cleanliness is importantAH, ahhnn.” He squirms a bit as Barclay nuzzles his stomach before dragging his tongue up his skin. There’ve been times he mourned the fact T didn’t make him as hairy as some other guys, but right now he’s grateful for the clear canvas Barclay can mark however he pleases.

“A mess can be more fun.” The cook licks his lips, sucks a hickey above his belly button, “and by the time I’m done with you, babe, won’t be a single part of you that isn’t one.”

“Then get to it.” He shoves his pants down, lets Barclay pull them the rest of the way off and fold them. He lays back, resting his arms behind his head, and moans as the cook drizzles chocolate on each hip. Joseph feels like a gourmet dessert and, from the growls between his thighs, Barclay intends to treat him like one.

His boyfriend is always enthusiastic when sucking him off, but tonight he throws finesse out the window in favor of burying his face at the crease of each thigh in turn, licking his hips clean while clawing at his calves and sides. He lifts his head, wipes his mouth with a satisfied grin that shows the points of his teeth, and dives down again.

Joseph yelps with pleasure, the hint of fangs hitting all his buttons, lighting him up like downtown on a dark night. It’s intense, the scratch of fur on skin just different enough from the usual beard to remind him of who’s down there, and his legs try to kick closed. Barclay growls again, holding them open with ease.

“Not until I’m done with you, babe.”

He surrenders to flood of feelings from both outside and within him, Barclay’s sheer delight at his body rendering all his doubts and worries toothless and small, quieting them until all he can think about is incredible creature holding and all he can say is some variation on-

“Barclay, please, right there, lordalmighty that’s good, that’s so good big guy, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, craving the impending orgasm more than he has words for. Barclay sucks determinedly and huffs, pleased, as Joseph's thighs tense in his hold and his climax chases away the remnants of yesterday's aches.

As his brain insists that really, body, opening our eyes isn’t that hard, there’s a metallic zip and strong legs bracketing his thighs.

“Here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” He murmurs as Barclay gleefully strokes his cock, “as soon as my brain works again, I’m coming up with so many ways to use that gorgeous thing.”

“Can’t, fuck, can't wait to hear ‘em, but I only got one for tonight; I’m gonna use it to cum alllll over that fucking perfect body, fuck, Joseph, you look so good when you’re ruined, fuck.” An impressive amount of cum spatters up his stomach, chest, and neck as Barclay howlgrowlpurrs and then sets his hands carefully on the bed.

Joseph’s whole body is sticky with chocolate, sweat, and cum, and Barclay definitely has at least two of those things mussed into his fur.

“You’re right, big guy, a mess can be fucking amazing.”

That being said, being sticky gets old quick, and soon they’re in the tub, Joseph whistling as he shampoos Barclay’s chest. The cryptid hasn’t stopped purring, and every time he looks Joseph’s way the sound deepens.

“When are you next in the city?”

The cook yawns, “Was gonna check on how the new chef de cuisine is getting on at Kepler in about two week.”

“Would you like to stay with me? It’s not fancy, but it’s close to the Ismuth, so you can get to Kepler on foot without trouble, and there are fewer crowds there this time of year. I suspect paparazzi are also less likely to track you down at some random house than at a hotel. That might make up for my lack of, um, high class amenities.”

“Good point. But I gotta be honest babe; as long as you’re there, that’s all I need to be happy.”

[wooyunhwa]

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔴𝔬

check pinned post for masterlist!

Genre: smut (with plot!)

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: kidnapping, non-sexual violence, bondage, spanking, choking, sensory deprivation (blindfolding), mentions of alcohol use, 

Synopsis: Kidnapped and helpless, Seonghwa is the only one that can save you. Will his secrets finally come to light?

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and comments are always appreciated <3 I hope you guys like it! Stay tuned for part three!! Sorry, had to end on another cliffhanger, but I promise, you won’t be disappointed with what part 3 has in store. My tags aren’t working at all so if you could reblog this that would really help me and this story be seen I’d really appreciate it! So much work has gone into this. Thank you~ 

The trunk of the van was cold and unforgiving against your limbs as you sat helplessly against the wall, the curve and bumps of the road jostling you slightly. It was hard to keep your balance with your wrists bound together behind you. In front of you, your ankles were also bound tightly with rope. Your captors had blindfolded you, and no matter how much you writhed and tossed your head around, you couldn’t figure out a way to slip it off. Not that it would have mattered - your eyesight was the least helpful thing you could have had right now. Your screams and cries for help only echoed uselessly in the metal cage of the van, and at a certain point your voice gave out and you gave up entirely, hanging your head in defeat.

You felt the van swerve around a sharp corner, nearly toppling you over on your side. The car rumbled beneath you as if going over loose gravel. Finally you halted to a stop, lurching you forward slightly. The doors of the van unlatched with a distinct click and swung open. The voices of the men were clear now. 

“Help me grab ‘er,” one said, and you felt the van’s weight shift as he climbed in the back with you. You screamed as he grabbed you and yanked you from the open trunk. You were met with the brisk outside air and the cold, wet feeling of rain gently falling around you. 

The man guided you by your shoulders through the gravel, and you shuffled your feet to keep from tripping. You were inside a building now, and he shoved you down onto a creaky wooden chair. He took a second to re-tie you to the chair before slipping the blindfold off, your eyes taking only a few seconds to adjust to the dim light in the room. It looked like you were in some kind of shed, maybe even a barn, but you couldn’t tell. There were two men in front of you, one significantly taller than the other, their height being really their only distinguishing features. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart. We won’t hurt you as long as your little boyfriend brings us what we want,” the taller man said. The pet name made you cringe. 

“Fuck you. And he’s not my boyfriend,” you sneered through gritted teeth. “What do you want from him anyway?”

“Not your business sweetie,” the shorter man said.

“I don’t know how much of a piece of shit you have to be to kidnap an innocent girl, but don’t think Seonghwa is gonna let you get away with this,” you spat at them. You don’t know what overcame you to be so openly combative with the men who were holding you hostage, but the spite dripped so easily off your tongue. 

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Don’t make us gag you,” the tall man said. He stepped close to you, tipping your chin up to look at him. You cringed in disgust, trying not to meet his eyes. “We don’t want to hurt a pretty girl like you,” he said, running a finger across your jaw. You fought back the urge to bite down hard on his finger. You might have been angry, but you didn’t have a death wish. 

“We’re not worried about Seonghwa. He might be the boss’ son but he has... well… a reputation. That pretty boy would never have the guts to do anything,” the shorter man said from across the room, laughing lightly. “I don’t know if you knew this, but your boyfriend has a reputation for being kind of a pussy.”

“Still not my boyfriend,” you grumbled through your teeth. Despite what they were implying, you weren’t worried about his ability to fight—you could still vividly recall the smooth and almost effortless way he took out your boyfriend, the way he stretched out his fingers casually afterwards like it was nothing to him. You remembered the way Seonghwa looked at him like trash on the floor afterwards. And most of all, you remembered how Seonghwa had told you he made arrangements to ‘take care of him’. Although you didn’t question it much at the time, a part of you wondered if he had ordered for him to be killed, especially knowing the connections he must have. You shook the thought out of your head. There were more important things to worry about, like being tied to a chair in some dingy shack. 

The taller man stepped away from you and leaned into his partner’s ear, whispering something you couldn’t make out. 

They left shortly after that, leaving you tied on the chair for what could have been anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours, you couldn’t tell. Your eyelids began to grow heavy as you waited with nothing but your thoughts and the pattering of rain on the ceiling.

A loud noise shook you from your trance. Someone had kicked through the door, and it rattled off its hinges easily as if it was held together with duct tape.

Seonghwa. 

In your sudden relief, you could only choke out one stupid sentence. “You probably could have just opened that, you know.”

He laughed at your unexpected greeting, but quickly growing serious again at the sight of you tied helplessly to the chair. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 

“No, not yet… fuck, can you get me out of these things? They’re starting to cut off my circulation.” you gestured to the ropes viced around your limbs.

Your relief was short-lived. In an unskillful display of desperation, your kidnappers shoved their way through the kicked-in door frame. Was your vision giving out? You were sure you had been kidnapped by two men before, but there were four now. Fuck. You were confident in Seonghwa’s ability to fight against two men, but four? The newer additions were much burlier, too. 

Seonghwa turned on his heels to face the captors, but he seemed unshaken. He shot you a confident glance over his shoulder, and something gleamed in his eye. What was it? Was he seriously going to take on four men on his own? What kind of overconfident idiot-

Before you could conclude your thought, one man was on the floor already. There was a sickening crack and a thud as he hit the ground, but Seonghwa hadn’t moved. One of the men lunged forward. He grabbed Seonghwa by the lapel of his jacket, cocking his elbow for a hook, but Seonghwa intercepted him with a viper quick jab to the throat. He staggered back, saliva dribbling from his lips as he clutched his throat. 

As your line of vision cleared, you saw two additional men had entered the fray. At first you thought you were fucked, but then you heard a voice call out a friendly greeting. 

“Yo, Hwa! Heard you were getting your ass kicked.” 

The distinct sound of a fist hitting flesh echoed against the walls of the room, and another one of the kidnappers staggered back. 

“Who, me? Like hell,” Seonghwa called, smiling viciously as he dodged another blow from throat-punch guy, who looked furious. Seonghwa landed a well angled hit to his jaw, effectively uppercutting his lights out. He landed hard on the floor, dead weight as he was knocked cold, and Seonghwa turned on his heels to grab his next victim. 

A flash of red hair caught your eye as he ducked and weaved between two guys, while a blonde guy wound up a swing with a crowbar like an all star baseball champion. Red hair baited one opponent closer, ducking just in time for blondie to knock him out of the park. The sound of the crowbar hitting his teeth sent shivers down your spine, but you simultaneously wanted to leap up and cheer them on. You stayed glued to your seat, heart pumping with adrenaline. 

Molars scattered across the floor. Poor guy landed hard, wailing in agony as blood poured from his lips. Red haired guy threw a lethal cross, twisting his hip to power up his momentum as his fist impacted the other guy’s nose, most likely shattering it, sending him staggering back in a daze. He fell right into Seonghwa, who grabbed him by the jacket and sent him careening toward the wall, his forehead cracking against a support beam. He dropped like a rock, and the room fell quiet, save for one guy shrieking in pain. A swift boot to the jaw silenced him, and blondie turned, tossing the crowbar over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk. 

Seonghwa turned back to you, rubbing his bruised knuckles with a huff. His lips turned up into a smile, and he gave a nod with his head toward the new guys. 

“So, these are my cohorts. Wooyoung—” he paused, pointing at blondie, who tilted his head up in a friendly nod, “—and Jongho,” he pointed at the redhead, who gave you an adorable smile and a wave.

“So this is the girl, huh?” Wooyoung said, smiling at you as he looked you up and down. Out of the three of them, he looked the most like he belonged in the mafia. He wore a loosely fitted leopard print button up under a black leather jacket, his side-shaven bleach blonde hair neatly styled with gel. “She’s cute.”

Next to him, Jongho stood sternly. You wondered how this baby-faced guy could have taken out the burly one all on his own. He seemed younger than Seonghwa, but certainly stronger. “She definitely looks like your type, Seonghwa,” Jongho said, flashing a knowing smile at him. “We all know you like a girl in bondage.”

Seonghwa’s face immediately went flush. “Shut up, Jongho,” he said, shooting him a threatening glare. “Come on, help me untie her before more of their goons come looking for them,” Seonghwa said, moving around the chair to loosen the tight knots bound on your wrists. 

You turned your head over your shoulder and widened your eyes at him, arching your eyebrows as you watched him skillfully disentangle the knots. “You like a girl in what?”

“We can talk about this later,” he muttered through his teeth, his cheeks an incriminating beet-red.

“Careful, you’ll scare her off,” Wooyoung teased. 

“Honestly, if getting kidnapped didn’t scare her off, I don’t think anything will,” Jongho reassured Seonghwa with a pat to the shoulder. You felt oddly proud at that, for some reason. He was right, you were a tough cookie, you could handle a kidnapping or two. 

Seonghwa gave you a hand as you rose from the chair, steadying you with a delicate hand around your waist. Your joints creaked from being tied up for so long, but you could walk on your own. Still, he kept a protective arm around you as he escorted you back to the car. You stepped over one of the unconscious bodies on your way out, his tall frame blocking the doorway. You cringed at the puddle of crimson around his mouth, but celebrated your freedom nonetheless. His hand twitched as you lifted your leg over him, and you flinched, curling your fingers tighter into Seonghwa’s shirt. He laughed softly, pulling you close. 

You slid into the passenger seat of Seonghwa’s car, the plush leather of his Bentley Continental soothing the ache in your bones. It was hands down the single most expensive thing you’d ever touched, and you couldn’t help but to imagine what it would be like for him to pick you up in it for a date. You sighed as you relaxed into it, feeling tired from the adrenaline comedown. 

A blacked-out Mercedes S Class revved its engine as it peeled out of the lot, and Wooyoung winked at you from the driver’s side window. 

“That douche,” Seonghwa laughed as he turned his key in the ignition. The engine purred decadently, and Seonghwa slammed on the gas, tearing down the road right on Wooyoung’s heels. You gripped the edge of your seat as the inertia slammed you backwards, a thrilled laugh bubbling up from your chest. 

He shifted gears, launching into a high speed battle of pride with the other guys, flying down the rural highway with his tongue poking out in concentration, one side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. He put the S Class in his rear view mirror, and you couldn’t help but to roll the window down, shoving your fist out with a triumphant holler. You grinned widely as the wind blew your hair in a wild tornado, your screams and laughter lost in the roar of the highway. You noticed Seonghwa peek over at you, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, but just for a second. 

Exhaustion hit the moment you stepped into his apartment, but your mind was still reeling from the day’s events. You didn’t plan on getting much sleep that night, and you were still a bit angry at Seonghwa for not disclosing the fact that he was in the fucking mafia, but you chose to shove those feelings aside. Mafia or not, you still felt much safer with than without him. 

“Seonghwa.” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t leave me tonight. Please?” you looked at him with the biggest, saddest eyes you could manage, hoping to hit a soft spot. You didn’t need much.

He sighed. “Of course I won’t. This is all my fault anyway. If something were to happen again I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

And so he stayed.

You talked for a while on the bed as you tried your best to calm yourself down. You were still in a rush of nerves from adrenaline and relaxation felt hopeless, sleep even more so. In fact, sleep wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.  

As you made conversation, you recalled a question that had been nagging at you since he'd saved you earlier. You could have asked him anything you wanted. You could have asked what the men wanted, or how he found you, but instead…

"Hey… what was with that thing Jongho said back there? About ‘liking a girl in bondage’?”

Seonghwa immediately pulled his gaze away, breaking eye contact, heat rising in his cheeks like before. “He was just teasing me.”

“So it’s not true?”

“I never said it wasn’t,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. You admired the curve of his jaw, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right there. His eyes went dark as he paused to pull his gaze up and down at your body. “I always thought you’d look good tied up for me.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. You saw how he looked at you, hungrily, as if picturing you bound to the bed frame right then. But something seemed to be holding him back, like he was trying to resist the temptation to fall back into a bad habit. You wouldn’t let him. You held out your wrists playfully in front of you. "Well then tie me up." His eyes widened at your proposal. "C'mon. Look, I can't sleep like this. I need a distraction. Please."

He drew his tongue across his bottom lip pensively, before finally giving in with a click of his tongue against his teeth. "I really can't say no to you." 

You smiled at how easily he conceded to your pleas. He was surely thinking the same thing that had been on your mind for the past week—this was going to have to end, and some time had to be the last. He had made you promise to never contact him after this was over, and you were sure now more than ever after putting you through danger that he was going to hold up his end of that deal. This would be your last soiree with him, and you wanted—no, needed—it to count. 

He leaned in, hooking his hand on the collar of your shirt, eyes glazed over with lustful intensity. “You’re too dangerous for me, you know... I have no control when it comes to you.” A shiver traveled down your spine. That’s exactly what you wanted: you wanted him to lose his control for you, you wanted him weak for you. You wanted him to want you like you wanted him. “And that’s why I want to make this last time unforgettable.”

You broke the thick tension between you with a slow, sensual kiss, sliding your tongue against his. He nibbled at your lip as you pulled back slowly, lingering your lips precariously close to his, nearly touching. His fingers dug into your waist hungrily. “Do your worst.” 

“Are you sure you mean that?” he asked carefully. The air between you grew hot as the tension rose, your lips barely grazed against each other’s. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Something about the amount of restraint he seemed to be exercising told you there was a part of him he was holding back, something more animalistic. 

“You have to tell me if I’m being too rough, okay?” he said, voice smooth like honey, tracing a finger along the curve of your jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You nodded eagerly, willingly accepting his terms. If this was the last time you could experience him, you wanted everything he had, no matter what it was. Something about the soft way he talked about hurting you gave chills. He was entirely gentle and yet his words felt sinister. 

He stood up to receive something from the closet, what looked like a thin scarf. You expected him to cinch your hands together with it, but instead he sat himself behind you, pulling the silky material around your eyes and fastening it tightly with a knot at the back of your head. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice deep and smooth like honey.

He let his fingers wander down your neck and shoulders, pausing to stroke your collarbone. His touch was gentle but electrifying. You were entirely blind now, but you could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you. The blindness was exhilarating, as it left your other senses completely heightened. He continued to let his fingers trace your collarbone as his lips made contact with the sensitive skin at the back of your neck, placing slow and sensual kisses slowly down your neck and shoulders. He took his time, excruciatingly, as you squirmed in anticipation for his next move. You were truly submissive in the blindfold—he had complete control over his next move. The thrill of anticipation made your head spin.

Still behind you, he lifted the hem of your shirt up slowly, and you followed suit by pulling your arms up to help him strip you. He released the clasp of your bra, gently removing it. His hands wandered at your breasts, tracing over your nipples until they grew hard and sensitive. 

Out of nowhere, you felt a sudden tension around your wrists behind you. The familiar rough sensation of rope cinched your arms together. “You’re doing so good for me darling,” he whispered in your ear, delivering one final tightening of the knot, causing you to yelp out in surprise. “You look even prettier like this than I imagined.” 

You were sitting on the bed now on your knees in only your panties, blindfold cutting off your vision, wrists bound behind you. Seonghwa sat straddling you from behind, and you could feel he had stripped entirely. He caressed your body for a while, teasing you with a brutally faint touch. You moaned and squirmed eagerly as he wandered his hand closer to your already soaked panties, rubbing his fingers against the damp fabric. His fingers slipped inside you briefly, and you let out soft pleasured moans. The sensation was overwhelming after such excruciatingly drawn out teasing. 

Your moans were cut off by Seonghwa’s finger hooking over your teeth and pushing into your mouth. You sucked at it eagerly, and he shoved a few more inside, eliciting an involuntary gag. You heard Seonghwa sigh lustfully in your ear at the sound, taking pleasure in what he was doing to you. “That’s it baby,” he said, his deep voice resonating like music to your ears. His other hand continued to pulse in and out of you, and you were practically dripping now, unable to hold back your neediness. Your pleasured moans were muffled as you sucked and licked at his long fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered. He’d never been so forward or vocal before. You loved hearing his deep voice dripping like honey in your ear-- just the sound of it could have been enough to drive you all the way over the edge if he kept talking. 

“Mmf- I want- you- fuck me-” you mumbled through his fingers, and he shoved them in further, eliciting another soft gag. You couldn’t express what you wanted, not only because of his fingers muffling your sounds, but your head was spinning from his touch. “Please- fu- mm-”

“How cute, you can’t even get words out.” 

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, drool pooling at the sides of your lips. Between your legs, his other hand pulled your soaked panties down your legs as he began to circle your clit with his thumb. You whimpered under his complete control. He used his fingers so masterfully, like everything else he did. His contented breaths in your ear sent shivers down your spine. 

He repositioned himself suddenly, sitting up tall behind you, and dragged you up straight against him. You felt both his hands move under your ass, hoisting you up over his waist and pushing you down on his dick without warning. You let out a choked cry as his dick stretched you out entirely. “Fuck, Y/N…” he growled, his voice getting darker every time he spoke. “You have no idea how much I want to ruin you.”

He rutted his hips up under you, thrusting himself even deeper inside where you sat on his dick. You let out another cry, and his hand came up to your neck. Your arms, still bound together behind you, squirmed and writhed at the urge to claw at the fingers viced around you. You loved the sensation as his grip tightened, sending you soaring in an unfamiliar headrush. He bucked his hips up and down as you tightened around his shaft

“Seonghwa, fuck- ah-” Your choked cries seemed to spur him on to grip tighter around your neck. Your high nearly spilled over into darkness as he loosened his grip suddenly. You let out a few sputtering coughs as you caught your breath. 

He thrusted a few more times up into you as you caught your breath. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay- ah- I like the pain,” you said breathlessly. 

“Mm…” he sighed roughly against the back of your neck, planting a few soft kisses. “You really shouldn’t have said that.” 

His hands came to your waist, hoisting you off his dick. It slid out with a lewd sound, and you felt him get up from behind you. You were sure you looked like a drooling, horny mess, still bound and blindfolded on the bed helplessly. 

You sat there for a while in silence, and the anticipation of his next move kept you on edge, unable to settle in. The silence was unnerving, almost excruciating. Was he gone? Was he watching? 

You snapped up when you finally heard footsteps again, pacing around the room and then coming towards you. He leaned into your ear, pulling his arms around your waist to untie the ropes around your wrists. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked carefully. You nodded. You did trust him, but at this point, you would have said anything to keep his hands on you. You didn’t care what he did, you just craved his touch.

“With your words.” 

“Yes, yes, I trust you Seonghwa. Please.”

He untied your blindfold and it slipped off your face, falling to the bed by your knees. It was dark, but your eyes took a moment to adjust to the faint glow of the moonlight washing through the window. His face overwhelmed you instantly—you didn’t realize how much you’d missed it while blinded. The cut of his jaw was the first thing you noticed, then his dark, lustful eyes sparkling in the faint light. His lips pulled up into a smirk as he watched your eyes trace his features. You’re sure the look on your face indicated the way you were marveling at him, as if you were admiring the world’s most beautiful piece of art. 

“We’re gonna play a game,” he purred, still leaning over the bed where you sat, fully freed from the ropes. His eye contact was piercing, almost terrifyingly.

“What’s the game?”

“I’m gonna fuck you, and every time you make a pretty little noise…” he delivered a light smack to the side of your ass. “I spank you.”

Your jaw dropped at his proposal. You liked it—you already admitted you liked a little pain to him earlier—but was this the same Seonghwa you practically dommed in his penthouse? 

“What if I can’t control it?”

“Well then your ass is going to hurt tomorrow, isn’t it?” 

You gulped, nodding. His aura oozed power now. He may have been in the mafia, but he’d never displayed so much power, so much control, until now.

He climbed on the bed, flipping you over easily and guiding your face to the pillows. He hoisted your hips up to be flush with his, running one finger along your folds to test your wetness, before aligning the tip of his cock at your opening. Already, you were struggling to hold back moans, your body trembling under his touch. 

He slid the tip in slowly, and you rocked forward in pleasure, biting your lip to keep in the noises. He positioned one hand at the small of your waist, the other on your ass, waiting. As he thrust himself all the way in you couldn’t control the cries that fell from your lips. 

“What did I tell you?” He said, delivering the first harsh smack to your ass. You gritted your teeth at the sudden impact, but the light sting also felt incredible as he rocked inside of you. Your breathing grew shallow as he toyed with you, switching up the pace in a way that had your head spinning. You could tell he wasn’t moving in a way to get himself off—he wanted to watch you squirm. 

He thrusted in another time, hard, and you whimpered involuntarily. Another smack. This went on for several minutes, Seonghwa continuing to deliver harsh smacks to your ass until it was stained with a permanent sting. You were shaking under his touch, and he let up, rubbing your back with comforting pressure. 

“Have you had enough, darling?” he cooed softly, almost condescendingly, but it sounded amazing coming off his tongue. You nodded. “Mm, okay, we can be done now.”

He stroked your hair as he thrust himself back in, picking up a considerable rhythm now. You moaned like your life depended on it now, finally able to let it out. He gripped a hand in your hair, pulling it together into a messy ponytail, tugging lightly as he slid his dick in and out. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he pounded into you. You could definitively say now that he fucked exactly how he looked—like a god. 

His other hand made its way underneath you, tracing your clit. It only took a few seconds of stimulation for your orgasm to hit, and it was more intense than you’d ever experienced before, or imagined you could experience again. It rocked through your body like a wave, overtaking you entirely. You let out a final cry as it reached its summit. Seonghwa let out a final grunt as he reached his tipping point, pulling out of you to spill over onto your back. 

You collapsed onto your stomach, completely spent, and you could swear you blacked out for a moment while he brought in a damp washcloth to clean you up with. 

The dominant side of him seemed to melt away instantly, as he stroked your back gently. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you too much?”

You nodded drowsily, all your pain seeming to dissolve under his touch.

You fell asleep on him that night, nestled in the warmth of his neck. You fit so perfectly in his arms like that, like it was meant to be. You imagined what it would feel like to cuddle up to him like this every night, but the thought was too good to be true. You knew this was the last chance you would have to touch him like this. 

It had been several months since you last saw Seonghwa, and you were just starting to move on from him. Well, part of that was true. The last time you’d been in contact with him was when he had dropped you at your apartment, ex-boyfriend nowhere in sight. You didn’t push him too much on how he managed to “take care” of him, assuming he’d paid him off or ran him out of town by threatening him. Either way, you had just been happy to be back home. Your days with Seonghwa felt like a distant fever dream, but it was several weeks until you could get the taste of him off your lips and his image out of your mind. 

You did your best to scrub him from your head, but it felt impossible. He haunted you in every way possible. 

On one day of particularly drunken weakness, you paid a visit to his bar. You justified it by saying you were just checking in on him, making sure he was okay, but really you just wanted to see his face. Was it risky? Extremely. Were you drunk? Also extremely. You sat in an indiscriminate seat at the end of the bar, hoping not to be seen. But another part of you wanted him to notice you, regardless of the consequences. That was the drunk part.

But he didn’t notice you. In fact, he wasn’t even concentrating on the happenings of the bar at all. You could see him atop his VIP throne, the one that overlooked every seat in the bar from the lofted second story. He had a girl by his side, his arm draped around her waist, clearly flirting. Scorching heat rose in your chest as you watched him seduce her, your heart stinging with a fiery jealousy you had never felt before. In the back of your mind, you always knew he was bound to be back to his socialite self, bringing girls up to his penthouse suite every night—the same penthouse suite you had shared that first fateful night… and the morning after. Even so, the jealousy burned in your throat, and so did the alcohol you were knocking back to drown your feelings. A large part of you wanted to disappear off the face of the earth right that second, shrink into the bar stool and never be seen again. The other part wanted him to notice you, even if just for a moment. You didn’t care if he was mad that you came, you just wanted to take him in up close again. You wanted him to acknowledge you. You watched in anguish as he let the girl by her waist in the direction of the elevators, not to be seen again. You left the bar that night sobbing, and didn’t stop until you passed out in bed. Since then, you swore you were never going to think about him again. He wasn’t worth it. You had to come to terms with the fact that you were just another one of his playthings—one he just happened to take pity on.

You swore you’d move on, and you did, mostly. The independence of not being tied down felt incredible, and you took advantage of your newfound sexual prowess to download a dating app and have some fun for yourself. But there was a small part of you -- one that you didn’t ever want to admit to—that could only picture Seonghwa every time you fucked another guy. 

11pm. 

You were laying in bed, swiping hopelessly through men on your phone, sifting through hundreds of desperate guys you couldn’t care less about. You couldn’t sleep, even after a few pathetic drinks alone in your kitchen, when you heard a knock. You had felt on edge about people coming to your door ever since the kidnapping, but today you were too tired to deal with the incessant knocking. It just kept coming. It was probably your neighbor coming to tell you you left your lights on again. 

You swung the door open, wondering who could possibly be knocking with such carelessness at this time in the night.

Park Seonghwa.

You were immediately flooded with the same intimidated feeling you had on the night you met him. He looked like a model, maybe even a god, standing in your doorway. He ran his hand through his freshly shaved undercut and you took in the sight, unable to tear your eyes away. He looked just as stunning as you remembered—even more so. But something wasn’t quite right. He was swaying slightly, and as he spoke your name, the words were slightly slurred.

“Y/N… I-”

“Are you drunk?” 

“No… yes… maybe,” he laughed lightly before stumbling inside without an invitation. You knew enough to move out of his way. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You froze. You’d never seen him so incoherent. You immediately recognized the smell lingering a bit too long in his breath as the expensive champagne he had poured for you in his penthouse that night.

“Seonghwa, how much did you drink?” you asked, voice laced with concern. You led him through your apartment to the couch, where he plopped himself down with an alarming amount of force. 

“Enough to know what I really want.” He looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “You.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you said seriously. 

His eyes glimmered with lust. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I want you to fuck me right here.”

This man was dangerous. And you didn’t mean in the mafia sense, although that was also true. You meant in the way he could completely ruin you if you let him. You had tried so hard to finally wipe him from your memory and move on, but you were stained with a constant desire to feel his touch again. You were finally moving on until now, when the desire surged back in, and it was like it had never left. 

“You’re drunk,” you said dismissively, doing your best to ignore the fact that you definitely wanted to fuck him, like right that second. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

His eyes looked heavy as he struggled to even hold the cup in his hands. His eyes were glued on you with the lust of a thousand horny teenage boys, but something about his hungry gaze felt comfortable to you, and you welcomed it. 

“You look like an angel,” he muttered softly. “You’re an angel sent from heaven to ruin me. I know you are.” You laughed as he seemed to get more incoherent. You glanced down at your oversized pajamas, wondering what he meant when he said you looked like an angel. “I missed you… I-I can’t get your body out of my head.”

You shook your head, trying to clear any desire you had out of your mind. He was way too drunk. “Shh, Seonghwa. Lay down.” 

You grabbed the water glass from his hand and handed him a blanket, guiding his shoulder gently down a laying down position on the couch. You settled in next to him, and he placed his head in your lap. Something about his current state felt incredibly vulnerable, and you’d never seen him like this. 

You petted his hair softly. He looked up at you with sad, sparkly, drunken eyes. “You’re pretty,” he said with a dorky smile. 

You chuckled. “You’re drunk.” 

He nodded, and his eyebrows furrowed suddenly. “I hate my father.”

You zipped your lips tightly, trying to give him room to continue. He still hadn’t spoken about his family since the first night at his house, and you wanted to take advantage of his drunken state. 

“He treats me like his puppet, but I’m nothing like him. I never asked for this. I just want to live a normal life for once.” You nodded, urging him to keep going. You didn’t want to ruin this moment of vulnerability. “You know those paintings… at my place, above the bar? Those are mine.”

“You bought them?”

“I painted them.”

You went silent. You couldn’t remember them in detail, but you remembered that they were beautiful, like they belonged in a museum. You kind of assumed they were stolen, to be honest.

“You painted those? All of them?”

“I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” He paused. “But I’m trapped being my father’s stupid fucking puppet. I’m supposed to take his position next year, but I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. I’m so sick of the bar. He expects me to just sit there and keep his appearances for him. I’m sick of just drinking myself numb and fucking girls mindlessly.” 

Fucking girls mindlessly? Was he fucking you mindlessly?

“Girls like me?” He paused, trying to remember what he had just said. “You’re tired of fucking girls like me?”

“No…” he shook his head vigorously, realizing what he said. “You’re the only girl that has made me feel something... in a long time.”

Your cheeks went red hot. What was he admitting to you? His eyes were getting heavier, and so was his head, the heavy weight of his skull starting to crush your thighs. You stroked his hair a few more times and gently scooted out from under him, guiding his head down to the couch. 

“Get some sleep.”

You checked on Seonghwa immediately when you woke up. He was sitting upright on the couch where you left him last night, hunched over slightly, rubbing his temples. He raised his eyes as you walked in. “God, what happened last night? I feel like I got hit by a train.”

“What do you remember?”

“Drinking… and not much else.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

He froze, the look in his eyes quickly transitioning from confusion to pure terror. “Oh god… what did I tell you?”

“Everything. About your family. Your paintings. You told me I was pretty.”

“Well, that last one I don’t regret,” he said, rubbing his temples harder. “Do you have like… some painkillers? Coffee maybe? God...”

“Wow, you really don’t get wasted much.”

He chuckled. God, you missed his laugh. “Takes a lot.”

You returned to him on the couch with a cup of coffee and some Ibuprofen. Something about giving him painkillers felt… wrong. As ridiculous as it sounded, by the way he carried himself, you would think he was almost invincible, like he didn’t even feel pain or something. You plopped yourself down next to him, and you talked for a while as he drowned his hangover with coffee. 

You made him breakfast, buttered toast and fried eggs, and suddenly you felt like a housewife. It was nice - you wished you could do this more often. He smiled at you around his toast, with his messy, tousled hair and tired eyes, and he almost looked human for once. As close as he ever could, at least. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, thanking you for breakfast as he pressed his lips against yours. You melted against him, embracing him like your body was designed for it. You wanted to hold him close and never let go, and the idea of him never coming back was one you shoved deep into the back of your mind as you deepened the kiss. 

He pressed you against the counter, kissing you like your lips held the answers to all of his problems, and you kissed back like you knew how to solve them. His hands were warm as they slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, and you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and freshly cut. 

You dipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, and his hands immediately tightened their grip on your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hands sank further down, teasing your fingers over his cock through the fabric, and he groaned low in his throat. 

He pulled back suddenly, a concerned look growing on his face. “What time is it?”

You glanced at the clock. “11am. Why?”

“Shit. Fuck. I have to go.”

Damn it. It was just getting good.

“Will you come back?” you asked, a little too desperately. You flashed the puppy dog eyes you already knew he couldn’t resist. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed him until he was right in front of you, his hands all over your body. 

He sighed. “I mean, there’s no point in hiding anything from you anymore. I guess I laid everything out on the table when I burst in here drunk last night.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise. I just have some… matters I need to attend to with my father.”

“Is that why you were drinking?”

“It’s not important,” he said dismissively, and suddenly you felt him building a wall again. You gave him one more soft kiss before he left. 

“Don’t let him get to you, okay? I’m always here if you want to talk about it.”

He gathered himself up quickly, glancing over his shoulder one last time before heading out. “Thanks.”

Over the next month, you dated in secret. Nothing was ever explicitly stated about the nature of your relationship, but he visited you almost every night, and you did everything together from dinners to movie nights on your couch to fucking on the kitchen counter. Well, mostly the last one. You weren’t sure if you could call him your boyfriend, but he would have been by anyone else's standards. 

Every day that passed you learned a little more about him. The thing you liked the best? He was secretly kind of a dork. Contrary to the serious and powerful image he put on to the outside world, his true nature was much softer and sweeter than you could have ever anticipated. You fell for him in the simplest tasks: the way he hummed while he washed the dishes, the way he cried a little when he laughed too hard, the stars that shined in his eyes when he discovered something new. You wondered if he had ever experienced such simple things before, things you took for granted - watching sitcoms at 2am, the pain of eating a little too much ice cream, the unadulterated joy of laughing over a bowl of cereal after a long night of sex. You’d watch his eyes sparkle at every new experience, and there was a part of you who really, really wanted to meet his father so you could punch him for ever depriving Seonghwa of a normal life. 

Even so, there were moments when he struggled to open up. There was something still so dark about him, mysterious, hidden. Even after experiencing his wide-eyed, almost childlike sense of wonder, you detected something still slightly sinister kindling within him -- something you would expect out of a mafia boss’ son. He kept a tight seal on the resentment inside, but you knew it was festering just under the surface. You had tried to get him to talk about it, but he evaded your questions each time. You wondered when he would finally boil over. 

A knock sounded at your door. Seonghwa, for your date. 

You opened the door with a sweet, expectant smile. “Seonghwa! Just in time, I was making-” The expression on his face caused you to pause. He looked frighteningly serious, more than he usually did, and that was saying something. You furrowed your brows. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to go right now. I can explain in the car. Get a bag together, only what you absolutely need.”

“Seonghwa what the f-”

His voice went completely dark, commanding as he spoke. “You’re in danger. We have to go. Now.” 

[thebookreader12345]

On the Loose - Chapter Three

Chapter One     Chapter Two   Chapter Four   Chapter Five

The coffee in my system helped me wake up a bit, but I was still pretty tired considering that I had been shaken awake at around 5:00 in the morning. I yawned and rubbed my eyes again as Jay pulled up to our newest scene. I stepped out of the truck and glanced around to see police vehicles everywhere, along with a few crime scene investigators waiting for us to view the scene so that they could gather all of the evidence. The bright blue and red flashing lights of the police cars clashed with the light color of the barely morning sky, giving the street an almost unsettling look.

“Uh, hey. Detectives Halstead and L/N. Is Sergeant Voight here yet?” Jay asked the nearest officer, who nodded and pointed to the direction of the house we had appeared in front of. Jay thanked him quickly and started off towards the front door with me following behind him. It didn’t take us long to find the body because as soon as we stepped inside, we were met with a blood trail leading to the bedroom. And when we entered said room, I was greeted by a crime scene that looked very similar to the others. Except this time, something was different. There wasn’t a letter for me in sight, and instead, on the foot of the bed, right below the victim’s body, was a huge book. A photo album.

“Anybody open it yet?” I question. My voice caused Voight, Hailey and Adam, those in the room from the team, to look up at the sound of my voice.

“It’s addressed to you,” Adam responded. “Forensics dusted for prints and found nothing, so it’s safe for you to touch.”

“I’d rather not touch it, but I don’t want to offend the killer,” I counter and take a huge step over the puddle of blood in front of me. It hadn’t had time to dry yet, which meant this kill was fresh. Recent. Perhaps very recent. “Well, lets see what my admirer has to give to me today.” I reached forward and slipped my fingers under the front cover of the album, flipping it to the side to reveal the first page. The first page’s pictures were all of our first victim. One showed our victim bound and gagged, but still conscious on the warehouse floor. And the second showed her dead with dozens of stab wounds on her body. The second half of the page was of our second victim, the one found in her house, which was also where we found our first note. Again, the first picture was of our victim alive, this time unconscious. The second, the dead body. I then flipped the page and came to our third victim’s photos taken when she was alive, and when she was dead. On the other half of the second page was a letter.

“Terra Bretton was my first victim. I remember the first time I saw her. She looked so much like you, Y/N, that I was transported back to the time when you destroyed my life. Everything was taken away from me just like that. When I saw Terra that day, I got angry, so when she was closing up her bakery, and no one was around, I kidnapped her and then I took her to an abandoned warehouse on the other side of town. That’s where I killed her, stabbing her so many times to rid my body of the hatred it held for you. Killing made me feel better, and so, when I saw my second victim, Addison Reed, I knew I had to do it again. She was a lot feistier than Terra, and when I broke into her house, she fought back. I didn’t want to kill her while she was unconscious because I wanted to see her squirm, but she wouldn’t stop talking, so I chloroformed her. A few minutes after the chemicals had set in, I struck. Again, I used my method of choice; stabbing. My third victim, the one lying dead in front of you, is Luci Denton. I saw her around a lot, and every time I caught a glimpse of her, I was reminded of you. I followed her home one night, and when she got out of her car, I was ready for her. I placed my knife against her throat and led her inside of her house where my attack began. I stabbed her once in the stomach, breaking the skin easily. As she bled, I dragged her body into the living room where I stabbed her a few more times, and finally, to the bedroom, where I ended her life with a knife to the heart, the blow that killed her. You may think that because you’ve got a whole team of police officers to back you up during the day and a detective for a boyfriend sleeping with you at nights that I won’t dare to come for you. But I will. I won’t stop until I kill you, and be warned, you’re next.”

“Well, that was comforting,” I murmur and close the album.

“Sarge, I think this is getting too far. Y/N’s life is in danger. We need to catch this bastard,” Jay exclaimed.

“And I understand that, but we’ve got nothing. There hasn’t been any forensic evidence at any of the scenes, and we’ve got almost no leads. The best we can do is continue combing through all of the cases Y/N has worked on and hope we find our guy,” Voight spoke.

“Um, hey. Do you mind if I keep this?” I ask the nearest CSI. She shook her head, and I thanked her before grabbing the photo album, holding it against my side.

“What do you plan to do with that?” Hailey questioned.

I shrugged. “Maybe something will jump out at me.” We left the crime scene quickly and headed back to the district to start working. Kevin and Kim were already in the bullpen going through files when we arrived. I slid into my desk chair and got straight to work. The first thing I did was re-read the note that came along with the photo album, and something jumped out at me. Our killer had said that he saw Luci around a lot. That could either mean he was always near where she worked or her house. That’s when I got an idea. I dug deeper into Luci and discovered where she worked, a book store out in Humboldt Park. Then, I started searching for PODs that might have a view of that building. After searching for a bit, I finally found a camera that was on the same street as Luci’s workplace, but the problem was, its view didn’t quite reach where Luci worked. I could see part of the store, but not the entrance. I guess that would have to do. I started scanning the footage, trying to remember as many faces as I could, but it didn’t do me much good because there were so many people passing by, and many of them could have fit the description of our killer. By now, it was 8:00 in the morning, and the bookstore’s website said that they were open, so I figured I’d head down there to see if there were any cameras that actually had a view of the bookstore’s entrance, and maybe see if anyone who worked there could ID our killer. “I’ll be right back,” I tell the team and stand up, grabbing my coat as I did.

“Where are you going?” Kim asked me.

“I just need some fresh air,” I lie. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Y/N,” Jay started.

“I said I need some air,” I repeat. “So just give me a few minutes, okay?” And with that, I pulled on my coat and exited the bullpen. It was about a fifteen minute drive to the bookstore, and when I climbed out of my car, I spotted someone sitting at the front desk inside. I pushed the door open gently, and a bell jingled above me, signaling that I had entered the store. The woman at the desk looked up and gave me a small smile, which I returned, and set down the book she was reading.

“Can I help you?” the woman, whose name tag read Lila, asked.

“Yeah,” I reply and show her my badge. “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.”

“This is about Luci, right? I saw it on the news this morning,” Lila confessed.

“Were you guys close?” I question.

Lila shook her head. “We never spoke outside of work. As soon as we both left after closing, we went our separate ways. She texted me a few times, but they were all work related texts. Things like she’d be late for work or couldn’t come in because she was sick or something.”

“Okay. Uh, this past week, have you seen any guys around here: blonde, green eyes, thirtyish, on the taller side?” I ask. Lila hesitated, meaning she probably knew what I was talking about, but she didn’t answer my question and looked out the front window. “Lila? Have you seen the man I described?”

“I don’t believe I have,” Lila responded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“Lila, you’re impeding a murder investigation, and by lying, you’re committing obstruction, which means you’ll get up to three years in prison along with a pretty expensive fine. And I know for a fact that you won’t be able to pay it off with the salary you get from working at a bookstore. So tell me what you know,” I demand.

“H-he said he’d kill me,” Lila stammered out, tears brimming the corners of her eyes. “He said that if I talked to the police, he’d find me and kill me.”

“When was this?” I question. Lila didn’t answer the question and looked down at her hands. “Lila, I promise that you’ll be kept safe, okay? I just need you to tell me what happened.”

Lila sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “A man came in this morning right as we opened that fit your description. I had seen him around a lot. He came in a few times asking to speak to Luci, but she told me that someone who looked like him and been following her the past few days, so I always told him no. When he came in this morning, I somehow knew he had killed her. I just knew. He threatened me, said he’d kill me and anyone I loved if I told the cops that he’d been stalking her.”

“Okay. Did you happen to catch his name?” I ask.

Lila nodded. “He said his name was Jeffery something.” That’s when something hit me. Or should I say, someone. 

“Was it perhaps Jeffery Smaldor?” I question.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Lila responded.

“Okay. Um, I think it’s best you take the day off. Head down to the 21st district and say Detective L/N wants you in witness protection. Thank you for the help,” I tell her before leaving the store. As I got back to my car, I had the feeling that someone was following me, but when I turned around, no one was there. The whole street was empty. I pulled out my keys to unlock my car, and that’s when I felt a pinch in my neck. I reached up, my hands brushing against a needle, and suddenly, my whole body went limp. I then collapsed against my car, my keys falling to the ground. Hands grasped at my waist and turned my body around, and that’s when I saw him. Jeffery Smaldor. The man I was after.

“Hey, Y/N. I heard you were looking for me. Looks like I found you first,” Jeffery spoke and smirked. And with that, my eyes began drifting close, and after a few seconds, I fell unconscious into Jeffery’s arms.

_______________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @dreamingmanip @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @nevertoofarfromivar @anotherfan07 @giagma @mrspeacem1nusone @i-like-sparkly-things

[peanut-in-the-goal]

could u write something like remus is out running errands or something and he gets recognized by an nhl fan who’s homophobic and shitty and he goes home and sirius comforts him and it’s cute and fluffy

I KIND OF WENT ON A RANT IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS IM SO SORRY

ALSO I LOST SPEAKING PRIVILEGES WITH @kielemarie because of this. IM SORRY MARIE PLEASE ANSWER MY ASKS

@candy--floss--kid you asked to be tagged when i finished so here ya go

@lumosinlove thank you for this fandom that is sweater weather

also here’s the last thing I wrote because I'm proud of it please I thrive on validation

---

Remus was walking down one of the aisles in the store, looking for a baking mix. He figured that he’d finally take up the challenge of teaching Sirius how to bake. 

He found a simple recipe. Yellow cupcake mix, how could he mess it up? Remus thought to himself. He placed it in the cart before he felt someone forcefully slam into his shoulder. 

He stumbled, his hand immediately going to his scar from Grayback. He looked up slowly, dreading who he might see. 

His eyes locked with the dark green ones in front of him. The tall man’s eyes matched the Slytherin Jersey he wore. Riddle was in bold letters on the back. Which was bad, but not the worst thing that could have happened.

He allowed himself to breathe, it’s not Fenrir, he let the relief of it wash over him. 

“Sorry,” Remus said. He knew it wasn’t his fault but didn’t want to start any drama or conflict when there was no need for it. Especially with a Snakes fan,

He tried to just walk away. He had everything he needed for just a lazy day at home, but the man stepped in front of him. 

Remus looked up confused. Leo has told him about Karen’s doing this sort of stuff. Something that Gen Z came up with or whatever, but he wasn’t sure if he entirely grasped the concept. Suddenly the man started laughing. A deep menacing, laugh that had no humor behind it. 

His eyes were hard as he stared at Remus. 

“It’s not right you know.” He said. His voice was deep and loud, everyone else in the aisle turning to look. “You’re just a bunch of sinners.”

Remus realized what he was referring to in a heartbeat. He was taken aback at first, he knew people felt this way but he had yet to have anyone come and say it to his face so plainly.

He took a step back moving the cart to go around the man, “Excuse me,” he gritted out. He started pushing the cart before a hand reached out and grabbed it.

Remus raked a hand through his hair, sighing he looked up at the man. The green-eyed man was smirking at him, holding onto the front of the cart. The letters stood out in the harsh lighting of the store, glimmering every time he moved.

ALWAYS, PURE, HOCKEY.

The words were printed underneath the symbol, the green snake. It made him sick, he felt bad for all the people who were drafted to that team, stuck without a chance of escaping on their own.

The queasiness in his stomach turned into anger. He used that.

“Was there something you wanted?” Remus asked, generally annoyed now. 

“I want you to know that it’s not fucking right.” The man stepped closer, Remus stayed where he was. 

“Noted, now if you don’t mind I think I’m going to go home to my boyfriend.”

One of the people next to him snorted and tried to hide their laughter at the affronted look on the green-eyed man's face. 

“How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?” The man sniped. 

“Easily, knowing that a homophobic git who can’t keep their nose in their own business isn’t looking back.”

More people laughed, Remus smirked. The man seemed to be getting angrier and angrier, which was just fine. 

“You’re broken.” The man pursed his lips.

“How original.”

Remus pushes the cart again, managing to make the man dislodge his fingers. He started towards the checkout, wanting to get out of there as soon as he could. 

It wasn’t his first time he heard these things. That was all he heard when he was in the media and the pictures had just come out. But Sirius had suffered through most of the face to face stuff, while Remus saw all of it online.

It didn’t make the impact of the words any easier.

It disgusted him that people still thought this way, that they didn’t like that he was able to find love with someone that wasn’t accepted. So what, oh no, they have the same genitals, obviously, it isn’t right. Fuck them for thinking that, honestly. 

It’s sad that they’re so limited to that type of mindset. Where only one thing is right and everything else is wrong in their eyes.

He huffed, walking down the aisle with his head held high. 

Stand your ground, don’t let him win. You got this.

The man followed him, yelling slurs from where he was trailing behind him. 

Don’t let him see, it’s okay. Just a little longer than you can go home to Sirius and everything will be alright.

He finally makes it to the front of the store, but of course, there’s a line. He stands waiting for self check out, it’s the shortest.

“It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” Remus didn’t even raise his head to look at the idiot.

Just ignore it, don’t give him the time of day. Keep your head up.

“How am I disgusting?”

“You’re limiting people to only live by your standards and your viewpoints on what’s normal rather than letting them be happy and live how they want. It’s gross really, that you’re so closed-minded about these things for fucks sake.“

“I’m saying what’s right!” The man spluttered.

“How is it right? How is any of that right?” Remus snapped his head up to look at him, his eyes were hard. “You’re telling me that I’m not allowed to live my life or be happy because it doesn’t see fit to you?” He shook his head in outrage.

The man opened his mouth to speak but Reus didn’t let him.

“Ever hear of John Locke. Our three natural rights that we’re all born with? One of them being the Pursuit of Happiness. I’m not hurting you am I? Me happening to like other men does not affect you, it affects me. It makes me happy and you’re really going to come out here and fucking tell me that I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

The man was at a loss for words, scrambling to grab onto anything to say but he couldn’t.

“It’s still not right.” He said gruffly.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

The man glared at him before huffing and walking away. Remus sighed in relief. 

He walked up to the check out that had just opened, swiping his items before getting a bag and rushing out of the store. 

Some people smiled at him in encouragement, but he was so drained and just wanted to be home at the moment.

He threw the bag in the passenger seat, climbing into the car to drive. He sat there for a minute.

In for four, hold for six, out for eight. Repeat. It’s okay.

He shuffled his playlist, smiling softly and humming along to the tune of Free Fallin by Tom Petty. He was definitely free falling when he fell in love with Sirius.

The drive home was short, luckily they lived close by.

He pulled up into the driveway and quickly scrambled out of the car. His chest felt tight and there was a lump forming in his throat. He jiggled the key in the lock, difficult because of how shaky his hands were.

Finally, he heard a soft click and stepped inside.

“Baby?” Remus called through the house, his voice cracked slightly. He could hear the dull noise of the TV in the other room, then some shuffling, before Sirius’ goofy grin popped around the corner. Slowly, it morphed to one of concern.

“Re?” Sirius took in his red face, and trembling lips, before pulling him into a hug. Remus sagged against him, letting Sirius support his weight and dropping his head against his shoulder.

“Vas tu bien, mon Loup?” Remus nodded his head slowly against Sirius’ neck because though he might not actually be okay, he felt safe in Sirius’ arms. He held on tighter when Sirius went to let go.

“Mon loup? What’s wrong?” Sirius asked. He pulled back just enough to be able to look at his face. 

Remus stuttered for a moment.”There uh…” Sirius rubbed his side soothingly. “There was this idiot at the store, h-he said it wasn’t right?” His voice came out as a question. He bit his lip hard against the tears welling up.

God, why did he feel like crying? It’s not like he hasn’t heard all of this before because he has. But having someone saying it to his face like that in the middle of a store where he’d never had problems before was like a punch in the gut. Was this how it was going to be from now on?

Was he going to get stopped on the streets or in the stores and restaurants just because he was gay? Because he chose love over being what everyone else wanted him to be?

As long as he got Sirius it would be worth it in the end. It had to be.

“Wasn’t right?” Sirius furrowed his brow. “Oh.” The realization dawned on his face.

“No, no, Remus, non.  He’s wrong, He—”

“I know.” Remus looked at him. “I know. Just… Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Are people always going to look at us like we’re different j-just because we love each other?”

Sirius made a sad almost whine like noise. “I’m sorry Re…”

Remus sighed, dropping his forehead to rest against Sirius’s shoulder again. “At least I have you.” His words were muffled but Sirius still understood.

He smiled softly at his boyfriend. “I could say the same thing. Come on.”

Sirius led Remus back to their living room, the TV playing some cooking show that started when Sirius’ had ended. Sirius sat on the couch, pulling Remus to lay down with him.

“Has it always been this bad for you?” Remus murmured, his eyes were already shut. He cuddled further into Sirius.

“I guess. I don’t know, I stopped listening to that stuff, they’re all wrong anyway.” He grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the couch and draped it over them both.

“I’m sorry, I love you.” Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of Remus’ hairs.

“I love you too,” but Remus was already softly snoring away.

---

Remus’s eyes fluttered open sometime later. He was curled on the couch with Sirius. It was dark outside, the stars shining through the leaves of the tree that stood outside their window.

He shifted to rub at his eyes, yawning.

“You’re cute.” 

Remus snorted. “I just woke up.”

“You’re still cute.” Sirius laughed softly, brushing some stray strands of hair from Remus’ face.

Remus yawned again. “What time is it?”

Sirius grabbed his attention phone from where it was laying next to him. “7:30, you’ve been asleep for a while.”

Remus huffed, sitting up all the way. 

“I was going to teach you how to bake a cake,” he pouted. 

“I know how to bake a cake!” Sirius exasperated, “I also stand by my statement of you’re cute.”

Remus huffed out a laugh.  He stood up, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! Celeste taught me.”

“She taught you or she tried to teach you, there’s a difference.” Remus raised his eyebrow,

“Fine, she tried.” 

“Then I will conquer the impossible.” He said it boldly, standing up at the same time, making them both laugh. 

“I’m not impossible.” 

“Teaching you is,” Remus smirked, tugging Sirius’ hand to make him get off the couch.

He felt so much lighter now. Being around Sirius tended to have that effect on him. He made him forget what he was worried about, and made him feel safe and loved. The man from the store was still in the back of his mind nagging at him but at this moment that didn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two of them. And wasn’t that wonderful?

“I am not impossible to teach,” Sirius whined. Remus laughed, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes, you are baby,” Remus shook his head fondly, looking for the bag from the shop. He didn’t see it. “I think I left the stuff in the car, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll get it!” Sirius grabbed the keys before Remus could, a dopey grin on his face.

“Must everything be a competition?” There was no bite behind his words, watching Sirius fling the door open. The cold air from outside drifted into the heated house, Remus shivered.

The door shut and Sirius was back in front of him, bag in hand.

“Ready to show you that I can learn!”

“Did you lock the door?” Sirius hesitated for a moment. Remus had to bite back a laugh, “I’ll go lock it,” he pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cheek.

“Now we’re ready,” He pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cold nose this time.

He took out what he bought, vanilla extract, a boxes of cake mix, sugar, and sprinkles.

“Okay so…” He held one of the boxes, reading the recipe on the back. “Can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees, baby?” He asked. Sirius looked at him before walking over to the oven. “Or, do you want me to do it?” 

“I can do it.” Remus laughed.

“Sorry.” Sirius batted Remus’s hands away. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Uh, we have to make the batter. Can you get the eggs out please?”

“Mhm,” he got the eggs from the refrigerator, placing them gently on the island. 

“Alright wait, we need 3 eggs, ½ a cup of oil, a cup of water, and this.” He held up the mix for emphasis. 

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” he smiled at Sirius. He owed one heck of a lot to that idiot. His idiot.

“Easy,” Sirius dragged out his words and laughed.

“See you say that now, but something has to go wrong I swear.”

Sirius grumbled as he went to crack the eggs into the bowl for the electric mixer. Remus laughed again, going back to reading the instructions, making sure that they were doing it right.

“Oops.” Remus snapped his head up.

“Oops? What do you mean oops?” He leaned over to look at the bowl. Half an eggshell laid on its side in a bowl, on top of the already broken up egg.

“Told you something would go wrong,” Remus laughed, carefully picking it out to throw away.

They worked on making the batter, Remus telling Sirius what to do. Finally, everything was in the bowl and they just had to mix it.

“Okay, you can turn on the — hey wait!” 

Sirius pulled the little switch on the side of the mixer. All the way.

 “No! Sius don’t.” But it was too late, the powder from the cake mix flew everywhere. Finally Remus was able to hit the switch back, turning it off.

They looked around, but the mix had covered the counter tops and ground in a sheet of what looked like dust. 

A startled laugh came from him, Sirius following right after. Their shoulders shook with mirth.

“Well that was a bust.”

“And we still haven’t even started on the frosting yet.”

[totallytododeku]

Crunchimation - Todoroki x reader

> Todoroki and his s/o go to the mall and the reader gets hit on by the cashier

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1400

☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐☁⭐❤⭐

This week had dragged on for what felt like a month. Both Present Mic and All Might had given a your class tests today, and Aizawa had made you train extra hard. Finally, Friday had arrived, so right after school you and your boyfriend had walked to the local mall.

Since you had moved to the area to attend UA, you had never been to this particular mall. Shouto was showing you around while also shopping a bit for himself, but you didn't mind a few stops to get him socks or a new watchband. You two were even able to grab some soba at a noodle shop, which you ate as you walked. It was gone in less than five minutes.

You were enjoying yourself just being with him, when something caught your eye.

"Shouto! Look!" You grabbed the fabric of his sleeve in both your hands, bouncing up and down excitedly on your tippy-toes. "There's a Crunchimation at this mall! I have to go!"

He blinked, expressionless. "What's Crunchimation?"

You gasped quietly and immediately tugged him by his sleeve towards the wall, away from the congestion of mall-goers. "Crunchimation is my faaaavorite store! It's where I got most of my favorite anime merch! They carry a super cheap, SUPER high-quality line of collectable anime figurines!"

"...So it's like a otaku gift shop?"

"Not just figurines! They have some stuff for cosplay, too like wigs and accessories! Maybe they even have the new issue o-" you gasped again, eyes nearly popping out of your head. "Are those F/A plushies?!? No way!" You whipped around to look Todoroki in the eye, on the brink of tears. "I need to buy that stuffed F/C."

Todoroki raised an eyebrow, wordlessly reminding you of the shelves of anime merchandise you already had in your dorm.

Solemnly, you put a hand on your boyfriend's shoulder, closing your eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have to go buy that F/C. I must rescue it. " You raised your other hand in a heroic fist. "As a F/A fan, it is my sworn duty to support the franchise economically. Today, I will bring F/A Studios-" you glanced at the price on the toys in the display case "...nine dollars and ninety-nine cents closer to funding the next installment in the F/A series!"

Todoroki furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Wait a second, I know that anime, you watch it all the time. They're not making another seaso-"

"Of course they are! They've got to! " You cut him off mid-sentence. "You know what would be awesome? If they made it into an GAME. Oh, man, they're totally gonna make it into a gam-"

"They're not going to make it into a ga-" "Shouto! I know you're jealous of F/C, but I can't just leave them here! They need to come home with us! To be a part of our family!" You cracked a smile, your deadpan delivery begginning to fall apart. "We have to raise F/C, Shouto! No one is going to love and respect F/C as much as me!"

By now, he was chuckling along with you. "Hey, how does 'Todoroki F/C' sound?" you teased, giggling.

He rolled his eyes and gently pushed you in the direction of the store. "Go rescue F/C from Crunchimation, Y/N. I, uh, still have a bit more shopping to do, but I'll meet you back here in ten minutes." Todoroki smiled fondly at you as you flashed him a grin.

"Thanks, Shouto, I won't be long!"

You turned on your heel and skipped through the welcoming doorway to otaku heaven.

You were hit with the comforting scent of freshly printed manga, like that of Barnes and Noble. Shelves packed with new issues of tens of dozens of different manga: some series you've re-read three times, some series you were excited to try but never got around to, and some series you'd never even heard of.

"May I help you?" A deep voice cut through your musings.

"No, thank you, I'm just browsing this part of the store. I'm here for the stuffed F/C up front."

"Oh, you like F/C, too? He/She's my favorite character..." You glanced up at the tall, odd-looking boy in the Crunchimation uniform.

"You know, today we have a special offer..."

"F/C is a boy/girl."

He hummed in response, obviously not listening to you. His eyes had dropped from your face, shamelessly checking your body out. You cleared your throat, uncomfortable. His beady eyes snapped back up to yours.

"Oh, really?" you asked, not all that interested. You perused the rows of folded graphic tee's, settling on one with Totoro at the bus stop.

"Yeah," the boy drawled, "if you buy one of these shirts, you get a pair of socks for free."

You backed away from the t-shirt section, smiling awkwardly. "Oh, no, I only have enough money on me for the F/C doll, but thank you." You darted away without waiting for his answer. What a creep, you thought wrinkling your nose in disgust. He obviously hasn't seen F/A, either. You grabbed the first F/C you saw, eager to leave.

"Here." You placed the doll next to the cash register.

"Just this?"

"Yes, just that." You gritted you teeth in frustration.

"You know...You could always just take a shirt now, and...pay me back later. " Once again, he wasn't looking at your face. "Here, take these. I think they'd look great on you." He slid a flat, rectangular package across the counter.

Cautiously, you lifted the plastic-enclosed garment. It was a pair of lacy, thigh-high stockings, probably meant for some skimpy cosplay. A scantily-clad anime girl smirked up at you from the package.

"Look, I hav-"

"Excuse me, sir, but just what do you think you're doing talking to my s/o like that? In fact, you should never talk to anyone like that, you scumbag. You're disgusting and you should be ashamed." Todoroki slammed a ten dollar bill onto the counter. "I'll definitely be sending a scathing e-mail to your employer," he said coldly. With that, he grabbed your hand and the doll and strode out.

As soon as you reached a quieter area under the escalator, Todoroki turned to you. "Y/N, are you okay? What happened?" He grasped your shoulders gently and held you at arm's-length to search your face, then punctuated his question by pulling you into his arms.

"That guy was the only one in there and he was hitting on me really weirdly and I was really uncomfortable." You scrunched up your nose, leaning into his chest.

"Oh my god, Y/N, I'm so sorry! If I had just stayed with you, none of this ever would've happened!" Todoroki's angry voice contrasted his gentle embrace. "I should've been there to protect you," he growled.

"No, it wasn't anyone's fault. Neither of us should have to worry about that kind of thing!" You pulled back slightly to look up at your boyfriend. "I think you handled it very well, though."

He smiled softly. "I wish I'd just stayed with you, but I'm glad you're okay. We can go back to the dorms whenever you want, or we can keep shopping." He paused, reaching into one of his shopping bags. "I know it doesn't make up for leaving you for so long, but I thought you might like this. I actually had it made and just picked it up."

In his hand was a silver, heart-shaped locket. You gingerly picked it up and opened it. Inside was your favorite photo of you and Todoroki. The hinged side was inscribed with, "Love, Shouto".

You flung yourself into his arms, eyes stinging with tears. "Oh my god, Shouto, what the heck? It's beautiful, thank you so much, I love it! I love you!" Your voice cracked with emotion, making you both laugh.

"If you're going to cry, then we should definitely head back to the dorms." He gently took your hand, both of you heading towards the exit.

"Will you watch F/A in my bed with me?"

He paused, feigning irritation. "...Only if we can take a nap after."

You smiled to yourself, looking forward to the short walk back to the dorms and a quiet night in with your favorite anime - - and favorite person.

"Deal."

[thatgoblin]

Small Town Affairs

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She's trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren't something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t often that people moved to Tin Springs, population 803. We barely had enough people to need a high school and a junior high school let alone more than a general store and gas station. There wasn’t even a Walmart for nearly 20 miles. You had to make a special trip to the larger town of Conway that had fast food restaurants and strip malls while the closest we had was a Dollar General and a ‘home style’ restaurant that was closed after 9. We did have a few bars and a strip joint, but those were just outside of town. Far enough that most people didn’t count them as being a part of town. It was very much a dying breed of Mayberry towns that used to thrive till people moved for better jobs and schools or to just get out of that small town headspace.

So when what looked like a whole fleet of moving trucks drove down the main road, everyone was talking. Turns out there was some guy with the last name Rogers that owned land that belonged to his pack that he was moving his new pack onto. The family had basically moved away or died off by the time I was 18. Most of the townspeople thought the houses on the land would stay empty till someone bought the land up for farming or to build new houses on. No one ever did and the moving trucks were telling us why it wouldn’t happen. Everyone and their dog would be gossiping and talking about who the new people were, where they came from, why they came back now, but I just ignored the whispers and gossip as I checked out folks at the general store.

“Hazel, would you be a dear and stock the shelves before you leave tonight?” The store owner, Peggy Carter, asked from her office. It sat just to the side of the register, making it easy to keep an eye on things. Her prim English accent was very much out of place in the small midwest town, but it wasn’t as crisp as it used to be when she first moved to Tin Springs.

“Sure. I’ve got my keys so I’ll lock up for you too,” I said, glancing back at her before the bell above the door rang. “Howdy,” I greeted the customers before going back to tidying my area. They were just a couple of women that were grabbing last minute items for dinner, which was the usual crowd so close to our closing time. I knew their faces, but couldn’t recall their names. I’d seen them around town, but I didn’t exactly interact with people outside of my job.

“Did you see the paper today? John Walker’s up for re-election again,” one woman said as they meandered towards the dairy section. While they sort of tried to stay quiet, the store was empty at that time of day and with it being so small that the voices carried easily.

“I saw that. He’s got my vote for sure,” the other woman said. “You know, he’s been such a good sheriff and I don’t think anyone’s running against him. It should be an easy win for him.”

“Hopefully. Things are just fine as they are now, why change them?” The first woman said. “Though, it is a bit odd that he’s with another Alpha and not an Omega.”

“I know, but Brock’s a good man. Both of them are. It’s just too bad things didn’t work out with them and that Omega girl.”

I should be used to it by now, hearing people talking about me and my exs. When you date the county sheriff and the only garage owner in town, things aren’t exactly secret. Even if they didn’t know your name or face, they knew your business.

“You know, John always said she was a good gal, but just had some problems. His mother and I play bridge at the church on Wednesday evenings and she told me that he was heartbroken over their split up. Him and Brock adored her, said they wanted to have kids too. I do hope she’s getting herself straightened out,” the second woman said.

I could handle the whispers and looks I’d get from the older Omegas in town, but this was a new low. They weren’t even trying to keep it quiet anymore.

“Just so ya’ll know, we’re closing soon, so if you’ve got some trash talking to do, do it outside where I don’t have to listen to it,” I called, earning small gasps from the women. They hurried to the front to check out, keeping their eyes down as I glared at them. If they were dumb enough to talk about me in front of me, I was not going to go easy on them. They didn’t say another word as they left, leaving me behind to glare at their backs.

“You should learn to ignore them. People will always talk,” Peggy said from the office.

“The least they could do was be discreet about it,” I mumbled. “Besides, it’s already been over a year and you’d think people would let it go and move on.”

“Well, with the new people moving in, you might get your wish,” she said. I could only hope.

The rest of the evening went by pleasantly fast. Peggy left me in charge to stock the shelves after closing. We closed usually at about 8:00 PM, no one showed up after 7:45 PM on a regular day. So to hear the door jostle as someone tried to open at 8:10 PM was odd. Frowning, I put down the pasta to look over the aisle to see a man trying to peer in. He had dirty blond hair styled back into a faux hawk of sorts, and dressed in ripped skinny jeans and a tight black tee. There were a few cuts on his face, a bandaid over his nose, and what looked like hearing aids hooks around his ears, the man stood out like a sore thumb compared to the locals. Seeing me, he put on a big smile and waved.

My first instinct was to ignore him, but since he didn’t look familiar I figured he was one of the new people in town. They wouldn’t know the hours of any of the stores in town. I decided to at least let him know the store was closed. If anything happened I had a bat under my register and pepper spray on my keys in my pocket. Going to the front, I unlocked the door before opening it.

“Hey, sorry, we’re closed,” I said as the muggy summer air came rushing in. “We close at 8.”

“Damn it,” the man hissed as he pulled out a cell phone. “Is there any other place to get groceries around here? My pack and I just moved to town and we don’t have any groceries. We’ve been working all day to get stuff into the house and didn’t realize the time.”

“Oh, uh not really, sorry,” I said. “Dollar General closes at the same time and you’d have to go to the next town over for Walmart and that’s 20 miles away.”

“What time do you guys open in the morning?” He asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“We open at 6:00 AM.” The way he looked when I told him was like witnessing a puppy being kicked. I could smell him, he was just an Omega. What harm could it do to let him in this once? Peggy had let a few people in here and there after hours, so what was one more? “Okay, so you can’t tell anyone or you’ll get me in trouble, but I can go ahead and let you in to shop. I’m just restocking shelves, so go ahead and get what you need.” Stepping aside, I let him in before locking the door behind him to keep anyone else out.

“Thank you so, so much. You’re a lifesaver, really,” he said as he grabbed a cart and proceeded to grab things off the shelf. I didn’t mind staying late, rent was going up and it was getting harder to pay, so a bit of extra time wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Clint by the way.”

“Hazel,” I replied as I went back to the shelves. Letting him fill his cart, I finished up my work before meeting him at the register. It was a lot of food, but then again how many moving trucks had showed up? “I really hope this isn’t just for you.”

“Naw, there’s 8 people in my pack. I’m hoping this will be good enough for at least dinner and breakfast, but there’s a few of us who can eat out a whole house,” Clint said with a chuckle as I scanned the items.

“Wow, that’s a lot. We don’t really have any packs at all around here. Maybe a handful, but it’s just three people at most,” I said.

“Oh yeah? We just moved here from New York. One of our Beta’s, Steve, used to live here. You might know him,” Clint said.

“Last name Rogers?” I asked, getting a nod. “Not personally. I know of the family and the land, but that’s about it,” I said with a shrug. “Alright, and total for today is $234.89.”

“Yup, sounds about right,” Clint said with a chuckle as he swiped a credit card. What did they do in New York that allowed them to buy that many groceries? Not to mention that was just for one night, I couldn’t imagine a full week’s worth. Maybe they should go to Walmart for groceries next time. “So is there anything fun to do around here?” He asked as I handed him the longest receipt I’d printed before.

“Eh. Depends on what you want to do. We have a restaurant that closes at 9:00 PM, a few bars around here, and a strip joint, but other than that there’s not much to be done unless you’re a fan of high school sports,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m going to have to give Steve a slap upside the head for bringing us to the most boring place in the world,” he sighed before looking at me wide eyed. “I mean, it’s just that it’s kinda slow compared to New York.”

“Don’t worry. I think it’s boring too, but like most of the folks that live here, it’s cheaper to stay than to move if you don’t have another job or family else where,” I said. “Sometimes the rodeo comes to the next town over and a lot of people go there.”

“Yeah, when he said this was a completely different place, I didn’t think he understood how all of us would find it so different,” Clint said as he started to load up the grocery cart.

“Here, let me help you take those out to your car. I’ll get the cart from you and you can head out,” I said, grabbing the keys to unlock the front door to let us out then relocked it.

“Thanks. You know, I guess small towns do have a lot of nice people willing to help out,” Clint said as he led the way to a black sports car.

“Sheesh, fancy,” I snorted as he popped the trunk.

“Yeah, it was a pain to drive it down the dirt driveway I have with my mate. I don’t want to part with her, but I also don’t want to ruin the undercarriage,” he said with a wince.

“That’s a bummer. There’s a car lot in town here, but I don’t know if they’d have anything your style,” I said, handing him a paper bag full of cereal.

“Howard, my mate, would shit his pants if I tried to go there,” Clint said with a chuckle. “He’s too posh to even think of buying anything pre-used. I’m pretty sure he’d have a heart attack.”

“Sounds like he’ll get comfortable real quick,” I said with a snort.

As we were finishing up putting the groceries in the car, there was a short honk and siren bwep before a sheriff’s car pulled into the spot next to Clint’s.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clint frowned, unsure of what was happening, but I knew.

“Howdy friend!” A familiar voice called as a blond man with bright blue eyes and an irritating smile stepped from the patrol car. Dressed in his brown and khaki uniform, Sheriff John Walker approached us. “You must be part of the pack that just moved to town.”

“Uh, yeah. Just got in today,” Clint said, shifting his body again. “I’m Clint.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Sheriff Walker. Figured that since I saw you in town, I’d catch you real quick for an introduction,” the man said, holding out his hand for Clint to shake. Raising a brow, Clint shook the officer’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. You’ll probably be seeing the rest of my pack throughout the week,” Clint said before closing the trunk of his car.

“You’re on the Rogers property, yeah?” John asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“That’s the one,” Clint said with a nod.

“I think I went to school with one of the Rogers’ pack. Steve, I believe his name was. He was a grade above me. His family stayed in town a while before leaving. Didn’t think we’d see anyone come back to live on the property,” John said. I wanted to get away from this conversation as fast as possible. John hadn’t even addressed me, let alone acknowledge my existence. The last thing I wanted was for him to start shit with me in front of someone.

“Probably, I mean, he’ll be in town tomorrow to get all the paperwork fixed up with his mate,” Clint said. “But I should be going. We’ve been driving all day and everyone’s tired and hungry.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” John said with a nod, backing up to let Clint move. I kept quiet, trying to not look John in the eye as I moved the cart back to the sidewalk. “Have a nice evening, now,” he said, typing his broad brimmed hat to Clint.

“Thanks. See you around, Hazel,” Clint said to me with a tight smile and wave. I gave a short wave back before booking it back to the store.

Don’t follow me, don’t follow me, don’t follow me.

“Hazel, wait up,” John called as he jogged to catch up with me. I wanted to scream as I stopped at the front door to unlock it. “So, you’re talking to the new people now, huh?” He said as Clint pulled out and drove away.

“John, go away. It’s none of your business and this is not part of the agreement,” I hissed, getting the door open. Shoving the cart in front of me, I tried to shut the door in his face, but he’d stuck his boot in the way.

“Look, I’m just trying to keep an eye out for you, okay? Don’t get cozy with the new people. They might be interesting, but you never know what people are really like,” he said, pushing his way into the store.

“Ironic coming from you,” I snapped, glaring at him as I moved to the register. “I’m trying to close, leave.”

“Remember what I said,” John sighed. “Don’t trust those new people.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and we both know it’s not far,” I snarled. “Now go away or I’ll short Brock this week.”

“Fine,” he said. “But just remember, I was the one that always looked after you. Even after everyone started those rumors about you, I stuck by you.”

“A lot of good it did me. Now go.”

John looked like he might say something else, but stopped himself. Instead, he shook his head before leaving the store. Quickly, I locked the door after him. Standing there, my hands shook as tears pricked my eyes. The asshole could always get under my skin. Just a damn look and I’d be nearly in tears. As much as I wanted to believe I was stronger now and could handle myself, that small interaction showed me that he still had a grip on my life.

Finished for the night, I headed home. There were no more encounters with anyone else thankfully, allowing me to relax for the night with a beer on my porch. My house wasn’t much, a one story two bedroom house that had a less than stellar paint job, but it was home. It was old, from the 20’s, but it was sturdy. I wasn’t there much but to eat, sleep, and shower anyways.

Sitting on the porch, one beer turned into two which turned into three. It was the fourth one that I finally felt like I could stop shaking completely. The last time I had seen John and talked to him was nearly a month ago. We’d been separated for almost a year and he was being his usual passive aggressive self just to push my boundaries. He’d come into the store and made a show of talking to me like I was a kid, letting everyone see he was the calm, collected Alpha that was trying to reach out with an olive branch to fix things between the unstable Omega who just needed some gentle handling to become a decent person.

I had nearly come unglued on him, but managed to keep my voice low and my eyes down. Peggy found me right after, sobbing out behind the store. No one, not even Peggy, knew what really happened between all three of us, but I wasn’t about to tell them and neither were John and Brock. We’d come to an agreement that they would leave me alone and not talk to me unless absolutely necessary and I’d stay quiet. As well as paying them off. It was nearly half of both my paychecks, but it was worth it if it meant they didn’t come into the store when I was there or tried to talk to me at all.

But John was starting to toe the line and push back. Brock kept his part of the deal, I was pretty sure he never really cared for me, but John was always obsessive. The deal was going to have to be revisited if John didn’t back off.

Done for the night, I tossed the bottles before heading to bed.

The last few days of the work week were about the same. Go to work, come home, go to work, come home. I saw Clint now and then who came in to grab a few things here and there, but that was it. He was nice and despite John wanting to tell me who I could and couldn’t see, it felt better to know that there was someone in town who didn’t know things about me without my permission.

While we weren’t best friends, we did send memes to each other when I was on break and he wasn’t busy. At one point he messaged me a picture of his shed full of cobwebs and wasp nests and asked if it was appropriate to burn it to the ground. I told him to be careful because there could be copperheads underneath or groundhogs. That led into me explaining what those were and learning that the man had lived 37 years thinking a groundhog was something made up by a city for a holiday and it was really just a beaver they were using.

It seemed that I would be teaching him, and probably his pack vicariously, what to look out for in their new homes. I still hadn’t met the rest of the pack, though I had seen one or two here and there around town.

Soon Friday rolled around. I woke up at about 4:30 AM. Friday would be busier than usual as it was a payday. I showered then dressed, sliding on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, I then made a pot of coffee before doing my makeup. Just enough to hide the bags under my eyes and a few marks on my neck that were visible above my shirt collar.

It was my regular dress for my job at the store, Peggy didn’t care too much so long as it wasn’t offensive. Which meant anything but plain clothing and no writing. After coffee, I fixed my hair so it didn’t frizz then grabbed my thermos of coffee. I locked up then headed to work.

The sun was peeking above the trees and clouds as I pulled into work around 5:15 AM. Peggy was already there when I walked in the back.

“Did you have any problems closing the other night? I forgot to ask,” She said as I stepped into the office to get my cash drawer for the day.

“It was fine. Had one of the new people stop in, Clint. The blond that comes by for snacks. He’d made it in just after we closed, but I went ahead and let him shop since they didn’t have anything at their houses,” I said, taking the drawer from the open safe.

“Houses? You mean they’re not all in one?” She asked, looking up from her book keeping.

“There’s not a big enough house for more than four people on their property. There’s like ten of them,” I said with a snort.

“Well I’m sure we’ll meet all of them at some point. We’re the only grocery store in town,” she said.

“Unless they need to buy in bulk. Clint nearly bought everything in the store,” I said, counting my drawer at the register.

“We can only hope. Next time you see them, let them know if they need more than a few things to get us a list and we’ll get them large amounts. We used to do that a lot when there were bigger packs in my hometown,” Peggy said. The woman was nearly 60 and had lived in England up until about 30 years ago, getting the general store from her uncle who had passed away. I was used to hearing the facts of ‘We used to do this in my hometown’ a lot.

“Will do.”

Finished with setting up, I unlocked the front door and turned on the rest of the lights at 6:00 AM. The usual rush of moms right after school starts as well as early rising elderly came in, making for the usual busy rush that Peggy would step in and help with at the second register. By the time 10:00 AM rolled around, things were tapering off. We’d have a lunch rush for those grabbing a quick something, then back to a nice slowness.

“I’m gonna take my break after this last person checks out,” I said to Peggy who nodded. I was starting to get hungry and I saw a bearclaw in the donut rack that had my name on it. A few cups of coffee could only hold me over for so long before I needed actual food.

Before I could clock out for a break though, two people walked into the otherwise empty store. They were part of the new pack, just the scent alone said that, and they were Alphas. Great.

“I got this if you want,” Peggy said softly as she caught the scent too. Peggy was a sweet Beta and she acted as a stand-in grandma for me, but I couldn’t just run at every Alpha that came in.

“I’m good,” I said, giving her a small wave and smile. It wasn’t long before the Alphas came to the register. One was taller, probably over 6’, with steely blue eyes and dark, earthy brown hair with a scruff on his face. He smelt of fresh rain and peaches with that Alpha musk. Dressed in an almost too tight tee with an extra sleeve and glove covering his left arm and hand, he looked out of place in the button up work shirts and plaid that was usually worn by the adult men around town.

The other was shorter, more tailored. His light brown hair had a bit of copper to it as it was swept back from his face as that held a neatly trimmed beard. His dark eyes stayed on the phone in his hand. He too was in a tee and jeans that were fitted tighter, making them look. . . Well almost foreign. A whiff of cedar and maybe smoke or tobacco swirled into the first Alpha’s scent. Both of them mingling and making something settle deep inside my belly.

Fuck.

“Is that all for you two?” I asked, holding back with every fiber of my being any scent or sign of them making me feel like a simple, needy Omega.

“That’ll be it,” the first Alpha said. It was standard groceries of meat, cheese, dried goods, condiments, basically anything to stock up a house after moving.

“Is your pack settling in okay? Clint comes by now and then,” I said, trying to make small talk. Usually I didn’t, but something about those two had me anxious. Not a bad anxious, but. . . I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Oh, uh yeah. We’re getting there,” he said with a nod. “It’s different than what we’re used to.”

“What are ya’ll used to?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“A lot more people and a lot less trees,” the second Alpha spoke up, his voice lilting into an accent I couldn’t place. “But it is lovely here. I quite like how peaceful it is without masses of people a hair’s breadth away.”

“Glad you like it,” I said, giving him a soft smile. “So are all of you from New York too?”

“A few of us, but not all,” the first Alpha said as he pulled out his wallet.

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t take you long to settle in. Today’s total is $87.56,” I said, tapping a few buttons on my keypad.

“Tell me, is there a nursery around? For plants that is,” the second Alpha asked, leaning onto the counter when I started to help pack up the groceries into the cart. “I am wanting to start a flower garden, but would like to see where the supplies are first.”

“A plant nursery? Um, there is one just west of the town. Just take the main road and it’s about ten minutes from town. It’s run by the Mennonites and they have a bunch of different plants to pick from. They’ve even got starter trees for fruits and some bushes for blackberries and the like,” I said.

“Thank you. I appreciate the information,” he said with a soft smile and a nod. I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“You’re welcome, if any of your pack needs anything just ask around. We’re all pretty friendly here,” I said as I finished putting the bags in the cart.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said, moving over to the cart to hold out his hand to me. “I am Helmut. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Hazel. It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, taking his hand. It was warm and soft, different than the work roughened hands I was used to. Helmut rolled his eyes at the other, elbowing him.

“Hey,” he grumbled, shooting him a glare. “Oh, uh, I’m Bucky.” A quick wave and awkward smile was all I was given as he quickly moved to push the cart away.

“He’s house broken, I swear,” Helmut said with a wink. I couldn’t help the honest to God giggle that came out of me. “Have a good day, Hazel,” Helmut said, smiling as he shook his head at Bucky.

“You too,” I called after as they left. It didn’t even occur to me that I was staring after them till Peggy came up next to me.

“You could always ask for a photograph. It would last longer,” she said with hum.

“Oh shush,” I said, waving her off. “They were just, ya know, nice. Most Alphas around here are curt and so loud and demanding. It’s a nice change to see is all.”

“Uh huh. Even if you weren’t letting them get a scent of you, you were definitely giving them eyes. I’ve never seen you do that for anyone. Not even when you were with ‘Those-Who-Shan’t-Be-Named.’ I think it’s cute and wonderful that you had that reaction,” Peggy said as she went to the other register so I could take a break. “Besides, when’s the last time you actually touched someone on purpose?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just being nice to new people is all,” I said, locking my register computer after clocking out for a break. Quickly, I grabbed the bearclaw before leaving the dollar and change for Peggy. “It was just a handshake. Besides, you always tell me to work on my customer service skills,” I said as I walked to the back door.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She called after me.

[theficplug]

l Next Lifetime l Erik Killmonger l

previous chapters: l part 1 l

erik kilmonger x reader

warnings: none, but the usual 18+ for the eventual smut and a possible tw for grief but i promise it gets better and its a romcomsynopsis: reader grieves Erik until she doesn’t (i’m trying not give too much away). I really want to make it a series that i actually keep up with (sorry Girls Trip readers) because I have up to part 4 written. alright thats all i hope yall vibe with it. 

l part 2 l

“Yeah I do, I think that like if we want. We can come back as someone else or like maybe when we love someone really strongly and we have like soul ties we can come back to them in another life. But that’s just me. We could just be hitting the cha cha slide next to Father J.C.” Iridia explains and Tika shakes her head while laughing at her. 

“Personally, I don’t think so. I believe once our life Earthside is done we return to the cosmos to be a part of the stars that light up the night sky on our loved ones darkest nights. But why are we talking about this on your birthday? We are very much alive with much to celebrate miss thang. I’m ready to go!” Tika says to you as she grabs the car keys. 

“So I met someone while I was at the store and he invited all of us to a party at the Roller Rink but I gotta let you know it’s like crazy how eerily similar he looks to Erik.” you say to them and they both give each other a look before looking back at you.

“OH! Don’t give me that look! I know y’all probably think I’m losing it, but you know what they say everybody got a doppelganger somewhere. Anyways, I know it’s not exactly on our itinerary but I wanna go if y’all are down?” you ask them and they give a worried look before nodding and agreeing. 

“Hell yeah we’re in. I haven’t been to a skating rink since like 10th, maybe 11th grade? This should be fun to see if I got it or if I’m gonna buss my ass.” Tika says laughing.

The rest of the day was pretty easy breezy but you could not get over seeing him. Who’s possibly not him? In front of you. Happy and laughing and present. 

You tried to shake off the thoughts and feelings during brunch with your girls and for the rest of the day enjoying the street festival and winning a giant stuffed giraffe. Between the 3 of you, you won enough stuffed animals to fill the entire backseat of your car and eventually left the festival with a caricature drawing of the 3 of you.

Before you knew it, it was 6:40 and you and your girls were back at the beach house getting ready for the party. 

You searched around your suitcase for the outfits that Iridia had packed for you and settled on. 

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror and fluffed your fro a little before re-applying your lip gloss. 

“GIRL, YOU LOOK SO GOOD. What is going on?  You tryna get chose?” Tika asks standing in the doorway as she smiles at you with her ipod in one hand and a freeze-able daiquiri pouch in the other. 

You laugh as Tika glides around the room shaking her hips to the beat and doing a little roll as she saunters over to you to help you clasp your shirt in the back.

It’s safe to say that you haven’t been exactly up to your fashionably self for the past few months but Iri giving you options with the different pieces of clothing  that she bought you had you feeling like yourself again.

“Damn, I’m good.” Iri says while giving you a twirl and takes selfies with you and Tika.

You purse your lips and give your best smize towards her phone as she snaps a photo of you and for a moment things feel like they used to. 

“Just wanted to feel cute for once. I love this top and girl it got my titties SIT-TING.” you reply giggling and childishly nudging your girls before asking if they’re ready to go. 

You put the address into the gps and you were off on your way.You tried turning up the radio to drown out how loud your thoughts were going and in a million different directions.

 About 20 minutes later. You look out the window once arriving at the skating rink to see cars already filling the entire parking lot and you could see people laughing while holding onto each other as they skated their way inside. 

The music is already blaring and you could definitely tell that “Daka”’s friend is a party planner. The venue had some sort of projector or something set up so that the entire room seemed like it changed “worlds” with each song. There were multiple food stations, and a live DJ playing everything from 90s R&B to New Orleans bounce music and everything in between.

You and your girls quickly grabbed a pair of skates and looked around for N’Jadaka and sure enough within a few minutes he was grooving his way over to you this time dressed in a slightly opened printed shirt and light washed jeans. 

He skated around you with a big ass smile on his face. His golds were gleaming under the lights as it bounced off of the diamonds engrained in it. “YOU MADE IT! How y’all doing?” he asks your girls and they stand there gasping with their mouths wide open. 

“I mean he could be his goddamn identical twin. You were not lying! The only thing he’s missing are the scars and his dreads. God damn.” Tika was the first to speak before Iri introduced herself.

“Hey, Happy Birthday, I’m Iri. This is Tika’s rude self and you already met our boo.” Iri says pulling him in for a quick hug. 

“ I’m sorry, excuse us, you just look exactly like somebody we knew. Happy Birthday! It was his birthday too. It’s wild how people really do be having doppelgangers. Alright, so I’m gonna go try not to break my damn leg. Knowing I gotta go to work on Monday. Come on.” Tika says taking Iri by the hand and making her way onto the rink with her to give you and him some time alone. 

You shift your weight trying to keep yourself steady as you sway to music , knowing that he’s eyeing you up and down.

“Man must’ve been a hell of a person. I’m glad you came though. I didn’t think Orleans was gonna do all of this.” he says laughing and you can’t control the butterflies feelings like they were fluttering around your stomach. That’s his laugh.

“He was. To me at least, he was. Of course, I mean I haven’t been to a roller rink in forever and I really needed some time to just know what it’s like to be carefree again.” you admit and he nods along listening to your words.

He decided to save his comment on “he was” for later. Hoping that there would be a later for the two of you and opted for taking your hand in his and leading you onto the rink .

“Well, in that case. Show me what you got and forget about everything else for a minute.” he offers and you accept  his offer and shakily make your way onto the rink like bambi trying to walk for the first time. 

“Okay, so I’ll admit. I don’t actually know how to skate. I don’t why I thought this was a good idea.” you manage to stand for all of 10 seconds before tripping over onto him and he turns towards the DJ talking into the mic and signals for him to slow the music down.

“I got you.” he says and “Always Be My Baby” starts to play softly in the background as the “world” changes to a starry night. 

You look up at him for a moment and nod before leaning into him. As you rest your head on his shoulder he begins to skate you left to right gently swaying you to the beat of the song as his hand rests respectfully on the small of your back almost instinctively. It took everything in you not to start tearing up again.

This was your song . He always promised that you’d be a part of him no matter what happens in life. You were always going to be his baby. 

All the couples were paired off and you looked around at Iri holding onto Tika and smiled knowing that they’ve never acknowledged their feelings for each other but it was clear as day to anyone else. 

He swayed you and held you against him while his thumb stroked your back gently and you closed your eyes trying to soak up your time with him. 

You don’t know how it happened or if this was one long drawn out delusion or what exactly was going on in the moment, but all you knew was that you were able to feel the warmth of your E in your arms again and his scent evading all of your senses. 

In this moment he was smiling and content and at peace, not being shipped back to you with claw marks in his chest and bruises all over him. He was here with even slow breaths and enjoying himself. 

You knew that he felt it too because as the song ended you opened your eyes to find him looking down at you with this look of confusion and adulation on his face. 

You run your fingers over his cheek and clear your throat and recoil your hand back by your side. 

“I think your friends are calling for you.” you say to him playfully as the men and one woman around your age skate over to him and around the two of you, asking you a bunch of questions at once.

E- N’Jadaka let’s go of you to turn to them and introduce them to you .

“This is Orleans big head ass, Khalil , Pen, Lina, and Big Mike.” he says and they say hey and ask you if you are from around the area and you talk back and forth. 

The conversation between you and his little group was so easygoing. It didn’t feel forced or awkward as he stood beaming from you to them.

“I've been there once or twice. I really liked the Hottentot Saartjie/ Sarah Baartman piece about the dehumanization and caricaturization of black women, especially darker skin women, then and now. It was both interesting and heartbreaking. It’s the reason why I do what I do now. I create safe spaces for black girls and women of all ages. It’s my greatest accomplishment and something I’m most proud of.” you answer Mike’s question about the new black art exhibit downtown.

Mike looks at you and shakes his head in wonder and amusement.

“Daka, with all due respect bruh. I gotta ask her to marry me. Or you need to let me know what aisle that was you met her because I’mma swing by your parents' store tonight. I think we might be out of bread or something.” Big Mike says before complimenting you on your outfit and Lina joined in by asking if you’d like to check out a new record store with her on Tuesday.  

Next thing you knew your girls skated next to you to see what was going on. Tika introduced herself to the group and Iridia followed through.

“Hey I heard something about a record store because I could use some new ones. I think our neighbors are tired of me playing Otis Redding every night for the last few weeks. Keep asking me if I had a breakup every time I see her. Bless her nosey heart , Mrs. Pepper.” Iridia says talking animatedly and as gesticulatively as she always does and his small group of friends as everyone does seems completely enamored by her. 

“Of course, yeah, why don’t you come too? And Mrs. Pepper just doesn't know good music but I may be biased because Cigarettes and Coffee is my favourite song. Hold that thought. My mouth is dry as hell from all that skating around, be right back-” Lina says before skating away for refreshments and the rest of the group talks amongst each other.

Other friends of N’Jadaka come up at random times to hug him, get photos, or say happy birthday.

“You want some?” Lina asks Erik as she returns  to the group with a cupcake in her hand as she peeled the wrapper off and offered Erik a piece of the chocolate dessert. She reached out her hand towards his mouth and you looked from her to him and then at the cupcake which looked like it had walnuts in it. You push the piece away from his mouth and she looks at you puzzled. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks looking confused 

“Chocolate walnut cupcake.” you say simply not realizing that you were supposed to have just met him this morning .

“I- I mean just a lucky guess you know most people have nut allergies and shit.” you try to cover your tracks and he let out a sigh before laughing and nodding.

“You right too. Damn I was gon be out here looking like Will Smith when he ate that shellfish in Hitch for the rest of the function. I’m allergic to nuts. Good looking out ma.” he says and you nod at him before telling him to go skate with his friends you’d meet up later.

As you part ways your friends have about 3000 questions each. Iri believing that that definitely has to be Erik and Tika believing that you both had lost your natural born ass minds. 

You all settle on how wild it is that he looked like Erik and left it there. You enjoyed the rest of your night swag surfing with a room full of new friends and your old forever friends and just fully enjoying your birthday. 

“WE LIKE TO PAARTTAAYYY. AYYYYEEE AYYYYYEEE.” you sung out loud at the top of your lungs with everyone else and Beyonce. 

Somehow you end up twerking on Lina and having a good laugh as the drinks flow through your system.

You glance over at N’Jadaka being circled by some of his guests and he breaks the circle to grab your hand and lead you to the middle of it with him. 

“MY BIRTHDAY TWIN!” he shouts over the music to his guests and you shake your head telling him that he doesn’t really have to share his spotlight with you.

“Ain’t no problem.” he responds and you watch as everybody starts to skate a circle around you and Erik and y’all both laugh and pose for pictures while people sing Happy Birthday the Stevie Wonder version.

 His friends and yours all took turns to skate up to pin money on you both. 

You cheer and clap along to the music as you sing Happy Birthday to him and he sings it back to you. 

Before you know it you're both smiling at each other and getting swept up into a soft gentle kiss that feels like electricity is pulsing between the two of you.

As you close your eyes you can get a glimpse of kissing him before he left for Wakanda. The way he pressed his forehead against yours , the way your hands rested against his beating heart, and the way that his soft plumps felt against yours.

You knew that he felt it too because when you  broke the kiss with a tug of his bottom lip he was staring down at you once again with a puzzled expression.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just-” you explain before exiting the circle and making your way out of the skating rink.

You quickly take off the shows and put your regular shoes back on as you stand outside for a moment to get some fresh air and gather yourself.

"Why is this happening? How is this happening? People don't just get to come back. This is insane. This is insane."

It didn’t take long at all before Erik was smoothly grooving his way out of the door not once spilling his drink.

“You know ma, I’mma lot of things. But I know for sure stupid ain’t one of them.” he says swaying his shoulders to the music before he stops and stands in front of you.

“You know something, don’t you? How do we really know each other?” he asks slowly 

“I don’t. We met in Aloha Oakland for the first time. I feel so connected to you and believe that we have chemistry because you remind me of my ex. He passed away nearly a year ago and I didnt wanna tell you that right off the bat because the shit’s weird. “Hey, sorry I passed out ,  you cute but you remind me of my dead ex. So yeah, have a good day”.” you explain and he nods deciding once again to not press the issue. 

"I'm sorry for your loss. Grief is never an easy thing to go through. I feel I experienced so much of that so early I didn't know anything else besides death. I was told that my birth parents were both murdered. But my parents taught me through all that rot and decay of the heart something beautiful can still grow. They taught me how to live. That there is more to life is more than just surviving day to day out of spite and anger." He speaks slowly like he's really pondering the words that he wants to say before continuing. 

"It's kinda my fault. I feel like I was a lil too forward with all of this. My friends and the way that they party can be overwhelming. I'd like to make it up to you if you up for it. Just me and you. Maybe like a coffee or something quieter than this. I want to get to know you. Even though I know it's gonna sound corny as hell, I can't help feeling like I already do. You passing out by them discount cakes wasn't an accident at all, I think it was fate." he says and you look up at him before nodding. 

“I think so too.”

[septiembrre]

30 for the kiss prompts!!!!

Prompt: Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

@sothischickshe, I made a concerted effort to keep this silly and short. And I gave myself frown lines as I watched it grow longer and longer and… angsty. D: 

Featuring:

A magical reappearance of Beth’s furniture

A broken air conditioner

A heatwave

Lots of summer clothing

Sweat (but like the typical annoying kind. This is not a euphemism for sex)

Beth and her anxiety

Rio, a certified Goth™

A relationship not yet ended

Pain

And a Mick cameo, of course!

On AO3, too!

---------

I’VE GOT TO LOSE MY COOL

Beth’s first mistake was not calling the HVAC technician first thing in the morning. She had called on the way out the door, left a voicemail. 

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Wednesdays were usually slow. She would be able to sneak away at almost any point to take a call back. In the message she left, Beth made sure to mention that her only conflict was at three (the weekly drop of bills from Mick). Otherwise, there was plenty of time to schedule the service visit with perfect timing for the impending heatwave. 

But, of course, her life was no longer neat.   

On this random mid-day shift, there had been a flurry of customers at the store -- multiple special orders for invitations, a desperate maid of honor running in for last minute bridal shower details. And, naturally, it was in this hubbub that the tech had returned her call. There was another subsequent round of phone tag. Beth left a new message. 

On her phone, there was also a text from Mick. He was held up -- and that never happened. The texts hinted at some mysterious, more-important errand for their boss and she was a little curious. He had quashed her follow-up questions (only a couple!), with a gruff, “I’ll get there when I get there.” 

And he indeed eventually arrived to Paper Porcupine -- a whole hour late and in a terrible mood. He barreled in the backdoor, sans his typical flannel and sans-leather jacket. Instead, he was in a t-shirt and sweaty as all get out in the late afternoon heat. Beth had stared at him aghast as her phone chimed with another call. It had been a perky soundtrack to Mick’s string of colorful swears when he realized he had left behind half the one-dollar bills needed for the next print run.

Well, at least that mess wasn’t on her. 

When Beth finally caught the technician on her drive home, she confirmed what Beth had begun to suspect in her gut: they were all booked up with service calls until next Monday. 

“It’s the heatwave, Mrs. Boland,” the tech explained over the car’s speaker phone. “Half of Detroit is calling in about faulty units. We can get you in first thing next week.” 

Beth had nodded unseen and despairing. She had the AC blasting in the car, but she was still sticky with sweat. It was going to be precisely eleven degrees hotter by tomorrow. Then, it would chart 105 the day after that.  

Good Lord. 

Her second mistake was not immediately driving to the store to purchase a pool.

This is how Beth finds herself in the middle of the brutal once-a-year Michigan heatwave, reflecting on how truly her life no longer plays out in the tidy, pre-ordained trajectories it used to. And some days this is thrilling but other days, today, it’s... 

Terrible. 

Beth tries to do what she can. 

She digs out her most breathable pair of exercise shorts, short short and purchased two children ago. She dons her comfiest, lift bra and throws on a frayed pink tank top. She no longer wore these articles of clothing in the presence of her husband (especially after that comment now etched into her soul about “a great ass and perfectly shaped boobs”) but kept them tucked into her dresser for such hellishly hot, solitary occasions such as today. 

She pulls her hair messily into a lofty bun leaving no opportunity for it to cling to her neck. She also temporarily appropriates three of the flagging household fans and angles all of them carefully at her, meticulously layering the currents. Finally, she sprawls on her bed, starfishing her limbs for maximum air-to-skin contact. 

All of it helps a little, but she’s still hot. Beth can’t fathom anything outside of her misery, wants to shed her skin. 

She momentarily considers taking her third cold shower of the day. 

Then, without realizing it is happening, Beth finds herself an hour deep into a frenzy of online shopping, precariously balancing her laptop so it doesn’t touch her skin. 

Her focus: sandals. 

Beth knows she shouldn’t go through with the purchase. Rationally, she can admit it is a feverish spiral, fixating on one fraction of why this week is awful. But, it is all she can think about: she does not have any appropriate footwear for this heat. 

How will she survive?

From there comes a whole whorl of scenarios. If she could get away with not leaving the house, she could stay barefoot, stick to the shadowy corners of her house, shower any hour of the day. In fact, this was (part of) the reason why she had chosen to stay home as Dean took the kids to the community pool a few blocks over. Her old pair of ratty flip flops had finally given out and the mid-morning heat already had Beth at her wit’s end. God, she just needed some quiet and some sense of distance from Dean. So, she suggested the idea, urged him to go and leave her in peace.

Perhaps, she could send him out for all the kids’ needs and assorted errands? 

...But, could he be trusted? 

Well, if Beth refused to leave the house, that meant she was also choosing not to go with the kids to the movies or the library, places with functioning air conditioners where she could cool off. And what else could they do tomorrow? Maybe she could dig out the old sprinkler from the garage… But, then she’d have to go into the garage, and the temperature in there-- 

Anxiously, Beth meanders the tabs on the DSW website and adds two new pairs of flip flops to her cart. One’s a little more casual, definitely good for pool-side and backyard time. The other pair is a little more dignified. They didn’t look like they would clack. 

Well, she doesn’t need two pairs...

She’ll narrow it down later. 

In the back of her mind, Beth can acknowledge she doesn’t really need to buy anything at all, and that these sandals will not make her current discomfort any more bearable. But, it doesn’t hurt to look. 

Oh, goodness -- what about when she has to go back to Paper Porcupine for her next shift? The thought of putting on any of her flats seems like too much to bear, claustrophobic as they were in the heat. Pumps were out of the question. Which brings her to her last job-appropriate footwear option -- her ankle boots. Weirdly, that seemed to be a fashion trend that was happening now, but nope, absolutely not. 

It is in this fever pitch, that Beth makes her third and perhaps most egregious mistake: when Rio knocks on the French doors, she lets him in. 

In her defense, she’s a little dazed. As mentioned before, the current state of Michigan is literally hell and Rio’s appearance… takes her by surprise. She was not expecting him to show up today with a duffle of the rest of the small bills. He hadn’t texted and to top it off, he is wearing... an outfit she has never seen before.

A sleeveless shirt.

A sleeveless shirt and joggers, fancy athletic ones that look a price point (or three) above the ones she usually buys for Dean. However, despite this new foray into athleisure-wear, Rio remains head to toe in his favorite color with black on black Chucks rounding out the look. 

What a goth, Beth thinks, shaking her head to herself. This outfit in over-100 degree heat? 

She feels hotter just looking at him.

Like Mick the other day, Rio is sans-jacket, sans-button-up, and sans-beanie and there’s just… miles and miles of uncovered brown, freshly sun-kissed skin. 

Maybe, it’s her deep-seated jealousy of people who can tan. All her skin is good for is glowing in the dark and flash burning at the slightest interest from the sun. And mind you, she’s currently safe inside her dim bedroom, but it’s the strangest thing...  She’s burning now as her eyes trace the smooth skin exposed at the base of his neck, burning as she follows along the neat, sharp line of his collarbone where she had bit--

Stop, Beth. Why did she still want-- 

Had he purposefully shown up with a work excuse on the hottest day of the year to pester her? Was this a latent extension of his punishment? Beth thought they were past this. 

But, you know what? Whatever. Let him try.

She’s cool. She might be sweaty as hell, and wanting to crawl out of her skin, but she is cool as a cucumber, cold as ice, profoundly unbothered. 

She’s so cool that she doesn’t say a word. 

Not to greet him, or remark upon the mistake with the drop or… his atypical clothing choice. 

She doesn’t comment either on the state of their business or ask after whatever it was he had assigned Mick to do this week and had seemingly gone awry. 

She doesn’t comment as his mouth drops open with surprise as he takes in her appearance, his eyes widening with something as intolerably warm as the air around them. The bag slips from his grip just inside her doorway.

Nor does she say anything when Rio follows her back to bed, tethered to her through a tenuous spell of heat (weather or otherwise). She’s cool, indifferent, breezy actually as she repositions herself in the crosshairs of the fans. If she pretends he doesn’t matter, she doesn’t have to share the breeze right? So she doesn’t pay much mind as Rio slips off his sneakers and settles next to her. Instead, she re-balances the laptop and resumes pursuing the online DSW store. 

She doesn’t say anything as he eventually shuffles closer, presumably to watch as she adds strappy sandals to her cart (or more probably to peek down her shirt). And god-- this stupid tank top. Maybe her boobs look better from over there in Rio-world, but over here she is sticky with underboob sweat and crossing her fingers that none of it shows through her bra. 

His shoulder leans against hers.

And she has every reason to push him away, but… his skin is cool and smooth and not the most intolerable part of this weekend. So, she lets him stay there. 

And she continues to ignore him, cool-like, or cool-aspiring.

Until he no longer lets her. 

Concentrated as she is on her shopping, she notes idly as Rio’s foot reaches out to nudge one of her fans to aim more directly at him.

Beth can’t help the snarl that comes out of her mouth, “Don’t.” 

He always brings out the worst in her.

There’s a low snicker. Her gaze drops down to take in Rio’s arm as it presses up fully against hers. His fingers reach over to pinch her thigh. 

“Damn, ma.” 

There’s that heat again, the one from inside. God, she hates him. 

Beth shuffles away, frowning at her screen. Rio shuffles too, sidling up next to her again. She adds another pair of sandals to her order and then considers her cart. 

“Elizabeth…” In the corner of her eye, she catches the movement of Rio shaking his head with reprove. “Think about where you live.”

Beth flails on the bed in a display that admittedly reminds her of her own children in a fussy mood and it only annoys her more. Her bedspread sticks to her arms, the backs of her legs, and the exposed sliver of her midriff where her top is creeping up. Beth shifts, trying to dislodge the cover from her skin, mindful to protect the laptop. It’s only happenstance that she manages not to shift a single inch of where the length of her arm touches Rio’s. 

As she tries to calm down, a brief vision comes to Beth -- an alternate universe where the laptop is safely tucked away and the HVAC blessedly functions. The Rio and Beth of this fantasy are them but also not… maybe she’ll call them Christopher and Elizabeth. That Beth -- Elizabeth -- is only mildly inconvenienced by the heat raging outside. She can rest her dampened forehead against the cool arch of his-- Christopher’s neck. She can lean in to press a weak kiss at his collar bone. In fact, she can kiss it anytime she wants, invited to touch him anywhere she like. In this dream, Elizabeth’s ministrations don’t have to be surer or bolder or cool -- because she has him. 

All the time. 

She can afford to be soft. 

In turn, Christopher nuzzles his face into her hair fondly, and that Elizabeth receives a soft kiss at the crown of her head. There’s an undercurrent of sex between them, the suggestion of it, but overall the scene is sluggish in the zenith of summer and content. Elizabeth can curl her body around his and let him hold her-- 

How silly. 

Beth shakes herself out of it and realizes that Rio has shifted on his side, watching her as she’s zoned out staring at the cart full of sandals for too long. His lips twitch and almost pull into a smile. Then, he quells them into mock seriousness. 

It feels too intimate, him with her on this bed, her bed, the bed. It feels like Before. 

God, why is he here anyway? If she was alone, she could peel off all her clothes and… take an ice bath probably. 

Not think of him at least. 

Not think about that wild, feverish idea of curling up, fitting her body into his and surrendering to the heat. Not think about how desperately and pettily she wants to pinch him back. She wants to kiss that stupid look off of his face or... Maybe she could purchase all six pairs of sandals and start browsing for pools on Cloud 9 just to spite him-- 

 “I am thinking about where I live and actually, it’s the middle of summer here--” Beth bites out. “--and it’s outrageously hot.”

“Just buy yourself a pair of sturdy white lady shoes. You mean to tell me you don’t already own some Birks?”

“Excuse me--” Beth splutters, incensed. She had considered them first but had been discouraged again by the price tag for a single pair.  “White people aren’t only ones who wear Birkenstocks.”

Without missing a beat, Rio volleys back, “Baby girl, what are you going to do with so many pairs of sandals in Michigan the rest of the year?” 

“Says you.”  

“Oh?” 

“You literally have a million pairs of shoes. Your closet is insane.”

It dawns on her, what she just said. 

Oh. 

Not good. 

It’s the fucking heat. At least, the discomfort can’t blotch her cheeks any more than they already are. 

She knows that if she looked at him now, she would see Rio doing something... obnoxious with his face. He’s probably smirking in that terrible, gloating, dumb, sexy way that he does, but too bad. 

Beth refuses to look at him.

She’s indifferent and unbothered. She’s cool. She’s the kind of Beth that would never ever even think about his closet or daydream about them folding clothes together or fucking on-- 

So, instead, she snaps her laptop close with a final click. The sandals were a half-brained idea anyway and that was a conclusion she already came to on her own. Thank you very much, boss. 

She starts to get up but then Rio’s hand reaches out to curl around her thigh, pinning her to the bed. He squeezes her leg gently, as he has the audacity to shush her. 

It’s enough impetus for Beth to rear her head back to meet his gaze again and level him with her most withering glare. 

And, what do you know? She was correct. He appears to be very entertained. 

This time she feels the heat surge on her face and knows without a doubt that it shows on top of the heat rash.  

“Yeah, so… are you ever gonna tell me what you were doin’ at my house?”

“No.” She snipes, prim. 

“No?”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” It's outright untruth.

Rio’s amused disbelief and her defensiveness meet in a standoff. Beth knows from experience he’ll try to wait her out and she gnashes her teeth. 

Then, there’s a twitch of movement at her thigh, the flex of fingers she realizes are still there and Beth registers the warm span of his hand a few inches above her knee. Her gaze darts down to look at where he’s touching her. He glances down, too. Together they watch as his thumb slowly strokes her skin. Then, again. 

They both observe as the muscles in her thighs just perceptively clench.

God, him and her, in this bed. 

His voice softens to that ridiculous mumble, both low and rich. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. You can tell me.” 

The tone raises her hackles -- as if she wasn’t already too familiar with this trap! She tries to affect nonchalance -- she’s cool -- and shrugs, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Rio grins. It’s sharp like a knife and charming. She hates that he’s the most attractive person she’s ever met. “You liked my closet?” 

Then, an idea comes to her-- how she can best him at his own little game.

Beth curls on her side towards him. Her cleavage deepens and god, she can instantly feel more sweat bloom but she knows what he likes. The line of their bodies is parallel, only separated by an inch or two. They’re sharing the breeze from the fans now and wisps of her hair have gotten loose from her bun and are blowing into her face. Rio’s hand shifts to resettle and it drifts up to stroke her hair back behind her ear. Then it drops to curl at her waist. And you know -- nice move -- but she can do him one better.

“Yes,” Beth says simply. She brings her hands up to trace along the neck of his shirt, across his pecs, and the expanse of skin she hasn’t seen since that afternoon of Before. “I didn’t see this though.” 

Then, in a moment of haughty malice, her fingers find the notch of his clavicle. She watches his throat bob as he swallows hard and she counts the success. She ignores the tell-tale temptation to gift him more bruises, to kiss him… 

The thought occurs to her, distantly, slowly emerging through the fog of heat, that if she tugged the fabric to the side a bit, she’d find one of the scars she gave him. Her hands become clammy and they retreat. 

“You like it?” Rio’s voice comes out a smidge hoarse. But, perhaps only someone who knows him like her would notice. 

Beth shrugs a shoulder. 

His eyes are bright as he looks back at her. His gaze shifts crass, laden with the suggestion of sex, and there’s a tinge there that's not quite sour per se. But, it’s heavy with the particular weight of who they are now. His line of sight deliberately drops to her cleavage with old, salacious purpose. 

It’s not the way he looked at her that day, that one time (or two).  

Self-rebuffed, Beth tries not to think too much about how she hates that Rio caught her dressed like this. She itches to pull her top up to her neck or scramble off the bed to find something else to throw on. She itches to disappear entirely or to retreat into her bathroom (and see if this time he’ll follow her there too). 

Slowly, in performance, Rio moves the fingers at her waist and dips them under the edge of her tank top. He traces teasingly underneath along her sweaty skin. 

“I like this.” Rio says, biting his lower lip lewdly, tugging along the hem of her shirt. 

And Beth feels-- she feels--

Too hot. 

Too objectified. 

Her stomach drops and she wants to crawl out of her skin. This wasn’t, this isn’t-- This isn’t what it was. 

No matter who they are this minute, whatever mess continues to unfold, this isn’t what that day was.  

She won’t let him ruin it. 

“You know I did really like your closet. I liked your shoe racks--” she scrambles, trying to dangle a little of what he wants and to remind him. “Your pictures. Nice touch.” 

The comment serves its purpose. It makes him pause, sufficiently rebuked by all the ways that she knows him. 

Rio extricates his hand, pulls away from her skin, as she tries again to calm herself. She needs to be cool, cool, cool. 

But, it’s unbearable -- who they are now.  

She feels frazzled and depleted as she watches Rio roll onto his back. He looks up at her ceiling, not at her. “Why can’t you be honest with me for once?” He says it tiredly, without artifice. 

She can’t stand it. 

“You’re one to talk.”  

Beth watches as Rio is now the one gritting his teeth. 

“Y’know--” There’s a poignant, festering beat and then he says, “When I fucked you in this bed, I had wanted…” 

More. 

That want goes unsaid, suspended in the air around them with the heat. 

“But, you just wanted me to fuck you,” he finishes quietly, leveling her. 

Her stomach bottoms out newly pained and she wonders if that day, those two times, are already ruined for him. Certainly, she can understand if it’s because of the bullets. But, if he still has any doubt-- 

She makes a last-ditch attempt at levity. 

“You’d probably say this is really… basic bitch of me.” The phrase fits awkwardly, and the call back immediately has Rio’s attention. She knows in her race to pull something together, to make it better, something bearable, whatever she’s going to say is going to be too candid.

“Yeah?”

“But, the times that I’ve been the most… attracted to you--” Oh god, this isn’t coming out light and casual at all. Oh no. 

Rio shakes his head at her, “Don’t stop now, Elizabeth.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Beth huffs. Then, she tries again. “One is definitely when you were bashing in that butt-ugly car.” 

Rio’s eyebrows raise comically high. 

“You know with the crowbar,” She gestures, swinging her hand gratuitously. He absolutely already knows what she’s talking about. 

“And two..”  Beth shuts her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She hopes for the best and tries not to rush the next bit. “--was when I saw your closet was color-coordinated.” 

She sneaks a glance at him, and her stomach twists again.

He has absolutely no business looking so fondly at her. 

She strives to clarify. “But, that was before.” 

“Not anymore?”

“No.” 

Rio nods, presumably in acceptance of her refusal. 

But, then he tugs her to him, across him. Beth settles on top of him, too hot, too sweaty. Her forehead comes to rest, pressed against the soft hollow of his neck.  

[rigelmejo]

Re-reading hanshe with less word lookup is going well. I'm in section 10 already. I mean that's a long way to go with 209 sections. But if I'm doing 5 a day like rn that's 40 days to read instead of months like before, so with for increased reading speed. If I get up to 10 chapters a day that's 20 days to finish reading this fic which is under a month. Anyway we'll see.

Mostly I'm curious if when I hit 1/3 in, which is where I've read to before, if extensive reading no longer becomes possible because I don't have enough already-studied words for those parts afterward.

It’s interesting rereading because I can also start to tell which words/hanzi throw me off the most. There’s a number of new words I guess/remember quite easily, due to hanzi I remember easily. There’s also a number of 4-hanzi phrases I figure out easily because their hanzi are familiar and similar phrases I’ve already learned. however, STILL the words for suspicious, doubt, hesitate ALL trip me up! If I want to read fast I just guess which one the word means based on context! The hanzi for those 3 words just looks TOO similar to me especially with meanings that to me are also quite similar (if you doubt something you may be suspicious, if you doubt something or are suspicious you may hesitate, so the words are quite similar in meaning in my head). 

怀疑  Huáiyí - doubt, suspect, be skeptical

犹豫  yóuyù - to hesitate

犹疑  yóuyí - to hesitate

(you will notice the bottom word uses a hanzi from hesitate, then a second hanzi from doubt, and it makes me confused as all hell as a result whenever I see any of these 3 words because I see hanzi from another similar word and then get lost about which means which). 

Anyway, the hanzi I confuse for other hanzi/being part of other words, seem to be the ‘already learned’ words I am clicking the most. Because I’ve seen the word or hanzi many times but STILL the sound has not stuck in my mind so yet again I’m looking up the pronunciation. Like 绸缎 chouduan (silk) and chan (getting tangled/wrapped/involved with with someone/thing) 缠. I see the silk side radical and the enclosure on both (though the enclosures are different), and because they look pretty similar EVERY time I see chou as in silk I want to read it as ‘chan’. About 80% of the time I see that word I have to re-check the pronunciation. Reading extensively is actually helping slightly, in that I think my brain is making more of an effort to remember the pronunciation since I’m trying to be less likely to look something up again so its just got less chances to retain the info. This is the first time in like 6+ months of encountering the word chouduan that the pronunciation is FINALLY sticking in my brain.  

Words that have familiar hanzi are much less of a struggle, even when new, and I wonder if my comprehension really is close to 98%? I didn’t measure this fic hanshe, just some novels I had (zhenhun was 95%, dmbj 1 and saye were 98%). But I can tell that if I don’t care about sound, I’m not running into many ‘incomprehensible in context’ words at all, and usually a word or less per paragraph that I full on can’t pronounce or make a good guess for a pronunciation I remember (and those words aren’t necessarily the new ones - so fucking often that word is just youyi  huaiyi or youyu ToT lol). My point is... my ability to read aloud has improved, I can actually read quite a bit more hanzi aloud on sight than several months ago. I am practicing reading aloud a little since I have terrible ‘read aloud flow’ right now lol. 

Also? Realizing if I read aloud I am almost guaranteed to say every 了 as de by instinct first. I bet thats 1 part that pleco app always reads 的 as di, so I overcorrected in my head with ‘it actually sounds like de in many situations BE aware’ and then now when I see le I just automatically switch into ‘overcorrect di mode’ lol. Another part is I think it might reflect my speaking comfort level a little. Le is not terribly difficult to use for beginner appropriate conversation tasks (like saying “i went to the store” etc) but in conversations idk why I rarely use it or rarely make a mental note when i do use it, so like when I type i am well aware its something i write without then realize i skipped and put back in. So its interesting to me when reading and inner-vocalizing or speaking aloud, my brain is actually still doing the same thing as my writing pattern - skipping the word then only adding it back in if i realize i skipped it. 

---

Hanshe getting easier over time also speaks to the difficulty of priest novels like? While i love them and will trudge through? The language in hanshe used to be peak too much for me it would take me 1.5 to 2 hours to finish a chapter. And priest wasn't even doable. Then eventually I could read tianyake in 1-2 hour chapters then eventually in 20-30 min. Eventually I could read hanshe again in 10-20 minute chapters. But like - however difficult hanshe is, priests writing is harder to read. Priest just has more unknown words per page for me.

I am wondering when priest’s writing will go from doable to a bit easier than just doable, the way hanshe did. Probably a long way off (and I’m aiming for zhenhun and modu, I suspect sha po lang and can ci pin will take much longer as they’re genres I don’t read).

On the topic of genres: I may read tangstory’s 2 novels that are sequels - one historical court, one republican era. Those are two genres I don’t read, but I do watch shows in those genres so learning some of the genre words would fall in line with things I would LIKE to eventually read. Tangstory’s stories are on the shorter side (much shorter than hanshe or zhenhun dang) and show as like 35 sections in my reader app (compared to 209 ToT). They have lovely english translations if I do need clarification or just want to read them later, and again those genres are ones I should get more familiar with.

Other options for reading for more genres: Qi Ye for more historical/court vibe language, and Tian Ya Ke when I’m ready again for its wuxia language - but both of these require me braving a full priest story which. I don’t want to start anything right now that will take more than 2 months to read. Upside is these both have nice translations to refer to, downside is I need to be able to read priest easier to tackle them. And if I’m reading priest easier I may go right for Zhenhun (both because its a goal novel of mine to read and because I know a lot more supernatural/modern words).

For detective novels, I’d like to branch out into maybe SCI Mystery (seems closer to my reading level except for the detective terms which I should learn), Ding Mo novels (like the one Love me if You Dare is based on) since Ding Mo has been recced to me and the reading level isn’t too high, PoYun (but the reading level IS around MoDu and I can TELL - but I think it opens with more vocabulary I should learn and am unfamiliar with as far as detective stories/police/action and weaponry words). 

I want to branch into something easier as a first sci fi novel, but I can’t think of any I want to read except C语言修仙 and 残次品. On a guess, I’d say the first novel is probably easier if ONLY because its 2 print books instead of 4 ToT. Also Can Ci Pin has gratuitous variety of names and I think as a cultivator novel maybe Cyuyanxiuxian will have more of a modern-like one country setting with less new terms to learn (versus Can Ci Pin with new planets, names, spaceships and tech, mech suits, mutant and disease terminology, govt terms, etc). 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, obsessedbutonline!

For @obsessedbutonline, who listed fluff, angst, and ‘Derek giving Stiles gift’ as a few ‘Likes’. I hope I did those items justice. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Friend!

Read On AO3

*****

The Gift

The gift. He supposed it all started with the gift. Or maybe Star Trek. Derek wasn’t sure. It was Stiles, after all. One day, the younger man had been debating the cuddle rating of a Tribble, before diving into an analysis of The Voyage Home being one of the worst movies in franchise history (except for the whales, of course), and the next thing Derek knew, he’d found himself discussing how Moby Dick was one of his favorite books. The random jumps from one topic to another hadn’t been anything new for Stiles, but that had also been the year they’d legitimately gotten ‘together’ after their contentious circling of each other’s orbits, so when Derek had opened an inelegantly wrapped early edition of the novel on that first Christmas as a couple, he’d been rendered speechless.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d stared at the leather-bound copy exactly, but he did recall feeling a bout of inadequacy. He thought he’d hid it well though. “Stiles – “ he’d started. “I wasn’t expecting…This is too much.”

Stiles had shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, an eager grin on his face. “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. A classmate mentioned a prof who needed an assistant to help translate some Latin verses, and I thought I’d check it out. When I went, I noticed a copy of Moby Dick in his office, and you’d mentioned it was one of your favorites, so I offered my translation services for free if he would sell the book for a discounted price.”

Of course, Stiles had remembered that weird detail from a throwaway conversation. And of course, he’d been resourceful in procuring it. That was just who Stiles was. Now, Derek, on the other hand… well, he’d felt completely out of his league when he’d pulled out the gift card he’d picked up a day earlier from a comic book store. He hadn’t even known if that was a store Stiles ever visited. He really sucked at gift-giving. “Sorry, I didn’t …”

Stiles had yanked it out of his hands before he’d even finished. “I love it. Thanks, Derek!” The younger man had beamed excitedly, clutching that cheap piece of plastic in his hands as if he’d just received some personal heirloom. There had been no uptick in the man’s heartrate, so there’d been no lie in those words, but that hadn’t stop Derek from feeling bad.

And it was then that he had resolved to do better, that he would be thoughtful and meticulous in his gift selection the next time Christmas rolled around. Stiles deserved as much.

But he’d mentioned he was bad at gift-giving, right? As in, monumentally bad. Because the next Christmas, when they’d settled down on his couch after an intimate holiday dinner he’d prepared for the two of them, Stiles had presented him with a charmingly wrinkled gift bag. And when he’d pulled out a lovingly restored and framed photograph of his family from before the fire, he’d not only felt a slight lump in his throat at the sentiment, he’d also felt remarkably small and completely lacking in comparison. It was a good thing they’d come to a mutual understanding that their birthdays would be a no-gift zone, because Derek wasn’t sure he could’ve handled double the inferiority complex this time of year.

“I found a copy of the photo from the digital archives of the town newspaper. It was for some fundraiser committee your mom chaired, I think. I saved a copy, and googled around for some pointers on how to increase the resolution so I could print out a decent version of it,” Stiles had explained.

Derek had nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of his mother’s face under the cool glass. His whole family had stared back at him, carefree and unburdened in the moment that photo had been taken, eyes all shiny from a sunny afternoon picnic. “Yeah, I remember. It was a Pets in the Park fundraiser for the local animal shelter.” There had been an ache in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Now, it had been dulled by time, and tempered by the meaningful relationships he’d found, foremost of which was the one with the man beside him. “Thank you,” he’d said slowly, slightly surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked at the pool of emotion swirling within him.

“Anytime, big guy.” Stiles had leaned in, his weight and warmth freely offered as a source of silent strength.

But when he’d pulled out his gift for Stiles, he had had that sinking feeling of failing an important test. He hadn’t even had time to wrap it properly, opting to place a haphazard bow on it instead. “Sorry, I didn’t know …”

Stiles had grabbed the cellophane-covered box with a puzzled expression. “A bath set?” he’d asked slowly. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

There had been amusement in the younger man’s tone, devoid of upset or disappointment, but that hadn’t stopped Derek from feeling upset and disappointed in himself. After Stiles had gone through all the trouble of giving him such a personal and meaningful gift, he’d reciprocated with … soap. “Remember when you were on break during Thanksgiving,” he’d started to explain. “That necromancer problem we had?”

“Oh, damn, do I ever! We spent the whole night trying to wash zombie goo out of bodily crevices I never knew I had!” Then, realization had set in as those rich brown eyes widened. “This is perfect, Derek! Thank you!” And just like that, Stiles had fallen on him with his usual gracelessness, and proceeded to express his ‘gratitude’ properly.

That had been last year. But this time around, right before Stiles had returned to campus for his final two semesters of college, Derek had stumbled upon the ideal Christmas gift, while they were cleaning, of all things. They’d been packing up and storing some of Stiles’ stuff before the younger man headed back to school when they’d gotten diverted by some dusty, old boxes in the Sheriff’s attic. Somehow, in the way of procrastination, they’d ended up flipping through old photo albums when Stiles had paused to tell him about a picture of his mother.

“Oh, there’s the locket my dad helped me buy for Mother’s Day when I was eight,” Stiles had said as he’d pointed to a picture of Claudia Stilinski, vivacious and beaming brightly at the camera. Anyone could see where Stiles had gotten his smile. “I didn’t have the greatest taste in jewelry, so it doesn’t look like much, but she was so excited when she got it. She wore it all the time.”

“It’s nice that you have a memento to remember her by,” Derek had supplied.

Stiles’ shoulders had slumped a little at the comment. “Yeah, I think we accidentally sold it during a garage sale not long after she died. Dad wasn’t exactly in the best place, and he just wanted to get rid of the memories because they hurt so much back then. Lots of regret now. Who knows? It might’ve found another home, or it might be in a garbage dump somewhere.”

And that comment had led him down the winding, convoluted path to where he was now: standing in front of a teenage girl with bright blue hair and an eclectic ensemble of a loose plaid shirt, artfully ripped leggings, and combat boots.

“A hundred bucks,” the girl re-stated, her tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation.

“One hundred? The pawn shop owner said you only paid five dollars for it.” He could be stubborn too, though deep down, he knew he wasn’t really in a position of power in this situation, much as that rankled him.

Ms. Blue-hair shrugged. “So? If you want it that bad, then you should be willing to pay for it.”

She had him there. Three months of diligently interviewing the Stilinski neighbors, and following a trail of multiple goodwill and pawn shops had led him to that very locket hanging from the girl’s neck, that very locket Stiles had shown him in that old photo of his mother. He gave the teen what Stiles had laughingly termed his ‘murder-brow’ look and pulled out his wallet. Of course, he would pay, especially after all the work he’d put into tracking it down, and because this was for Stiles. He didn’t have to like being swindled like this though.

“That’s a nice jacket, by the way.”

Derek looked up from pulling out the cash and froze. He glared at the girl, hoping the intensity of his stare would deter whatever she was about to insinuate. It didn’t work.

“No,” he said flatly as she watched him expectantly.

“Okay, I guess we’re done here then. Nice meeting you.” And with that, she turned and started to walk away.

Derek ground his teeth together to keep from outright growling and fought hard to not wolf out. He hated being bested like this. Life would’ve been so much simpler if he could just take the damned piece of jewelry by force and run off with it. Stupid morals.

“Fine,” he conceded with a clenched jaw after she’d managed to walk several feet away.

She turned with a triumphant smile as he started to shrug off his leather jacket. When he held it out with the wad of cash, she unclasped the chain without any further objections and handed it over. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

(***)

Stiles’ name flashed on his lock screen just as he was pulling up to his loft.

“Hey, you back already?” he answered as he shifted his car into park. His regular visits to Stanford notwithstanding, he’d been anticipating Stiles’ winter break for a while, and the timing couldn’t have worked out any better with him finding the locket when he had. “I was going to pick you up tonight after you’ve had a few hours with your dad.”

Several seconds of heavy breathing greeted his words, and almost instantly, he was on alert, muscles tensing and heartrate increasing. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek, I’m here,” a familiar voice sounded through the phone. “Sorry, just had to get around Scott to check something out. But no, I’m not home yet. Got sidetracked on my way into town. Can you come to the preserve right now? The trail just off Parsons. We’ve got, um, a problem.”

Since his return to Beacon Hills, the supernatural activity in the area had decreased significantly, especially with a solid pack established in the area now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional run-in with creatures bringing in death and mayhem. This sounded like one of those times. Shifting gears into reverse, he responded without hesitation, “On my way.”

The trip to the preserve was quick, the route having been travelled so many times that he could probably drive it eyes closed. After parking in the lot off Parsons, he picked up Stiles’ scent almost immediately, along with a few others of the pack, and had no problems tracking the source down a few hundred feet off a popular running path.

Not surprisingly, Scott noticed him first, looking up from a patch of tall grass and nodding in greeting as Derek silently approached. Stiles stood more out in the open, back turned and head down as he tapped busily on his phone. Once upon a time, his quiet ‘stalking’ would’ve caused a flailing of limbs and a high-pitched yelp from the younger man, but of the familiarity borne from the years of closeness, Stiles simply turned, smiled, and greeted him with a warm ‘hey’ as if he’d known he was there the whole time. And all things considered, he probably had.

They’d never been a couple for overt displays of affection, but the way Stiles unconsciously leaned toward him, trusting and open, worked just as well in telling Derek how the other man felt. He usually did the same, subtly breathing in the scent of his boyfriend and feeling more settled in his presence. They hadn’t seen each for a couple of weeks, and he’d missed having Stiles near.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the rest of the pack. Their scents were fainter, which meant they had been here recently, but had likely wandered off or left altogether.

“It’s Christmastime in Beacon Hills, so the usual. Y’know, carolers, Santa parades, sleigh rides, tidings of comfort and joy, and oh yeah, witches.”

Derek had never been bothered by Stiles’ sarcasm, though he wouldn’t openly admit that if asked about their first encounters with each other, but now, he found the trait rather endearing. “So, we’re dealing with a witch. How bad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was driving back into town when I saw a kid running across the road. Freaked me out, and barely stopped in time. When I went to check on him, he was crying and said an old woman had tried to take him. At first, I thought it was an attempted kidnapping, but then, he said that there was a lot of screaming coming from her big bag, and he was scared of getting stuffed in there with all the other kid. For this town, that triggered alarm bells. Stuffing kids into bags and lugging them around is not your regular run-of-the-mill kidnapper MO. I called my dad, and he came out here with a few units, but is running interference on the supernatural front. He’d mentioned that this was the third attempted kidnapping this month, so the deputies are on high alert. They still think it’s a regular human predator, so they’re canvassing the other side of the preserve right now, which means we can do our own investigation here. I called Scott, and the others are now fanned out, doing a search to see if we can catch a scent.”

“No luck yet,” Scott added as he strode over to join them. “Just a whole bunch of the usual smells, and with the people that use the running trails, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific one. We’re not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”

“I think I have a lead though.” Stiles held out his phone to show an etching of a stooped crone with a large sack. “We might have an Icelandic witch in the area, one that kidnaps and eats children, but I’m not a hundred percent. I hope I’m not right because … well, children! But she’s supposed to be active around Christmas. I need to double-check some books at my house to make sure though.”

Derek nodded, not surprised that Stiles had pretty much figured it out already. As human as Stiles was, he was arguably one of the pack’s most valuable assets, and truth be told, Derek felt quite proud of the other man’s quick wit and life-saving accomplishments. “So, you need to go home then?”

Stiles made a sound of agreement as he tucked his phone away and gave him an apologetic look. No words were needed to communicate how sorry he was that their reunion wasn’t what they’d planned.

“Okay, call us with any info,” Scott chimed in. “Derek and I will probably be more useful if we keep scouting the area. This is children we’re talking about. I don’t want anymore of them put in danger.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Alpha leader, sir,” Stiles replied jokingly, giving his friend a mock salute.

The years had matured Scott somewhat, enough that the erstwhile werewolf took his role and responsibilities somewhat seriously now. And for this, Derek was grateful.

Scott gave Stiles a shove to get him on his way, before shaking his head with a laugh and started to move back to the tall grass he’d been searching through earlier. “Go, you idiot.”

Stiles responded with the very mature gesture of sticking out his tongue. Then, Derek felt the younger man’s arm wrap lightly around his waist and pull him close for a quick kiss. The motion was casual, natural, and one that Derek returned without thought. “Sorry, not what we’d planned when I got back, huh? Let’s catch this witch fast so we can start our Christmas cuddle session, ‘kay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the comment. His boyfriend sure did have a way with words sometimes. “Christmas cuddle?”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Stiles shrugged innocently as he started to move away.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Suit yourself, Sourwolf, but I’ve officially labelled it, and you can’t take that away from me,” Stiles said as he walked backwards toward the nearby trail. Derek half-expected him to trip on some invisible rock in the next few seconds. “Gonna say it all I want!”

He rolled his eyes as the younger man’s antics. “Go.”

“Christmas cuddle! Oh, and far be it for me to complain about seeing you in that t-shirt, but you do know it’s winter, right? We may live in California, and you may have some super-awesome internal wolfy furnace going, but I’m cold just looking at you. Where’s your jacket?”

“Go!” While he didn’t feel the chill as acutely, he didn’t need to be reminded about his fleecing by a greedy, blue-haired teenager.

After Stiles wave his acknowledgement and jogged out of sight, Derek turned back to join Scott. Their relationship may have started out roughly, but they’d fallen into a companionable pattern over the last few years. It was likely because of everything Scott had been through and his maturation, but Derek guessed part of it may have been out of respect for both their relationships with Stiles. Without much preamble, they quickly sectioned off their respective search zones, and fanned out into the thicker parts of the preserve. Derek had grown up here, had run and played amongst the trees and foliage so often that walking through it now stirred a sense of homecoming. Still, sometimes, there were things here that could still surprise him. Like the odd whiff of fear and panic he caught a few minutes after he’d split off from Scott. It was faint, probably non-existent for the newer wolves, but it was there, so out of place with the earthy scent of moss and soil. He started to follow it, his senses sharpening as he homed in on the potential prey. He hadn’t made much progress before he heard a howl off in the distance, and his entire body tensed, ready for action.

They’d found something!

Once he pinpointed the source, he was off, dashing through branches and over roots with a surety of stride that had been acquired from a lifetime of running these woods. He didn’t get very far though. He heard it first, a loud symphony of disembodied laughter all around him. Before he could stop and confront whatever it was, he caught a flutter of movement in his periphery, and then, he was flying, thrown through the air by an impact harder than anything in recent memory. He was out cold before he even landed.

(***)

He wasn’t unconscious for long. At least, he didn’t think he was, given that generations of werewolf evolution had refined his healing abilities to the point where he shouldn’t be. But however long it was, it was enough to find himself strapped to a board – or a crude table, perhaps – staring up at the flickering shadows of a stone ceiling. Or a cave? He honestly hated losing time like this and waking up in unexpected places, which, given who he was and where he lived, was an actual occupational hazard.

A whimper somewhere to his left drew his attention just then, and he tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle to take better stock of where he was, and with whom. Just within his field of vision, he could barely make out a small figure sat huddled inside a primitively constructed cage no higher than his hip. A wood fire burned beneath a big vat just a few feet away, thoroughly heating up whatever was inside if the bubbling sound was any indication.

“Hey,” he said quietly, if a little hoarsely, hoping the hunched figure would shift enough into the firelight for him to make out who it was.

The figure shuffled over, and Derek could see the tear-streaked face of a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old. Stiles had said there’d been attempted kidnappings. It looked like one had succeeded.

“H-hello? You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wasn’t good with children, barring the few cousins he’d played with when he was younger, yet that had been different. They’d been family. He knew this kid was scared, could hear it in the tremor of his voice and smell it in the dankness of the air, but he wasn’t sure what he could say to help with that. “I’m Derek. What’s your name?”

“A-Andy.”

“Well, Andy, if you give me a minute, we can get out of here and I’ll take you back to your parents.” He tried to sound reassuring, though he wasn’t sure it worked as well as he’d intended when he was tugging and testing the thick ropes tied around his chest, waist, and legs. They were tight, but he managed to slide a hand free enough to shift and start slicing away at the restraints with his claw.

“Just Mom,” the boy said quietly. “Dad left.”

“Okay, we’re going to find your mom then. I’m sure she’s really missing you right now.” He figured that keeping a calm tone and easy conversation going was as good a plan as any while he worked on the ropes.

Andy shuffled a little in his cage, his face dipping down again into the shadows cast by the nearby fire. “She’s working. She’s always working. She promised I’d get to see Dad, but she couldn’t take me, so I went to find him myself.”

Which might explain why the boy hadn’t been reported missing yet. There was some give to the rope by his right hip, so he tilted his head and tried to look over at the boy and hoped he properly projected the sincerity of his words. “That doesn’t mean she’s not missing you, Andy. I know she’s probably very worried. She – “

The stench assaulted him first, sour and rancid, before he felt the whole space shake with a reverberating thud. Andy quickly scooted back into the corner of his cage with a scared squeak, leaving Derek to turn and search out the source in the dim light. An old woman came into view near the foot of his table, posture bent and face haggard, each of her steps sending tiny shockwaves through the cave. Her long, gray hair hung in a greasy, unkempt mess, framing a crooked nose and a gap-toothed, mirthless grin. She resembled the picture Stiles had shown him on his phone, but the younger man had neglected to mention one thing. She was a fucking giant!

The whole cave suddenly felt cramped, and her looming presence caused his heartrate to spike. He worked faster on his ropes.

“Good dog. You’re too old and gristly for my liking, but if my lads want a pet, a pet they will get,” she said in a voice deeper than he’d expected. She patted his stomach dismissively as she passed, and he fought hard not cry out at the jarring, painful contact. “Now, where’s my little snack? Little boy for a little snack. Little boy snack.” She cackled at her own wit.

He heard Andy whimper again as the old, giant crone ambled her way over to the cage, and he wanted to tell the boy to be brave, to hold on because he was almost through his rope. Yet, as he was about to do just that, he caught the scent of metal and electricity in the air. It cut through the myriad of other unpleasant smells like an olfactory beacon, clear and crisp and a harbinger of something – or someone – familiar. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the arrival of the calvary, even as Andy shrieked when the witch pulled him roughly from the cage and shuffled over to the boiling pot.

Then, several things happened at once. First, voices that sounded like the disembodied laughter he’d heard earlier came from somewhere outside. This time, however, they were shouting out in distress, intermingled with the familiar voices of his pack. The cries gave the witch pause for a split second, just as he cut through the last of his restraints and pulled free. After that, he was up and leaping through the air, aiming to get Andy free of the old woman’s clutches and away from the fire. And he managed just that, wrapping his arms around the boy as he clawed at the large hand that held him. But he underestimated the reaction speed of the crone, and barely managed to turn his body to shield Andy before her other hand swatted his side. He landed with bone-cracking impact against the boiling pot, adrenalin enhancing his movements as he rolled quickly to avoid landing on the fire or getting splattered by the hot liquid in the toppling vat. He was pretty sure he’d probably cracked a few ribs, but they were already healing. Andy seemed none the worse for wear when he looked down, unhurt and safe in his arms still.

“My boys! What are they doing to my boys?” the witch wailed.

Derek tensed briefly, thinking the giantess would take her surprise and anger out on him. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, she turned and marched the other way, he and Andy seemingly forgotten. He eased himself up with a barely suppressed groan, and let the small body pressed against his chest slide down to his lap. He could hear the pack outside, the growls of the wolves and the foreign-sounding chants from Stiles, and he knew that they had it handled.

“You okay?” he asked as he gave Andy a good once-over.

The boy simply nodded, his whole body still trembling. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and hugged Derek as if his life depended on it. Not sure how else to respond, Derek hugged the child back.

That was how Stiles found them a few minutes later when he stumbled clumsily into the cave. After some coaxing, they both managed to talk Andy into finally letting go. Scott took it from there, coming in to take the boy away to find the Sheriff, who had been called to the area when Stiles had triangulated Derek’s location. Stiles waited a moment after Scott had left before he turned and threw himself into Derek’s arms.

“Oh, thank every deity I just prayed to you’re okay. Had me worried.”

Derek squeezed the warm, lithe body clinging to him like an octopus, and bent down to briefly nuzzle his partner’s neck. He breathed in the fortifying scent that was simply Stiles and used it to ground himself after the crazy events that had just happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m fine.”

“I know. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but the uncertainty always gets me.” Stiles pulled away and gave him a look with those ridiculously wide Bambi-like eyes that made Derek’s insides go warm. “And of course, you would go all superhero and save a child while we saved you. With the way the boy was holding on to you, I thought you’d replaced me with a cuter, newer model.”

Derek quirked up his lip into a lopsided, half-smile. “Never,” he returned easily. “If I did, I would at least try to get a good trade-in price for you.”

“Smartass.” As his comeback, Stiles smacked his arm with the back of his hand. He then slipped said hand into Derek’s, intertwined their fingers, and started walking out of the cave. “See if I ever send baddies back through an intercontinental gate for you again.”

“So, she wasn’t a witch?” Derek asked as he followed Stiles’ lead out of the cave

“Oh, no, she was a witch. The giantess witch, Gryla, and her sons, the Yule Lads. I don’t know how they got here, but I was working off of some quick and dirty research, so the best I could do was track down caves in the area, which is what the literature says she tends to favor, and find a spell to send her back to her native Iceland.”

Derek silently listened as Stiles explained what had happened, both grateful and proud – and not for the first or last time either – at the quick wit and resourcefulness of the guy he got to call his. They eventually emerged from the cave, and he immediately felt lighter the moment he could smell the fresh earth and foliage again. The sun was beginning to set, creating lengthening shadows of the redwoods and the oaks that stood like sentinels around them. And with that came a distinct chill in the air. He felt Stiles shiver at the lower temperature, and wished he’d had his jacket around to offer the other man. The jacket that he’d exchanged for …

With his free hand, he reached into his jeans pocket where he’d tucked the locket earlier, and –

Shit!

Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back into the cave. He quickly scanned the area and did not see the locket anywhere. His eyes then fell on the overturned pot and the still-burning embers of the woodfire. A dash of panic began to taint his actions, but he didn’t stop to quell it. Instead, he rushed over to the dying fire and started digging through the ashes. His hands burned and healed almost simultaneously as he dug desperately through the charred wood, an odd combination of frustration and helplessness clouding his judgement.

“Derek?”

He heard Stiles, but didn’t answer, mainly because his fingers wrapped around a clump of metal just then. He looked down at what used to be Stiles’ mother’s locket, the piece now misshapen by the heat and bearing no resemblance to what it used to be. He dropped the thing, both dejected and angry. This was supposed to be the year. This was supposed to be the Christmas where he would show Stiles how much the younger man meant to him by putting the care and thought into his gift that Stiles had always put into his. But everything… everything had been for nothing.

“Derek? What’s wrong? You okay?” Stiles approached and knelt beside him, looking ready to join him in whatever he was searching for.

He brushed the soot and ash off his hands, shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I’m good. Just thought I dropped something but I was wrong. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Puzzled, Stiles stood too, though he didn’t pry, and together, they made their way out of the cave once more, but not before Derek threw one last, longing glance at the pile of ashes.

(***)

“Oh, my god, I’m so stuffed,” Stiles said as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his belly. “I might have to be rolled off to bed later because there’s no way I’m standing up.”

Derek smiled softly at the younger man’s dramatics, and joined him on the sofa. Christmas dinner had been an intimate one again between just the two of them, with Derek doing most of the preparation, while Stiles had ‘helped’. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed their time together. The way they fit together, their ease with each other … it had all been hard-won, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The younger man had chatted animatedly throughout the meal and Derek had let him go on, wanting to prolong the whole thing because, if he was being honest, he was dreading what would happen afterwards: their gift exchange.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” Stiles said, as if reading his thoughts. He reached over to the end table and grabbed an unevenly wrapped gift.

Derek stared at the thing for a moment, just knowing deep down it would be a typical Stiles present, all special and personal. Why did Stiles even stay with him? He must come across as an unthoughtful, unappreciative jerk. Slowly, he unwrapped the gift, and revealed a collage of artfully arranged photographs. There were trees and flowers and butterflies dancing on sunbeams across open trails. They were beautiful, more so in that Derek recognized where they had been taken: the preserve.

“You sometimes talk about how you grew up in the preserve,” Stiles explained. “How it’s a second home to you, and how you have all those memories with your family there. I know the memories are special, so I went and took some pictures during summer break. I hope these help you remember all those good times.”

Derek blinked away the prickling he felt in his eyes. Stiles may have assumed he was touched by the gift, which was fine. He didn’t need to know what Derek was really feeling. He didn’t need to know that in that moment, he thought Stiles really deserved so much better than him.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” he choked out. “I – “ He didn’t know how to continue. What else could he say? “My present isn’t –“

He stopped. Stiles looked at him expectantly. Not finding the right words, he leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the last-minute gift bag he’d filled the day before. “Here.”

He looked away while Stiles eagerly dug into the bag. He knew what was in there, and he didn’t need to see the lackluster reaction the younger man would have at the assortment of Reese’s candies he’d find.

“Oh, this is awesome, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Holy shit, there’s a half pound peanut butter cup in here! Hello, Heaven!”

Derek felt Stiles’ arms wrap around him in gratitude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return the gesture. The younger man seemed to notice and pulled back. “Derek?”

He turned and took in Stiles’ questioning gaze. He couldn’t do this. They complemented each other so well in everything, but somehow, in this, they were completely mismatched. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked in earnest.

“What?”

“My gifts. Doesn’t it bother you that my gifts are so … so bad. Yours are always so … so perfect.” It felt good to get that off his chest.

Stiles gawked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “Huh? But I think your gifts are perfect. And that’s not a lie. You can tell, right?”

True, Derek hadn’t heard any change in the other man’s heartrate to indicate otherwise, but no one could like his choice of gifts that much. “I just ... I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, the same way to do for me, especially with the gifts you give me. But I can’t seem to do that.” This was uncharted territory for him, this admission. He wasn’t used to revealing his insecurities like this. Yet, this was Stiles he was talking to, he reminded himself. Stiles, who never had any shame in revealing his every failure and weakness, and who gave his trust without fear of being hurt. Derek owed him the same. “I found your mother’s locket,” he finally said. “The one from the album you showed me. I found it, and was going to give it to you, but I lost it when we fought that witch last week. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the discard wrapping paper of the collage he’d just received. He started at everything but Stiles.

And then, “That’s what you were worried about? Not being able to show me you loved me?” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, and it was enough for Derek to turn his attention to the younger man again. “You’re an idiot, Derek,” Stiles continued. “For the record, your presents are awesome. But that’s not the point. You drive three hours each way to visit me on campus every other weekend. You cook Christmas dinner for us every year. You help me pack for college each fall. You drop everything and meet me in a forest, no questions asked, when I call. You even spent all night picking zombie guts out of my hair. If that doesn’t say ‘love’, I don’t know what does!”

To put an exclamation to his point, Stiles pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Derek Hale, and I know you love me. You don’t need to give me things to show me that. You show me every day in the things you do. And that’s more than enough.”

Derek looked at the man sitting beside him, stunned and at a loss. “I –“

“It’s more than enough,” Stiles re-stated firmly. “Now, stop your self-flagellation, and show me how much you appreciate my gift by kissing me.”

Stiles pulled him in again, and this time, Derek did put everything he had into that kiss because the weight of those heartfelt words were slowly sinking in. He loved Stiles. And Stiles … Stiles knew that. He groaned in appreciation at the true gift he’d been given as he pushed the younger man down onto his back, bracing his weight on his arms as he ground their hips together. Fuck it, he felt like he’d really won the lottery in finding Stiles … because Stiles was right, he realized as he deepened their kiss, tasting and teasing the smart, sarcastic, and silly man beneath him.

This … This was more than enough.

[stones-x-bones]

Bare Bones || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Last weekend PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex comes to Morgan’s to see her library collection, but books aren’t the only things that open up. CONTENT: Homophobia mentions, Transphobia mentions, Child/Domestic abuse mentions

Morgan fiddled with the books on the shelf yet again and ran her duster over the spines, the crisp pages, and Squirrely and Possum’s always-friendly faces. “We’ve got this, you guys,” she whispered under her breath. “Bex is going to love you, and the library, and the bones, and maybe we can bullshit some anthropology reasons for her to look at some real magic books, and wait for…” She wasn’t sure what. The weight of the truth to crack her denial open like an egg? For her divine intuition to kick in? Did non pegan spellcasters have divine intuition? She hadn’t met any; she 

The doorbell rang, somehow sounding nervous to Morgan despite knowing it was automated. 

She gave one last look around the room. She had spread some of the books out and accented empty shelves with some displays from the bone room: some framed fossils, a few skulls she had managed to collect on her own, and an articulated raccoon she and Deirdre had assembled over the course of a weekend in the peaceful days of summer. There was a little of everything, including some magic books she had hauled out of her studio just for Bex to see. It wasn’t exactly a neon light saying ‘something witchy this way comes,’ but it was better than indulging too much in her denial, right?

Right. Totally.

Morgan jogged to the storage closet and chucked the duster inside, not caring if it landed in its bucket or not. She half slid, half ran to the door. She checked her ponytail and the amber pendant Deirdre had given her and opened the door. She wasn’t so image conscious at home, but some of Bex’s excitable energy felt contagious. She wanted to do her best, to make this as okay for her as possible. Smiling warmly, she beckoned the girl inside. “Hey, Bex. Thanks for deciding to come by. Come on in and make yourself cozy, okay? There’s plenty of snacks in the kitchen, if you want any, and tea and coffee, if the cold’s gotten to you on the way over.”

Okay, she could do this. Bex flattened out the front of her skirt as if that would help her calm down, but all it did was make her a little more nervous. She was excited to see Professor Beck, er, Morgan and all that her library had to offer. And the fossils Deirdre had! It was supposed to be a relaxing day, but lunch was also supposed to have been relaxing and easy and that had not turned out well. Bex could only hope nothing would explode today, or if it did, it wouldn’t be her fault. Not that she had any control over it, or that it was, you know, her. She still hadn’t let herself accept that, despite what had happened with Mina and what she’d said to Nell. Magic just couldn’t be real. It had to be something else.

Swallowing, she pushed the doorbell.

It took a moment, and Bex was just rocking back on her heels when the door opened. “Hi, Professor!” she chimed, smiling bright. It was such a reflex now, making herself seem happy, excited, okay, that she couldn’t help it. “Yeah, okay. Um--” she stepped inside after Morgan and looked around, arms still pressed tightly to herself in front of her, clutching her small purse, “--I-I’m okay for now, thank you.” She looked around, eyes tracing over the walls and decor, just like she had when she’d gone to meet Nell for the ice cream they’d never gotten. The house was almost just like Nell’s, except the walls were a brighter color, and the hallways much larger. She understood, now, what Morgan meant by hallways full of empty rooms. Her eyes landed back on the older woman. “Thank you for having me,” she said with a small nod, “I’m excited to see your collection. And, of course, the fossils.” Formal, put together, polite-- all things Bex was sure she wouldn’t be if she had the wherewithal to choose. “Is Deirdre home?”

“Oh, please, I’m happy to,” Morgan replied. “Deirdre’s at work right now, but she finishes in a couple of hours, if you want to meet her in person. Go ahead and throw your stuff wherever, and I’ll show you where everything is!” She flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to take the girl's hand to make sure she didn’t get lost, and settled for waiting in the entryway off the foyer. “The kitchen is just off to the right and through here is the great room where we spend most of our time. If you’re cold, I can get the heat or a fire going. Neither of us feel the cold much, so it’s always hard to tell what guests need.” 

Morgan walked a little further, pointing out a series of bathrooms and storage closets and double checking on the snack situation. There was some leftover veggie and bone broth soup and cranberry muffins that had been baked just earlier that day, and were currently in want of a taste tester since Morgan’s tastebuds had stopped working right after ‘an illness.’ “Also, let me know if this is overkill, okay? Besides, we’ve made it to the room you’re actually here to see!” Smiling bright with expectation, Morgan flung open the library doors and stood aside for Bex to enter. It was another white, overcast day, the kind where it was safe to part the many curtains that lined the windows without fear of fading Deirdre’s antique first editions, kept behind glass and lovingly tended to often. “Was there something you wanted to look at first in particular?” She asked.

Bex looked around in wonderment as she followed Morgan through the house. It was almost as big as her own, but somehow it felt so much more...like a home. There were things about the place that made it feel lived in, made it feel like people lived here, and not portraits and ghosts of the past. She reached out idly and ran her fingers along a table that had photos-- mostly of cats-- on it and tried not to look at too many or pry too hard into who they were. “I’m fine,” she said when Morgan offered to heat up the place, though Bex did feel a slight chill in the house she hadn’t felt before. “I have my jacket, anyway,” she said with a nod, trying to do away with the nervous smile. Her last conversation with Morgan had gotten...not fun, but Morgan didn’t know the safe word, so Bex couldn’t really blame her for the things she’d said. But they weren’t things Bex wanted to think about right now-- or ever, really-- and so she hoped they wouldn’t come up again today.

“Your house is so...homey,” she finally said when they came to a stop at the library finally. Her eyes were still wandering the halls and she nearly ran into Morgan, stopping herself just in time as she pointed out the room. “Oh! No, this is fine, really! My parents’ house is a little bigger than this, so I’m used to places with lots of rooms and stuff.” She blinked and let her gaze fall to the room in question, eyes lighting up instantly when she saw the shelves lined with books, old, probably valuable ones tucked behind glass in special cases. It was so colorful, compared to the dull greys and blues of the law library her parents kept. And so much larger than the bookshelf in Bex’s room that was lined with sci-fi and fantasy novels, tucked behind textbooks and history books. She took a moment to graze the spines of some nearby botanical looking texts before turning back to Morgan. “Oh, um--” pondered a moment-- “not to be predictable but-- anything about history? Whatever you’ve got!”

Morgan couldn’t help but beam with pride at Bex’s assessment of her place. “You really think so? It’s come a long way since I first visited, I think. I made most of the re-decorating choices, but some of the artwork prints are Deirdre’s work and um--” She gestured to a painting on the wall and beckoned Bex to follow. If Deirdre hadn’t told Morgan it was meant to be her, she wouldn’t have known. Only one large vaguely eye-looking shape indicated that the figure was meant to be a person at all. But there was affection in the brush strokes, in the time spent working at the little craft store canvas. Morgan touched the elaborate frame tenderly. “Some original work. Doesn’t happen everyday, as you might be able to guess, but that’s just what makes it special.” She laughed, full of warmth and fondness. She didn’t have to think it was pretty to love it.

“Anyways, this shelf is where the history stuff is.” She tapped her fingers down the shelf next to the painting. “Ireland, England, Norway and Germany up there. Then Mexico, Honduras, Venezuela, and Cuba in the middle. Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome. And my local, personal treasures are at the bottom. Texas, at the bottom. Maine, second to bottom. There’s only a couple of proper books, and then folders of many, many print outs and scans. And--” she pointed to one of the glass cases next to them. “A few old books, from back then. Ledgers, journals, a uh...grimoire. Family recipes, notes, old 19th century solutions to ailments, and some rituals and so one.” She flitted her gaze back to Bex. She didn’t seem so uptight as she had in the doorway, but after one of their recent conversations, Morgan couldn’t help but worry. “You can look at anything you want, okay?” And then, because she couldn’t help it. “How are you doing anyways?”

Bex was immediately intrigued by the books, ready to shovel a few of them off the shelf and pry them open. But she figured she ought to listen to Morgan first, it was the least she could do as thanks for letting her come over and explore her library. Her eyes fell to the paintings Morgan was gesturing to, and she was surprised to find out some of them were made by Deirdre herself. “Oh? She-- she made those?” she asked, then realized that she knew very little about Deirdre, except that she was Morgan’s partner and that she was incredibly pushy about people finding her attractive. Oh, and that she somehow understood Bex’s struggle better than anyone she’d ever talked to before, but she wasn’t about to think too hard about that one. “That’s incredible,” she said, once she’d had a chance to fully take in what she was looking at. Art was as much a part of history as wars and hunting, and those were, technically, very small parts of history. 

Her attention, however, was lost when Morgan started listing off all the records and books and ledgers they had in their collection. Her eyes lit up with a renewed sense of wonder as she followed Morgan over to the shelves with her desired sources on it, and reached out for her first pick-- Egypt, of course-- when the question came. Her hand froze, midway through pulling a book out, but she didn’t move and she didn’t dare look at Morgan. Online, it was so easy to delete something you didn’t mean to type. Or to take your time in replying, to really think about what you were saying. To lie. But in person, the scrutiny of the other person, standing right near by, made it so much more difficult to do any of those things. And once they were said, you couldn’t take them back. There was no delete key for spoken words. 

And so, Bex would have to choose her words carefully. She was studying to be a lawyer, after all, it should’ve been easy. “I’m doing okay,” she finally answered, finishing plucking the book out, albeit much slower than previous. “No more weird bird attacks or bloodied clothes since we last talked.” Interjecting jokes usually helped diffuse a situation, right? She pulled out another book before turning to look at Morgan. Maybe she could just change the subject. “You know, most history books were actually written using old records and ledgers. A lot of history actually comes from personally written accounts, and family records. So, really, be keeping your family’s, your helping history.”

“She made this one; I made that one.” Morgan pointed behind her at the messy painting on the wall. She couldn’t stand to look at it for very long. The memory of painting it at Lydia’s was too vivid; if Deirdre didn’t like it so much, Morgan would have taken it down already. “It’s an ‘in the eye of the beholder’ thing,” she said, waving the subject away. 

She laughed alongside Bex as she quipped about her cockatrice run in and went over to the long coffee table to pick up the book she’d last been working on. “That isn’t what I meant, though.” she said. “I’m not asking for details, I just want to know…” If you’re okay. If you need help. Urgent, non-magical help because you were afraid of what would happen if you came home with bloody clothes and you keep talking about your family with the same kind of beholden fear Deirdre used to speak about hers with. I want to know that. But Morgan couldn’t say any of that if she wanted the girl to stay. “...how you’re really doing. I know when you’re applying yourself really hard in a lot of stressful environments or in stuff that feels high stakes, it can sometimes feel like you need to be fine all the time. But that’s just not the case. But, we don’t have to get into it, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Or more uncomfortable than she was all the time, at least.

“They’re pretty,” Bex said, looking over at Morgan’s as well. She could appreciate most art as well, even the kind that you had to squint at to see anything from it. But like most other things in history, art had its place, and therefore it held a place in Bex’s heart as well. “I think all art is in the eye of the beholder, that’s sort of what makes it art, right? I took an art history class once, I think that was the lesson. That, and that white men rule that world, too,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. 

Bex adjusted the books in her arms and shuffled in her spot. She didn’t want to answer any of those questions, because the answers weren’t good ones. And because there was nothing anyone could do about them. She bit her lip. “When I talked to Deirdre online, she kept asking me some pretty heavy things. I tried to tell her I wasn’t comfortable with a lot of it, and she suggested we come up with a safe word, for when things get too hard or confusing. So I suggested the word ‘tomato’, because I don’t like tomatoes so I never really talk about them. But-- that’s not the important thing. The important thing is-- I don’t want to answer your question, but if I tell you that, you’ll already know an answer anyway, because it’s usually pretty telling when people say they don’t wanna talk about how they are. So, instead, I’m just gonna say tomato and ask that maybe we just...don’t talk about that yet. Okay?”

Morgan’s features softened. She’d known Deirdre would be kind, and that with enough time, it would even be for Bex’s own sake and not just because she’d asked. But the conversational safeword hit with a particular kind of compassion, one that understood Bex’s fear more than Morgan, because it was closer to her own. Morgan smiled softly. “Okay. Tomato. I can remember that,” she said. She took her book and went to her usual spot on the couch and curled up and put in a single earbud and began to read. There was more, much more, that she wanted to show the girl today, but after how badly their coffee outing had gone after she’d pushed too hard and too fast it made more sense to let her come down from whatever stress had just spiked.

Morgan read and turned the page and tried to read some more. She was half tempted to show Bex the guest rooms in detail and throw in a free decoration job, or offer to just put up a bed in the library, if that would make the idea more appealing. ‘Tomato’ was almost as telling as the words Bex didn’t want to say and Morgan couldn’t help but weave through the silence in her mind, searching in vain for some clue that would tell her just how worried she should be.

After a while, Morgan paused her playlist and took out her earbud. She got up and passed by Bex on her way to the door. “I’m going to heat up some water for coffee. Holler if you want anything, okay? I’ll be right back.” She pressed the girl’s shoulder, unthinking, too used to being at ease in her home to think of how her skin felt to others, and drifted away without thinking anything of it.

“Thank you.” The relief felt large and consuming when Morgan agreed to tomato. Bex was grateful, and she shifted her books once more before going over to sit on the couch opposite Morgan, propping open her first book and perusing the table of contents. She couldn’t help the excitement that rose back up in her chest as she flipped through and started reading, already half forgetting that there was someone else in the room with her. She could always so easily fall into a good book, especially a good history book. And these ones were new to her! She hadn’t read them before, and even through that excitement, she was eager to get to the books on the town’s history-- and to forget the things Morgan said to her and asked about her.

She was enraptured in her book when Morgan got up. So much so that she didn’t even notice until the older woman was next to her, patting her on the shoulder. Bex jumped slightly, closing the book on reflex. Hands splayed over the title as if trying to hide it before she remembered where she was and that she didn’t need to do that here. She nodded stiffly. “Right, thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. Her eyes drifted to her shoulder where Morgan had touched her and the ice cold sensation that had come from her hand. Strange. Gripping the books tightly, Bex leaned out of her couch as if to follow Morgan with her gaze, before slipping from the chair and going back over to the cabinets full of books. Her eyes scanned the titles of the ones behind glass, and she wanted so bad to touch, to look-- but didn’t. She was sure with time and trust, one day she would be able to see them. Instead, she put back the two books she’d found and slipped out the Bachman ledger. Sat on the floor in front of the shelf, folding it open tenderly and exploring the pages with her own eyes. Curious, perhaps, beyond reason when she didn’t believe in the things that were written in the texts. 

Morgan froze in front of the door, watching Bex. “S-sorry,” she muttered, cradling her hand to her chest. “I forgot. I should probably wear gloves or something, honestly. It’s um, a chronic thing…” But Bex had done more than just flinch. Morgan took in her closed book, her clenched posture, and catalogued the away for later.

She took her time in the kitchen, making a rich cup of espresso that filled her with a nice tingle of earthy flavor and coming back after she’d made another cup and run to her bedroom to borrow a pair of Deirdre’s gloves. When she returned, she froze in the entrance again, taking in Bex looking over her family’s old books. “Hey,” she called softly. “Find anything good? I know some of that stuff can be uh...a little confusing. If you have any questions, um…” She approached slowly, trying to get a peek at what she was looking at. There were lots of ways to explain witchcraft in a cultural context, dimly, Morgan even wondered if she could sneak in a lesson under the pretense of historical recreation or anthropology exploration. But one thing at a time. “Well, I’m sure you’re gonna have questions, but just let me know, okay? I’m an open book too.” At least as much as she could be without scaring the girl.

Bex devoured most of the ledger by the time Morgan had come back. Speed reading was a necessary skill when you had to memorize tomes that were thousands of pages long full of legal jargon and so on and such forth. She startled slightly, blinking as she looked up at Morgan, a little embarrassed she was still on the floor, dress splayed out around her. Cheeks flushing, she ran her hands over the pages of the parchment and bit her lip. Her curiosity was easily spotted in her eyes, as she stared down the words. “Oh, lots of good stuff, that’s for sure,” she answered, giving a smile. She glanced up to Morgan. “Lots of questions, too, like--” she looked around, then back-- “did your family really think they were cursed? Is that what you were talking about, too, when you said you thought you’d cursed your family because you were--” the word stuck in her throat. She hadn’t said it outloud in so long. It almost felt wrong, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew she didn’t have to be afraid here. And yet, the fear remained. She folded back into herself, fingers pressing gently against the edges of the book.

“What’s it like being back here?” she asked, moving on, and hoping Morgan wouldn’t stick on it, either. “Knowing your family has history here? Did you expect that? Did you know that when you came here? Do you have more stuff about your family history? I only saw this one--” gestured to the ledger-- “and I wasn’t sure what else I could, um....look at.”

Morgan sipped her coffee and came down to sit next to Bex, peering over the pages. She’d never known how to feel about most of her ancestors. The pieces of them preserved on paper were so distant and impersonal. She couldn’t tell if they were sarcastic, or moody, or sweet, or boisterous. Everything was so restrained, or fragmented, they were less than ghosts. And then there were the secrets they’d kept, the lies they’d told themselves. They hadn’t deserved to suffer so badly, but stars above… 

“Yes,” Morgan said carefully. “The curse is real. Or, I mean…” She took another sip of coffee, fingers tapping and fidgeting around the mug as she tried to figure out how to thread this needle. “It was certainly real to them, all of them, right up to my mother. And there really was a girl who used to work for the Bachmans, and she was a self-proclaimed witch. The family cast her out when she was nineteen and she died horribly and alone and when they finally found her body, she was bent over a cauldron, surrounded by rune stones and crystal stones and other stuff you’d expect of a witch. And then, there were the things that happened to the family. Those were real too.” She got up and took out her pink plastic file folder to offer to the girl. “There’s prescriptions, doctor notes, death certificates, shopping lists for medical supplies, and so on, that corroborate the stories of the terrible things that happened to the family. Every three years, there uh, just so happened to be a spike in these rather unfortunate, often tragic events. And while the family was by no means protected from the world’s chaos before, the severity and frequency of peril was at least somewhat noteworthy on these ‘cursed’ years.” Morgan could barely keep the edge out of her voice. She felt ill and hollow playing pretend, throwing questions over these people who knew only too well what was happening to them. She cleared her throat and smiled bravely. “You can see why they would maintain a belief like that. Obviously. But that’s not why I thought I was a curse for being a lesbian. My mother chose not to pass on that particular lore until I came out to her. That was definitely just some really awful timing with the AIDS epidemic and the Satanic Panic and living in Suburban Texas. I’m not really sure how much of a chance I stood at having a healthy relationship with my sexuality straight out the gate.” She laughed, rueful with the safety of distance and better days. 

“But it’s fine. I did come up here for the history. I wanted to get the truth about all those awful scary stories and try to make sense of my life through that. And there’s more things in the glass cabinets and there’s...well, I guess they’re antiques now. There’s a chest upstairs of things Agnes…” she sighed sadly, thinking of the woman, of her pain. “...My great-great grandmother Agnes buried before she emigrated to Texas.” She looked sidelong at the girl, her fear and anxiety coiling her like a spring just as much as her excitement. She hated lying to her, dressing up the truth in cute little rational outfits. It felt patronizing, even morbid in some odd, diminishing way she couldn’t articulate. Patting the girl’s fingers with her now gloved hand, she said, “I would be astonished if you didn’t see everything in my collection at least once eventually. But you can go through that folder and…” She shrugged haplessly. “Anything else you’re curious about. I don’t see much point in keeping knowledge locked up.” She normally didn’t see much point in keeping secrets either, and she let out a long sigh in a vain effort to relieve the tension holding so many caused her.

Bex watched Morgan closely as she came to sit next to her, and she scooped up the books she’d had propped around her to set them aside. She was never the best at reading people’s faces, except for when they were mad or angry or irritated-- those looks she knew well, and she knew well how to calm them. But Morgan’s face showed none of those, only a sort of quiet contemplation and perhaps a weariness Bex didn’t quite understand yet. 

When Morgan began to speak, she listened as intently as possible. Bad luck was often a curse people talked about-- she’d read books about people cursed with bad luck or families cursed with it, too. Somehow, the way Morgan described it seemed different from those, seemed...harder. Bex tried to get herself to understand, how an entire family lineage, written and recorded, could be cursed, believe they were all cursed. And it didn’t entirely fall short on her-- her inherent curiosity let her believe in many things. Ghosts, monsters, spirits-- the concept of energy and feeling it through the Earth and its elements. But witchcraft, curses, spellcasting-- the way her parents had talked to her about it, about what people in this town might say-- felt wrong. It felt almost...dirty. She took the folder Morgan handed her and glanced at it, closing up the ledger and flitting through the records. And after everything Morgan said and all the information that was now stuffed in her head, Bex really only had one question.

She turned to look at Morgan, eyes full of curiosity, and understanding, for the sorrow she obviously held for her family and the torture they’d been through. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Morgan sat further back in her seat, her gaze drifting out to the window, where she could see the pool and the shed where she had spent so many weeks in grief. She had found out the truth, and she’d tracked down the witch who had cursed her, she had made her suffer, and she had escaped the perpetual grip of suffering that had ground her existence down to little more than fear and avoidance. She sipped her coffee slowly, thinking still. Nothing she had explicitly set out to accomplish had done her any good, and yet she wouldn’t have her good if she hadn’t bothered trying at all. How did you weigh that against everything else?

“I just came here looking for a way to find out what really happened to my family. To make all the pieces fit and get out from under thirty-nine years plus four generations of trauma. That first part was relatively easy, and I don’t, strictly speaking, regret it, even if that search came with some really, really high costs I’m still figuring out how to reckon with.” She swallowed thickly. “Before I came here, the wildest, most painfully impossible dream I had for my life--and I mean so painful I tried to think about it as little as possible--was to live in a house big enough to have people over in at a moment’s notice, with a fancy bathroom, and a room just for books, and another one just for cats. A woman to come home to, who would hold me at night, who would love me, even after knowing all of my mess and my past.” She gestured around them and looked about the room herself, trying to take in the place like it was new. “Even if I’ll never get to appreciate all of this in exactly the way I used to, wanted to, it’s still here. And it’s mine. And I wouldn’t have any of it if I’d given up or stayed home. And it’s uh...I don’t know if anything ‘worth’ some of the stuff I have to carry with me for the rest of my life, but if it was always going to be a package deal, if it would always mean a little suffering and struggle, so I could have all this, I’d do everything the same. To know what it feels like to be home, the way home is supposed to be, I’d do it.” Finally, she turned her gaze to Bex, her smile turning watery. “So I guess I did, but I found something better too.”

The contemplative silence that fell over Morgan after Bex’s question gave her enough of an answer to know what might be coming once she spoke. It wasn’t exactly a common story, but it was close enough to one that Bex understood what Morgan meant, how going through all of the pain, slogging through the hard part, was worth it in the end because she got to find a place that was better and happy and worth more. She hadn’t noticed herself tearing up while she listened until she looked up at Morgan and found a watery smile wavering back at her. She wiped them away quickly and turned her head away, fiddling with the folder she’d been handed. “So it was worth it? Coming here? Going through-- all of that?” Fighting for something she wanted and something she needed. Bex didn’t know if she had that much fight in her, she didn’t know if what Morgan was talking about was something she’d ever get to have, to try. She sniffled a little and leaned back against one of the shelves. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Morgan wiped at her own eyes and nodded. “I guess if I’d do it twice or three times over the same way, it must be.” She laughed softly, swallowing back the rest of her tears. “Uh, don’t really recommend doing everything that I did on the way to get..this. Or whatever it is you really want for yourself, Bex. It is worth it, even if it’s hard, and I do know hard, but I hope for something to be easy for you. Easy and right. Not many things are, and I feel like...I just have a feeling that you’ve already had a bit of hard.” She met the girl’s eyes, trying to gauge how close she was to the truth, how much deeper Bex would let her look. “Thank you, for saying that,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t always. Glad to be here, I mean. But I am now. I hope you’re glad to be here too. Because you really are something special, Bex…” 

At that, Bex felt her heart squeeze. Morgan was always so honest and open with her, she’d let her ask crazy questions that got way more than personal. She let her sit in the back of the class and didn’t call on her unless she wanted. She let her go through her family’s entire library of books-- and all Bex had given back to her was the word tomato and an inkling of what she might want out of life. Her body drooped and she plucked at a seam on her dress. “I haven’t seen as many hard times as you,” she murmured, “that’s for sure…” Even those words said enough about the truth. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m happy I have a home, and I’m happy there’s so many people here that seem to care about me being happy,” she started out slowly, “but...I don’t know if I’m happy to be here, you know, at the moment.” She sighed and leaned back. “I was happy to be out. I was happy to have found a place where I might fit in better. I-- it was strange, but I liked Penn State. Even after the incident, I--” she clicked her jaw, “--don’t know. It was just nice, to have my own place…”

“Out?” It took Morgan a second to catch up to Bex’s train of thought. But there were only so many things a kid could come out as, and with the way Bex felt she owed her parents for ‘letting her’ be herself, the pieces finally clicked into place. Oh, Bexley. “Hey. It’s not a contest. And you don’t have to be happy to be here right now. Sometimes it’s better to say that, than to pretend. Pretending can be exhausting, right?” She leaned back against the pillows, curling herself up as she angled toward Bex. “I have two questions, and you can answer both, or just one, or neither, but… What happened in the um, ‘incident’? And, also, if you could have your own place, an apartment or even just a few rooms to yourself, what would it be like? What would you put in it?”

Bex gave a little snort as she suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- I didn’t mean-- it’s just that-- all I do is pretend.” She shook her head. “At least it feels that way.” She sniffled a little, tried not to play all of her hand at once. She knew Morgan could see straight through her, though, so what was the point? “It um--” Bex sat back against the books, pulling her knees up to her chest, “rumors spread so quickly around campuses, you know? It’s crazy. I’d never expected anything like that. I went to private boarding school and any rumors there were just about who’s dad made more money or whatever. Anything with substance was hushed quickly.” She breathed in deep, biting her lip. “But public school is a whole other playing field, isn’t it? In private school, if you had shit to say, you said it to their face, consequences be damned because mommy and daddy would just pay it off. Anyway…someone um-- started a rumor about me and I guess this uh-- this girl, wanted to know for herself. So she asked me out and then afterwards we went back to her room and things got--” Hesitating, Bex felt her hands begin to shake. She smoothed her palms down her legs. “The point is that, she posted photos of us online and my parents found out and they really didn’t like it because you know what you can’t pay off? Teenagers with Facebook and Twitter.”

Morgan’s hand twitched, itching to reach out for Bex. “No, it’s okay, you can laugh,” she said, smiling wryly. “If you’re gonna be miserable, you may as well appreciate whatever humor you can. Even if that’s no way to live your life, especially not all the time.” She listened, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral. In the end, she stopped trying. “Bex…” she whispered. “Is it okay if I get closer to you?” She held up her hands, showing off the thin leather gloves. “I won’t feel so...cold. But…” Some traumatized kids don’t like to be touched. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, if you don’t like being touched.” She scanned her face, searching for an answer in her expression. “I’m so sorry, Bex. That anyone would treat you so cruel. You do know it wasn’t your fault, right? The horrible things people do aren’t a value or a judgement on you. You should get to be loved, Bex.”

“Who says I’m miserable!?” Bex said loudly, but it echoed in the library between them and she realized how stupid that sounded. She wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them even closer. Blinked away some hot tears building in her eyes and drew in a breath, holding it a moment. Logically, she had no real reason to dislike the touch of others so intimately-- but she knew why she did. “Um-- a little closer is fine,” she said with a short nod. Eyes couldn’t be found anymore, staring hard at her tights covered knees. “I mean-- I should’ve known, though!” she argued, “I should’ve known. No one would just like me. And I wasn’t even sure--” well, that was a blatant lie. Bex had been sure about it since she was in elementary school, and she’d only questioned herself once her parents had found out-- “that I liked-- that I was--” and she couldn’t even say the words anymore. “I should’ve known, because all people have done, all my life, is use me to get what they want. And I…” started, stopped. She didn’t know what to say anymore. “I guess that’s just my life.”

Morgan inched closer. Slowly, she feathered one finger along the girl’s temple, brushing away her tears. “There’s nothing you should’ve known. There’s no reason why you should think that anyone who says they like you isn’t being honest. There’s no good reason anyone has to be cruel like that. Whatever you’re used to, whatever people have done, that’s not your worth, or the meaning of what you can have, Bex.” She dropped her voice even softer and hovered her hand above the girl’s, which dug deep into her body. “You are such a gift, Bex. Just the way you are. You don’t have to be afraid of liking girls, or anything else about yourself. There’s nothing about who you are that isn’t wonderful, even though it doesn’t feel that way right now. Even though it feels easier to pretend to be different. You’re okay just like this.” Slower still, her hand settled on Bex’s. “Do you want me to come closer?” She asked.

Bex listened to Morgan talk but none of the words stuck. They slammed against her, pressing against old wounds that had never closed, and made her hurt. Reminded her of why they hurt. She screwed her eyes shut and put her head on her knees. She wanted to believe her, she wanted so bad to let herself believe Morgan-- but giving herself that hope would just hurt more in the end. If she let herself believe that maybe she was okay like this, her parents would just rip it away again. All she had was her ability to pretend. She’d accepted that long ago. “Tomato,” was all she said, not moving when Morgan rested a hand on hers. She was quiet for a long moment before she lifted her head again, eyes unable to meet Morgan’s. “Can we go see the bone room now?” 

Morgan’s heart sank. She couldn’t stop trying any more than Bex could stop from hiding herself. It was too important. And with every opportunity she got, she thought, maybe this time, or maybe this time, or this time, or this time, or this time...it would stick. And everything would be okay. But not today.

Morgan gave the girl’s fingers a light squeeze. “Okay. Of course we can,” she said. “Come here with me, honey, I’ll show you.” She released her fingers reluctantly and stood, trying not to watch Bex too closely as she led the way out the room and down the hall. The girl would want to compose herself, or decide how she wanted to shield herself. They had that much in common, much as it pained Morgan to recognize. 

The bone room was down at the end, mostly gallery, with tall display cases that housed articulated minks, foxes, squirrels, chipmunks, rats, and the like. Rows of skulls looked down from the topmost shelves, delighted in their grim, lifeless way. To the right was a case of fossils of all sorts, mostly in little chunks of ammonite and sandstone, with a few precious pieces of amber that made Morgan touch the one that hung around her neck with affection. At the end was an antique worktable with a stool, currently draped with canvas, but usually spotted with dust and tools for Deirdre to work with. Nearby, two armchairs and an end table were crammed together, Morgan’s attempt at extending quality time. She went to her spot now and sat, cozying up again. 

“This one’s mine,” she said, tapping gently on the display shelf next to her. “Most are from since Deirdre came here, but I think there’s a few favorites she brought with her. She told me you could take one of the fossils with you, if you like. Just let me know which.”

Bex understood that Morgan just wanted to help, she really did-- but how was she supposed to when Bex didn’t even understand what she needed help with? The situation with her parents was difficult, she knew it wasn’t the best place for her, but she had nowhere else to go. No guarantee that she would have anything if she acted out. No guarantee that they would let her go. Her obedience stemmed from fear and she understood that, on some level, but she also just wanted her parents to tell her they loved her. Tell her they were proud of her. That was an achievable goal, she knew it, she just needed to tough it out for a little bit, be the daughter they wanted. She could do that, really, she could. 

Still, she felt the disappointment in Morgan’s words when she closed up, and Bex couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor. Even the small squeeze of her fingers made her muscles tighten. She wasn’t used to affectionate touches, to those small, reassuring ones that were meant to comfort, not hurt. Swallowing, she stood up with her and shuffled behind her towards the bone room. It was as wonderful and amazing as she thought it might be, old fossils and bones lining the wall, history written forever in the DNA of living beings-- but she couldn’t find the words to voice her feelings. Silently, she walked over to the work table and ran her fingers over the cloth, wondering what it looked like underneath. Imagining what it might feel like to sit in the stool herself and work away at restoring some old fossil or artifact she’d found while exploring. 

At Morgan’s words, she turned back to look at her. “It’s-- that’s okay,” she said, turning her attention to the display case Morgan had motioned to as hers. “I don’t have a spot for it yet.” A spot to hide it, as it were. She paused in front of the case. “You made all of these?”

Morgan turned around in her seat and peered over at the shelf Bex was standing by. She didn’t try to stifle the fondness at seeing her handiwork: articulated squirrels and birds, the bone crown that had won first place at the town craft fair, some jewelry she had gifted or made just for practice, and lots of partial limbs, paws, wings, and skulls carefully cleaned and polished. “We articulated the skeletons together, and that doe, hanging up there,” she pointed to the wall. “I brought the pieces to her as a birthday present. I really don’t know enough about anatomy in order to be able to tell what goes where on my own. But I like them. And the things I get to make, obviously. I like how, even if their old selves aren’t really here, something is still left behind. Something even beautiful. Death doesn’t always have to be grotesque. There can still be change, and beauty. And that’s just...something that is really important for me to remember right now.” She laughed, self-deprecating, at some of her rougher practice pieces. “I’m getting better, by the way. Not great, but, uh.” She shrugged.

Bex could understand that. A skeleton of what they used to be, still here, just different. Even after death, something remained. Maybe there was more than one kind of death. Her eyes traveled the skeletons, the articulated squirrel, the birds, with their fragile, delicate wing bones; the bone crown, decorated with moss and flowers and jewels. There was a deep sense of longing Bex felt looking at them. It wasn’t the same, the thing she craved, but it was close enough to make her feel a deep envy for what Morgan had. A loving girlfriend, a home that felt real, a hobby that satisfied her, and confidence to be herself. Bex’s hands wrung together and she stole a small glance over at Morgan in her chair. “I think it’s incredible,” she said quietly, “and so beautiful.” Suddenly, she turned to fully face Morgan, eyes more steady than they had been most of the afternoon. “Can you teach me how to do it?”

Morgan didn’t say anything at first. She was hoping to get Bex to take a piece, something discreet, to remind her that she wasn’t alone, as close to an enchantment as a mundane object could get. She hadn’t expected Bex (or anyone besides Erin and Gabe, really) to care about the work she did with her hands. But she couldn’t deny how it had helped her, and she did want Bex to come by more often. At this point, her magic barely factored into the picture at all. It was this cage she carried around herself, this thing her parents had built. Morgan’s features softened and she climbed out of the chair, coming as close to the girl as she dared. “If that’s what you want, Bex, I’d like nothing more.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Bex said, “to learn how to do something with my hands. To...make and not break.” LIke the pot, like the sidewalk, like the windows. Like everything. She idled, hands wringing together again. “I’ve watched videos of people doing this kind of work, like um-- cleaning bones, and fossils and putting them back together. Making something new out of something most people would think is lifeless. I guess I don’t really seem like the type of person to like this kind of thing, right?” But that was just it, wasn’t it? She was the kind of person that liked those things. The persona she played wasn’t real. Her hands begged to build and touch and feel and create. Discover. Her demeanor changed quickly and her body tightened again. “Just don’t...you can’t tell anyone.” 

“Oh, and I look like someone who does?” Morgan balked, laughing. She gestured to her rose-pink skirt, her periwinkle blue sweater. Maybe the skull on her pendant was a little bit of a hint, or the bone ring on her middle finger, but a lot of people couldn’t tell it apart from plastic, they’d seen so little of it before. However much she’d changed, Morgan still clung to life, and sometimes she even let it show. “The last thing I would ever presume, Bex, is a limit on what you’re capable of. But I won’t tell anyone. Except for Deirdre. Because I tell her everything, and she’s going to be so excited, but other than that: no one outside this home needs to know. And!” She left the room and beckoned for Bex to follow her. “It just so happens that I do my work in my own little hidey-hole. We’ll be working there when you come to visit. Or we can set up a temporary workstation in the kitchen, if you prefer.” She stopped short of the back door, which led onto the patio, the garden, the pool, and Morgan’s little gray studio. “And you can turn up whenever you want for a lesson, though I won’t lie, it’d be nice to see you once a week. You’re pretty great to be around, and it’s not an easy thing to get the hang of.”

Bex gave a tiny smile at that. It was true, Morgan didn’t seem like the kind of person to like working with dead things or bones, but Bex couldn’t be too surprised, since she liked those things, too. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe there was hope for Bex to have something like Morgan did. She blinked, following Morgan through the house towards the back door. “That’s okay, you can tell her,” she said with a small nod, “I trust her, too.” And maybe there were only a few of those people around, but Bex’s group of people she trusted was slowly expanding. Now, she’d just have to come up with a way to explain to her parents where she was going so often. She could probably get away with a half lie-- they’d be thrilled if they knew she was working extra with a professor from the school. They just didn’t need to know which professor and what they were doing. She could have this one thing. “Is that the shed you told me about? The one in the backyard?” she asked, curious. “I think that’d be fine. I wouldn’t mind working there.” Her eyes came up to look at Morgan finally, a bit of hope twinkling in them. “I think I can do that. Once a week…” It was a wild concept, to have something to look forward to each week-- but she was sure she’d get used to it. “I can do that.” 

Morgan beamed. “You can just tell your parents you’re taking on an independent study, or a research assistantship! I don’t actually have those at my pay grade, but--” She shrugged, signaling shh. It wouldn’t matter, in the end. As long as Bex could get here without invoking their ire, as long as she could find a space to grow a little piece of happiness, the details didn’t matter. Morgan led the way out the back and through the freshly paved path that lead to her studio. She opened the door for them and switched on the lights, then the overhead for the table she worked at. Schoolwork mingled with glue and thread and wire and half a dozen animal vertebrae scattered before and armature that needed to be assembled and deer horns in need of cutting, skulls that only been freshly skinned and still had to be polished. Her tool cabinet hung half open from when she’d abandoned work in the morning. It was a whole world of knowledge waiting to be understood. Morgan grinned and gestured for Bex to join her. “What do you say we get started now?”