#might try thumbnailing for once & see how both ideas look *shrug*

[bardkin]

got an idea for some art but it's midnight & i have work tomorrow, i ha t e this life

[kinglazrus]

Deep Wounds Ch. 2 - What Now?

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Word count: 4069

It takes ten minutes for everyone to change and clear out. During that time, an invisible Danny floats in one of the shower stalls, his gym bag clutched to his chest, one hand clamped around his mouth. If it hadn't been for Dash's shout of "No!" he might not have hidden in time. Danny only had a few seconds to snatch up his bandages and bag—but not the gauze—before the first person entered.

It was Tucker, thankfully. He gaped when he saw Danny and quickly waved for him to hide. Just in time, too, since Elliot was only a few steps behind.

Now, Danny can only hear a single person shuffling about.

"It's clear," Tucker whispers.

Danny floats through the door of the shower stall, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the empty change room. He drops his invisibility and dumps his stuff on the floor in favour of clutching his side. "Why didn't I stay home today?"

"Because you want to graduate this year and you can't afford another absence." Tucker grabs his gym shirt off the floor, revealing the forgotten gauze pad, and sighs at the new stains. "I really liked this shirt."

"Sorry, man."

"Dude, you are literally bleeding. Shut up. You don't need to apologize. Just be glad I got my shirt off before Elliot could see the damn thing." Tucker grabs the gauze, rolls it into a ball, and tosses it toward the garbage can. "Ten points!"

The gauze bounces off the rim and falls to the floor.

"Zero points," Danny says.

"Rude."

"Hey, I'm bleeding, remember?"

"That only gets you a pass from saying sorry, not common decency."

Danny's shoulders shake as he laughs. It hurts, making his left side throbbing, but trying to hold it back hurts worse. "Ow, ow, ow," he says, gasps of pain interrupting him. Curling over, he hugs his side even tighter, fighting back a sharp cry. The tension in his body doesn't help, but the pressure on his side feels good.

"Sam on her way?" Danny asks.

"She's grabbing the first-aid kit from my locker. I'll fix you up this time. We all know I have steadier hands." That A-plus in home ec isn't for nothing.

"Thanks," Danny mumbles.

"Yeah, dude. We've got you."

After Sam arrives, Tucker redoes Danny's stitches in record time. Half of the lunch hour has passed by the time Danny gets patched up, but he doesn't feel hungry anyway. Tucker takes his and Danny's bloody gym shirts and stuffs them into the first-aid kit.

"I need to refill on some supplies at home," Tucker explains. "I'll get rid of these there."

"Good idea. My mom found a pair of jeans I forgot to throw away after a fight with Skulker. I had a hard time explaining that one away," Danny says. The "I tripped into a window" excuse probably only works once, anyway. "But we have another problem."

"Dash?" Sam asks.

Danny nods. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"He was acting weird when gym ended. Wouldn't let anyone come inside until we pushed him out of the way."

"Huh." Danny certainly didn't expect that. Dash might be a downright bully anymore, but he's still not prone to random acts of kindness. "That's... weird." It doesn't make up for him tearing Danny's wound back open, even if it was an accident, but it's something.

"I think we might not have to worry about him," Sam says.

Danny stares at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, actually. He could have done anything when he saw the rest of the class coming, including telling everyone that you were hurt. But he stopped them instead."

"But this is Dash."

"That's surprising coming from you."

"What does that even mean? You guys and Valerie are being so weird today. Come on, Tucker. Back me up." Danny looks at Tucker, fully expecting him to be on Danny's side.

Tucker doesn't respond right away. Biting his thumbnail, he stares ahead at the floor, deep in thought. That alone is enough to send Danny for a loop. When Tucker does answer, Danny's jaw drops in disbelief.

"I'm with Sam on this."

"For real?"

"Yeah, man. We don't even know what Dash thinks he saw, anyway. What happened when he walked in?" Tucker asks.

Danny tells them, sparing no detail.

"Oh, wow."

Sam shakes her head. "I'll say. I can't believe you wailed at him."

"Almost. I almost wailed at him. It was a baby wail at most. More of a hum," Danny says. He was just so surprised when Dash walked in. Danny's instincts took over and all he could think about was getting Dash out of there as soon as possible. He is lucky no one else came running.

"That already will have freaked him out. If we go around making a big deal about it and getting in his face, that'll make things worse." Sam stands up from the floor, stretching her arms over her head. She looks completely unconcerned, so does Tucker for that matter. Both of them are content to let Dash be. "Let's wait to see what he does. If he starts spreading rumours, we'll know right away, and then we can confront him."

"On the other hand, he might go to you, Danny, first," Tucker adds. He takes a bottle of Aspirin from the first-aid kit and presses it into Danny's hand before zipping the bag up. "He might not do anything."

The bottle of Aspirin rattles as Danny twists the lid off. "I can't believe you guys are okay with this." He dumps a couple of pills into his palm and tosses them back. Wordlessly, Sam passes him a water bottle. One quick swig is all he needs to help the pills go down. "He could be telling everyone right now."

"He could," Sam admits. "But he won't."

Sam and Tucker get up to leave, and Danny's forced to follow, or else get left behind. He trails after them, stiff, sore, and aching. The pills won't kick in for a while, and he loathes having to walk now. If he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of the day floating through the halls.

Tragically, he has a secret to protect. One that is very much at risk right now, despite what Sam says. Wherever she and Tucker are getting their confidence from, Danny doesn't share it. He just hopes they're right.

Dash tries to hold it in. He really does. The sound of Danny's anger bearing down on him, reverberating through the change room, hasn't stopped rattling around his head. But as lunch nears its end, the words burst out of him.

"I think Fenton is in a gang or something," Dash says.

The table falls silent.

Kwan freezes in place, hand halfway to his mouth, and a piece of meatloaf falls off his fork. "You... what?"

"I think Danny is in a gang," Dash repeats, softer.

His friends gape at him, equally confused. Mostly. Star doesn't even look up from her math homework. In fact, Dash thinks she's smiling, but he ignores it.

"Kwan, I thought you said Danny was the one who got hit during gym class," Paulina says. She pushes her lunch aside and leans across the table, lifting a hand to Dash's forehead. "Are you sure you got it right?"

"I'm fine, Paulie." Dash ducks under his hand and hunkers low to the table. When no one else moves, he gestures for them to come closer. Kwan does so immediately. Paulina rolls her eyes but obliges.

"I'm good," Star says.

"Okay, so, I checked on Fenton after dropping him off, 'cause he looked kind of bad, and I guess, I don't know. I felt... whatever. It doesn't matter. But like, he had this huge cut."

Paulina grins and leans in closer, finally looking invested. "You felt kind of 'whatever?'"

Dash scowls. "Seriously, Paulie?"

"You're the one who said it!" Paulina smacks the table, a fit of giggles bursting from her. It's her "I've found some juicy gossip" noise and Dash hates it.

"Did you even hear me? Huge cut and all that?" Dash says.

Kwan shrugs. "I don't know. His parents build a lot of crazy stuff, don't they? He probably hurt himself on one of those. Did you see that new gun they were toting around last week? It melted Mr. Lancer's car!"

"Oh, my God. I totally saw that. I felt so bad for him," Paulina says.

Dash frowns down at the table while the conversation plods on. True, everyone knows the Fentons have some crazy inventions. But everything they make, they make to hurt ghosts, not people. Everyone in town has been caught in the Fentons crossfire at one point or another. Dash still remembers the disgusting taste of the Fenton Foamers. Like warm, month-old key lime yogurt. Disgusting, but ultimately harmless.

And Danny didn't just have a little cut. It was huge. Dash only got a brief look at it, but that short glance told him everything he needed to know. Something, or someone, had hurt Danny. Rather than going to the hospital—because no trained professional would do such a sloppy job—Danny fixed it himself or got his friends to fix it. The injury had to be new, too, since it was still bleeding.

But stitches could bleed if you ripped them, didn't treat the injury right. Judging by the placement, Danny's stitches must pull every time he moves his arm.

Could one of his parents' guns have done that?

Now that Dash thinks about it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Danny get hit with his parents' weapons. Not their guns, at least. They have that dumb boomerang thing that he's seen smack Danny on the back of the head. Actually, that one hits Danny a lot.

Dash's frown deepens, etching into his face. Why on Earth would one of Danny's own parents' inventions hurt him so much? Unless...

"Hey, guys?" Dash asks, interrupting Star mid-sentence.

"You found more proof of Fenton's gang activities?" Paulina asks.

"What if, like, someone's hurting him?"

"You mean one of his gang buddies?"

"No, Paulie, I'm serious. What if someone is hurting him?"

The table falls silent once more, but this time, his friends' expressions are serious rather than disbelieving.

Kwan lowers his voice. "Do you really think... I mean, Fenton?"

"Well..." Star taps her chin. "Where was he hurt?"

"Here." Dash taps his ribs on his left side, under his arm.

Star nods. "Okay. Are you sure he couldn't have, you know...." She trails off, but Dash already knows what she means.

"No way. He could hardly see the cut, much less do it himself. And it was bad."

"So he was hurt, badly, in a place that no one else would normally see. He didn't miss any school, so he probably didn't go to the hospital. Was it recent?"

Dash nods. "There was blood. Too much to just be because of the stitches."

Star drums her fingers on the table, nodding slowly. "I think you could be right."

The A-listers glance around the table, meeting each other's eyes. None of them say anything, but the same question lurks in all their minds. Now what?

In the days following the change room debacle, Danny avoids Dash like his life depends on it. Which it might. Any time he sees Dash in the hall, he turns right around and walks away. When they're in class, Danny stares straight ahead and refuses to look Dash's way. In gym class, Tetslaff lets him sit out, finally. Having Danny blackout on her after she forced him to play must have spooked her because she benches him before he can even ask not to play.

"No student of mine is gonna pass out on my watch. Twice," she says.

It won't last forever, but Danny will take what he can get, while he can get it.

But the thing is, Dash doesn't try anything. It's surreal. For the past four years, Danny has grown accustomed to Dash's constant harassment. Even when it dropped significantly in sophomore year, Dash never stopped. He threw erasers at Danny during class, tripped him in the halls, called out teasing names every chance he got.

"I'm not the only one who thinks this is weird, right?" Danny asks Tucker on the third day.

Already done his lunch, Tucker is thoroughly engrossed by his phone and doesn't look up as he replies. "You think everything is weird lately."

"Because it is."

"Missing your quality time with Dash?" Tucker flashes a quick grin in Danny's direction before returning to his phone.

"Har, har. You are so funny." Danny would have to be some kind of masochist to miss Dash's badgering. It's just... strange, not to have to watch the halls for him in that way. It doesn't make Danny watch any less—in fact, he finds himself looking for Dash more than before. So that he can run away if he gets close. Except Dash isn't even trying, and that annoys the hell out of him.

Tucker sighs, finally putting down his phone, and rests a hand on Danny's head. "Such a hopeless young soul. Can't even understand your own heart."

Danny slaps the hand away. "Says the guy who asked out every girl in school because they all made him feel the same way because it turns out he's super ace and didn't actually feel anything for any of them."

"And what an emotional journey that was." Tucker faces Danny head-on. "Look, Danny. If it's bothering you that much, then go talk to him. Feed him some excuse about what happened. Just remember that there's a reason Sam and I think it will be okay."

Danny ponders Tucker's advice for the rest of the day. The weekend starts tomorrow, which gives him two whole Dash-free days to think about the situation. Maybe a little time to himself as what he needs. He goes for a flight after school rather than walking home with Tucker; being in the air always helps clear his head.

He soars far above the city until he is little more than a pinprick to everyone far below. At the peak of his flight, his phone rings. The caller ID shows it's Jazz.

"What's up?" he greets his sister.

"Taken over my room yet?" Jazz asks.

"When you've only been at college for a month? Of course." It made a great storage space. Danny turns over to float on his stomach and starts drifting down like a leaf, falling back and forth on the wind.

"Well, I'm gonna need it back this weekend."

"Dropping out already?"

"You wish. I got a tutoring gig: two sessions—Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to do the two hours there and back both days, so I'm coming home for the weekend."

"I can't believe someone is actually paying to spend time with you. Hope the loser doesn't rub off on them."

Jazz laughs. "Pretty sure any loser on my came from you. And it's four people. Actually, you know them."

When Danny comes downstairs Saturday morning and sees Jazz's students at the kitchen table, he stops dead.

"You have got to be kidding me," he says.

"Hi, Danny!" Paulina waves, far too perky for nine in the morning. Squished around the table with her, Kwan and Star offer their own small waves. Dash looks straight down at his textbook.

"Goodbye." Danny pivots and marches back toward the stairs. Forget breakfast; he didn't want to eat, anyway. He can still have a nice, relaxing, Dash-free day in the confines of his bedroom.

A cascade of whispers reaches his ears as he hits the first stair. The A-listers murmur too quiet for him to make out what they're saying, although he thinks he catches his name more than once. Maybe they're talking about how uncanny it is being inside his house. Or, perhaps, they're discussing the new school nurse, Tammy. But even as he thinks it, he knows neither theory is true.

A chair screeches in the kitchen, the plastic capped legs scraping against the linoleum. Danny throws himself up the stairs.

"Oh, Danny, wait!" Paulina's silky voice follows him.

He jerks to a stop at the landing, cringing. How mad would she be if he ignored her? It's funny to think that a few years ago his heart would have leapt at Paulina calling out his name, back when he had a crush on her.

His toes curl against the carpet as he hesitates; the pros and cons of ignoring her run through his head. Pro: he won't have to deal with whatever scheme she's up to, and Paulina is most certainly up to something. Con: she might sic Dash on him, and he's the last person Danny wants to see right now. But that's a moot point because Dash is already here. After some humming and hawing, he grits his teeth and turns back around.

Paulina hangs out the kitchen doorway, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Yes, Paulina?" Danny asks.

It should be physically impossible for her smile to get any wider, and yet it does. "You're having trouble in science class, right?"

Danny hesitates. "Maybe. Why?"

"So are we! We came here for a study session with your sister, since she was Casper's best student in thirty decades. You should join us!"

"Isn't Star acing all her classes? And I thought science was your best class."

Paulina rolls her eyes and huffs, but without any malice. It reminds him of the look Tucker gives his little cousins when they are being intentionally obstinate. Danny flushes, suddenly feeling stupid even though he doesn't understand why.

"Yeah, we're good at it, but the boys aren't. Duh." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is. "It's easier to study in a group."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I like studying alone."

Paulina's smile doesn't fall, but it changes. Danny can't quite place what it turns into. Her mouth curves upward and her teeth are exposed; objectively, it's still a smile. But there's a new tension to it, one Danny only notices now, but he thinks might have been there the whole time, lurking behind the bright façade. His grip on the newel post tightens, the wood creaking beneath his finger.

At times like this, Danny wishes his ghost abilities included reading emotions. The look Paulina is giving him is important, he can feel it, even though he can't explain it. But it doesn't mean anything if he can't decipher it.

"If you say so." The moment shatters. Paulina withdraws back into the kitchen, leaving Danny alone and wondering if he missed something important.

Down the hall from him, Jazz's bedroom door opens. She emerges with an armful of books—old schoolbooks, Danny notes.

"Not hanging out with Sam and Tucker today?" she asks.

"Jazz, it's not even noon yet. I don't think Tucker's awake." Danny glances down the stairs toward the kitchen, mulling something over in his head. "I kind of want some alone time today. I know you're tutoring and everything, but could you make sure they don't bother me?"

Jazz frowns. "Is everything okay?"

"There was an... incident with Dash at school."

"Boy troubles?"

"Jazz!" Danny's entire face turns scarlet. "Please never say that about Dash." He lowers his voice. "It was ghost-related troubles."

Jazz's expression goes stony, her teasing smile replaced by a serious frown. "Do I need to take care of him for you?"

"Oh, my God, Jazz! Just keep him away from my room!" He marches the rest of the way to his room to the sound of Jazz's snickers and slams the door behind him.

When Paulina returns to the kitchen, Dash sits up straighter. She shakes her head as she reclaims her seat next to Star. Dash deflates again.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Dash says.

"Don't be so silly. That wasn't even plan A, although it would make things easier. Are you sure you didn't do anything to him in that change room?" Paulina asks.

Dash groans. "Please. Please never say anything like that again. It sounds so wrong."

"You're the one who took it that way."

Star and Kwan laugh at Dash's misfortune, watching him bury his face in his arms. When Star suggested they gather evidence, to confirm whether or not Danny was being abused at home, this wasn't what Dash expected. He pictured spy movie antics with them sneaking through the bushes dressed all in black, peeking through windows until they say something that proved—or disproved—their theory.

Things would go a lot easier if Dash could actually talk to Danny, but ever since that moment in the change room, he can't. He knows Danny has been avoiding him, which is better short term. If Danny walked up to Dash right now demanding to talk about what happened, Dash wouldn't know what to say.

How many times has he hurt Danny (pushed, kicked, body-checked) when he was injured? There's a possibility, however slim, that this was a fluke, the first time Danny has ever come to school injured. There have to be loads of reasons someone might not go to the hospital, such as bad insurance. Dash's cousin broke her nose once and let it heal crooked instead of going to the doctor since it was cheaper. He's heard stories of people sacrificing their health rather than paying exorbitant hospital fees. It's not impossible.

Except Danny's parents are inventors. They do projects for the government and can afford to throw money around for ridiculous ghost hunting contraptions. The Emergency Ops Centre only two floors above them must have cost millions. If that's the case, then surely his parents can afford a hospital visit for such a bad wound.

Dash doesn’t like to think about the alternative, but he has to. The alternative is the whole reason he and his friends are here.

That doesn't help with Dash's other dilemma, though. How is he supposed to talk to Fenton, now? Dash doesn't think he knows how to interact with Danny without some form of aggression. Even when he stopped outright bullying people, he never stopped with Danny. A push here, a shove there. It is instinct for Dash to stick his foot out if he sees Danny coming.

Danny even returns the favour, sometimes, growing bolder the older they became. Dash still doesn't know how Danny keeps getting into his stuffed bear collection, but it's not unusual for him to find one in his locker or sitting at his desk when he returns to class.

It's what they do. Dash can't help it. Any time he manages to trip Danny up enough that he gets a glare or a vengeful smile, it makes him feel good.

But he can't do that now. If Danny is actually getting hurt at home, Dash can't in his right mind keep agitating him. Just thinking about what he did to Danny's stitches makes him pale. He doesn't even want to think about what other wounds he's made worse over the years.

And he has. Dash knows this without a doubt. Thinking back on their interactions this year alone, more than five occasions come to mind where Danny grimaced, or flinched, or clutched some part of his body after Danny bumped his shoulder in the hall. It feels him with an indescribable dread, but the worst of it is he can't understand why.

He never knew Danny was injured; he can't be entirely to blame. Thinking that does nothing to assuage his guilt, though.

"Okay!" Jazz Fenton announces herself with a bright chirp. She clutches a stack of textbooks to her chest; books Dash recognizes from their classes. The idea that she stole them from the school flashes through his mind, but that's ludicrous. Jazz doesn't have a criminally minded bone in her body. If anything, she bought them, or the school gave them to her for being that amazing. Either option is more likely than her committing a crime.

Jazz slams the books down on the table directly across from Dash. She flashes him a brilliant smile as she sits and folds her hands over the table.

"So, Dash." She tilts her head. Her smile no longer looks kind. "I've heard some interesting things about you."

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[allthingsfangirl101]

Camping Surprises–Zac Efron

Wattpad Request by ru_ruva

Work lately has been crazy. I've been working as an assistant for a top editor at a fashion magazine in Beverly Hills for three years. My boss has promised me that once I've worked for her for five years, I'll be promoted to an editing job. Plus, it kind of helps that I'm dating the famous actor, Zac Efron.

Zac and I had been dating for two years under the radar before our secret got out. He had wanted at least one part of his life to be for just him and me. My boss and his fans only found out about us after our anniversary dinner was interrupted by the paparazzi.

When my boss found out, she completely changed her attitude towards me. The next year, she started listening to me in meetings, agreeing with my suggestions, and treating me like a human being. She acted like this new found attitude towards me wasn't because I was on magazine covers with Zac, but she and I both knew she was lying.

Since Zac and I went public with our relationship, we haven't had much time to ourselves. It's been a year since our secret got out and things have only begun to pick up. We can't go out without getting recognized which means we can't even have a meal without being bombarded by fans, reporters, or paparazzi. Sometimes all three.

I walked into our apartment, my shoulders, back, and feet killing me. I tossed my keys into the bowl on the table by the door, dropped my bag onto the floor, kicked off my shoes, and hung up my jacket. I ran my fingers through my hair as I walking into the other room. I plopped onto the couch, the long day weighing me down.

I hadn't noticed I had fallen asleep on the couch until I felt someone tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I let out a sleepy moan as my eyes fluttered open. I smiled when I saw Zac sitting on the ground in front of me, his face inches from mine.

"Morning," he whispered. I hummed as he continued to run his fingers through my hair. "What time did you get home?"

"A little after 7," I mumbled.

"Seven?" He repeated. "That's later than normal."

"Well," I sighed, "next month's issue is due to the printer by Thursday instead of Friday because of the holiday. Which means this is going to be a late week."

"I'm sorry," he said under his breath. "I hate how hard she works you."

I just shrugged and closed my eyes as I focused on the feeling of Zac playing with my hair.

"What about you?" I mumbled sleepily. "You're home later than usual."

"Yeah," he sighed.

The sound of exhaustion in his voice made me open my eyes. My heart sank when I saw the bags under his eyes. I sat up and pulled him so he was next to me. I smiled as he immediately laid his head on my thigh.

I started playing with his hair, feeling his breathing slow. I grabbed the remote and turned on a random show. We sat like that, not saying anything, and just enjoyed each other's company.

"Do you ever wish our lives were normal?" He asked, breaking the silence. I looked down to see his eyes still closed.

"Actually, no."

He turned his head up towards me and opened his eyes. "Really?" He asked. "You never wish we were different?"

"No," I smiled down at him as I moved some hair out of his face. "Because if we were normal, we wouldn't be who we are. We might not have met and I hate even the idea of that."

Zac reached up and cupped my cheek, pulling me down to him. I smiled as I pressed my lips to his and immediately started moving them in sync. He broke the kiss and sighed.

"I love you," he whispered. "And I'm sorry that things are crazy. I wish I could tell you they were going to slow down, but we both know that isn't going to happen."

                         * * * * *

A couple of days later, I came home to Zac already on the couch. He looked up from his computer when he saw me come in.

"You're home early," I teased as I hung up my keys. He put his laptop on the ottoman and stood up. He walked over to me, grabbed my hand, and led me back to the couch.

"Zac," I said under my breath. "What's going on, babe?"

He didn't say anything as he let go of my hand and grabbed his laptop. I nervously played with my fingers as he pulled something up.

"Babe?" I said, my breath getting caught in my throat. "You're scaring me."

Zac put his laptop on my lap and pointed to the screen. I hesitated before looking at it.

"Beverly Hills Glamp Ground?" I read. "You want to go camping?"

"We need a break," he said, looking down as he grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

"A break?" I stuttered.

"From this world, baby," he sighed, looking back up at me. "I come home every day, exhausted. And I know you do too. I feel like we haven't had any time to ourselves, any time to be alone. So, I want to do something. Something fun. Something just us two."

"And you're idea is camping?" I teased.

"We'd be completely alone out there," he explained. "No bosses, no cell service, no cameras. Just you and me."

"That does sound amazing," I sighed. He grabbed his computer and put it back on the coffee table before reaching over and grabbing my hands, turning me towards him.

"Then let's do it," he said eagerly. "It's a long weekend so neither of us work Monday. You sent in next month's issue today, so your boss won't need you over the weekend. She might not even need you tomorrow. My director is spending the weekend with his family and is even taking tomorrow off."

"I haven't used any of my sick days this year," I mumbled.

"Wait," he said slowly. "Are you saying. . ."

"I can call and get tomorrow off. Then with Monday being a holiday. . ."

I giggled when Zac excitedly leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I smiled as I grabbed his face and kissed him back. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine.

"Let's go pack."

                         * * * * *

As we pulled up to the camping ground, I noticed another car waiting for us in front of our assigned tent. I looked over at Zac as his brother got out of the other car.

"Dylan's here too?" I asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Yeah," Zac said as he got our suitcases out of the back. "He needed a break too and wanted to come."

He looked over at me, his eyes soft. He walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I'm sorry, baby," he sighed. "But he's in his own tent and promised to do his own thing."

"It's okay," I smiled as I rubbed his chest. I stood on my toes and pressed my lips to his.

"You two lovebirds ready?"

Zac broke the kiss and glared at his brother. I laughed as I grabbed his chin and turned him back to me. "Easy," I whispered.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "He promised. . ."

"As long as his tent is far away from ours, I don't mind."

The three of us spent the next hour setting up our camping ground. I went to gather firewood as Zac and Dylan got dinner ready. When I got back they were whispering to each other. They jumped when they heard me.

"You guys okay?" I chuckled.

"Yep," Zac said, jumping up and walking over to me. He grabbed the wood from me and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

Dylan and I were cooking dinner when I noticed it was just us two. I looked around, trying to find Zac.

"Where's Zac?"

"He went for a walk," Dylan said, sounding kind of weird.

"It's getting kind of late," I said, not hiding my nerves. "Should we go look for him?"

Dylan checked his watch and bit his bottom lip; something he only did when he was overthinking.

"Let's give him a few more minutes," he decided. "Then we'll go look for him."

I stared at him as he turned back to the fire, trying to hide the look on his face. A few minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans.

"That's it," I sighed. "I'm going to go look for him. It's getting dark and I don't think he has his flashlight."

"Wait," he said quickly as he grabbed my hand and stopped me. He cleared his throat, instantly letting go of me.

"Zac's a big boy, Y/N. He knows not to go too far from the campsite and to come back before it gets dark."

"But. . ." I stuttered.

"Y/N," he whispered, "Zac and I went camping all the time as kids. He's fine."

I tried to finish getting dinner ready, but I found myself constantly looking towards the path. A few minutes later, I started nervously chewing on my thumbnail.

"Actually," Dylan said, clearing his throat as he checked his watch. "Let's go look for him."

I let out a sigh of relief as Dylan handed me my jacket and grabbed the flashlights. We had only gone maybe half a mile before we could see some lights through the trees. I started to go around the campsite, but Dylan stopped me.

"What are you. . ." I stuttered as he looked over his shoulder at me with a smirk on his face.

I sighed before following him. My breath got stuck in my throat when we got to the clearing. Zac was standing there, in the middle of the meadow, surrounded by lights and flowers. My eyes filled with tears when I noticed the pictures of us scattered around.

I turned to look at Dylan, but he had slipped back through the trees. When I turned back towards Zac, he was right in front of me. He grabbed my hand and led me to the middle of the meadow.

"How did you. . . When did you. . . Why did you. . ."

Zac laughed as I stuttered. "I needed to bring all of this, but I didn't want you to see it. So Dylan brought it in his car and agreed to distract you while I set it up."

"I just. . . Why?" I finally got out, tears beginning to fall. Zac smiled as he reached forward and caught a tear with his thumb.

"This is why," he whispered.

I covered my mouth as he knelt down on one knee. He had tears in his eyes as he pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

"Y/N," he started, his voice gentle. "I love you so much, darling. And I can't imagine spending my life with anyone other than you. I know our jobs keep us busy and they can kind of be frustrating at times, but it's all worth it as long as I get to come home to you. I love waking up to you typing on your computer and coming home to you asleep on the couch. I love that you are always willing to run lines with me, go to premieres and parties with me, drive me to the airport at 2 in the morning. I love that you are on my team. I love you."

Zac took a shaky breath as he opened the box. My eyes widened, tears streaming down my face as I saw the ring he got for me.

"Will you marry me?"

It took me a second to find my voice, but once I did, I giggled out my answer.

"Yes," I said through my tears. "Of course I'll marry you."

Zac smiled as he slipped the ring on my finger and stood up. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he instantly wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me close to his chest. I felt him laugh as he tightened his arms around me.

"I love you," I whispered, not breaking our embrace. "And I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else either."

Zac laughed as he pulled me back into his chest and pressed his lips to mine. We quickly got caught lost in the kiss as we held each other. We broke apart when we heard someone clapping and laughing. We turned around to see Dylan jogging towards us.

I laughed as he pulled me away from Zac, lifted me up, and spun me.

"Dylan," Zac sighed. "Will you please put my fiancé down?"

"Sorry," Dylan chuckled as he put me down. He walked over to his brother and gave him a hug.

"Congratulations," Dylan whispered. He pulled out of the hug and looked over at me. "You got quite the girl."

"Thanks," Zac laughed. "I got lucky."

I walked over and Zac instantly wrapped his arms around me. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

"I'll umm. . . I'll let you two. . . Celebrate," Dylan laughed awkwardly. He was about to walk away but stopped. "I'll send you the pictures I took but you probably won't be able to post them until. . ."

Dylan stopped talking when we broke the kiss and Zac glared at him. "Right. Sorry. Congratulations, you two."

We laughed as he turned on his heel and jogged back to the campsite. I looked back at Zac, biting my bottom lip.

"How long have you planned this?" I asked under my breath.

"Well," he sighed, tightening his arms around my waist. "I've been wanting to propose for the last year but things got so crazy. I realized that this weekend would be the first and only quiet weekend we had together for the next little while. And I couldn't wait any longer. I had to be engaged to you."

I stood on my toes and pressed my lips to his. I felt him smirk as he kissed me back. I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against his.

"Is Dylan staying the rest of the weekend?" I asked under my breath.

"No," Zac said simply. "He's heading back tonight. Why?"

He saw the knowing look on my face and laughed. I smirked as he tightened his arms around my waist. I sighed before standing on my toes. I didn't press my lips to his yet, teasing him instead.

"Let's head back to camp and celebrate."

[misscampacyn]

Imagine you are a new DEA agent working with Javier Peña and Steve Murphy.

Note: While I was writing this story, I was think of how females are treated differently in certain jobs. Like the equal pay for woman, and the other stuff that is still happening to women (for the purpose of this imagine). The show Narcos is happening in the 80s-90s and I am 100% sure on how female in law enforcement were treated. Also, I have no idea if what is depicted in this story is factual take it as a fictional story to sit back and enjoy. Ok so I’ll let you start reading hope you didn’t exit out.

 At the airport you were greeted by Steve Murphy. You were the rookie in Colombia, but you were a good agent, hence why you were brought to help the war against Pablo Escobar.

“I should warn you Peña is a hard ass.”

“I’m used to men like him.”

“Want me to drop you off your apartment, get some rest or do you want to go to the embassy?”

“Embassy I feel like I have to show my dominance to this Peña,”

“Careful he might want to get you to bed.”

Once at the embassy Murphy led you to your new work area where a man sat typing away.

“Peña this is agent (Y/LN).”

Javier looks up and sizes you up, looking over your figure. He did not speak only grabbed his cigarette from the ash tray.

“Is that all you do? Smoke? No wonder you haven’t gotten Escobar,” you mock.

“Y tú puedes hacerlo mejor?” [and you can do better]

“Por supuesto que si, yo no vengo para pendejadas. Yo vengo por Escobar.” [Of course I’m not here for bullshit I’m here for Escobar]

Murphy frowns, “you know Spanish too?”

You look over at the blonde, “you don’t?”

“No”

“You should get some classes; you can’t be walking around Colombia with a language barrier.”

Murphy smiles at your advice not taking any offense by it, “I like you.”

You just shake you head and turn to look at Peña. “What do you have so far?”

Peña raises his eyebrow and throws a file towards you. You read over the minimal information and drop it back on his desk.

“You have jack.”

“We were told you were a good agent back in Mexico work your magic,” says Murphy.

“What have you two be doing to get information so far?”

“Informant. Prostitutes the Narcos sleep with,”

“Let me guess Peña screws them and then gets the information.”

Javier stands up and walks towards you, “how did YOU get information in Mexico?”

“We went undercover, got close to them.”

Murphy steps closer to you and Javier, “That’ll get you killed.”

“As long as we get the info we need, I am willing to become a narco.”

Javier glances over your face with a deep frown. Steve pushes Javier a it away from you.

“We can’t go undercover here; they’ll know your American. Probably have us all on file.”

“We’ll need to blend in with the locals. They’ve interacted with the so-called robin hood. They won’t talk to DEA agents, but we aren’t going in as agents.”

Javier frowns, “how are we going in?”

“Star-eyed tourists. Don’t worry Peña I’ll do all the leg work; you can stay here and type away.”

Murphy chuckles at your jab.

“I’m going to my apartment get my stuff settled and get ready to work, see you two later.”

You leave to the embassy and call for a cab.

Steve look over at Javier, “She’s good.”

“She’s going to get killed. This isn’t Mexico this is fucking Colombia.”

“I’m sure she knows that.”

A couple of hours later you were back to the office a wearing a stereotypical tourist outfit. Steve nodded impressed.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going you two stay.”

Javier speaks up, “you’re not going alone, you don’t know Bogota you’ll get killed.”

“Are you worried agent? We’re only just met; besides I’m not going far, I’ll leave breadcrumbs.”

You leave the two men and go on your own to see what information you could get.

The next morning you arrive at the office to find both men sitting at their desks. Murphy greets you instantly, “how’d it go? did you get any info?”

“Good morning. Not much but I found out Escobar turns up once in a while with his henchmen and gives people money. He never goes to the same place, but people know where he’ll be because a crowd that form around them.”

Javier folds his arms over his chest and scoffs, “so you got nothing? your leg work was for nothing.”

“I got information without fucking anyone.”

“See now that is probably what you need.”

“Really getting laid improves your mood? Seems to be working for you pendejo!” [asshole/ dumbass]

Steve looks at Javier amused, “she’s got a point.”

The rest of the day the three of you answered calls on any Escobar sightings. At the end of the day you three walked out of the embassy, and you start to walk home.

“Who where are you going?” asks Murphy.

“Going home.”

“Peña and I usually go for drinks after work. We also carpool to and from work. We live in the same building. Join us.”

You look over at the impatient man behind Murphy, “nah, I’ll walk home see you tomorrow.”

Murphy looks over at Javier who just shrugs and enters the drivers seat.

“Look its not safe for a girl to walk alone at night.”

“Good think I’m not a girl Murphy.”

“That’s not what I… not what I meant. Look let us drop you off at least.”

“Will it get you off my back?”

“Yes”

“Fine but only this once.”

You enter the backseat and close the door. As promised you are dropped off at the building.

“You sure you don’t want to join us for drinks?”

“I’m sure, thanks for the ride.” You get out and walk into the building. You go reach your apartment and start to search for your keys. A blonde woman approaches you,” do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god, I’m Connie. Do you know Spanish I need someone to translate these instructions for me.”

You grab the package and translate the instructions.

“I didn’t get you name.”

“It’s (Y/N)(YLN).”

“You’re… DEA.”

You frown but nod.

“I thought so, Steve told me about you. He told me you went toe to toe with Peña.”

“I’ve faced worse. I’d rather encounter a thousand Peñas over meeting killers like Escobar.”

Connie nods understanding.

“It’s good to now Steve has you and Peña watching his back.”

“Your Murphy’s wife?”

Connie nods.

“I’ll try to keep him safe for you.”

The next morning when you arrive to your desk there was a steaming coffee and a chocolate muffin sitting next to it. You frown and look up and find Steve smiling at you.

“Connie told me you helped her with something.”

“She asked me to.”

“Well you didn’t have to.”

“You brought me coffee?”

“Yup, we’re partners.”

You smile at the man and take a sip of the hot coffee, “thank you.”

Just like that you knew that you were accepted at least by Murphy. Javier was a different story, and you seemed to clash. The seasoned agent needed a bit more time to see what you were made of, and he hoped you didn’t get yourself killed.

--

GUYS!! I didn’t know that Pedro Pascal was in a Sia music video I was shocked when I went into my YouTube Music and saw him in the thumbnail. This is the link if you haven’t seen in: https://youtu.be/fNdeLSKSZ1M

[hopelikethemoon]

Loses (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Loses Rating: PG-13 Length: 1700 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or triggers realted to parental death. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in Colombia in 1990.  Summary: Reader and Javier talk during a stakeout.

@grapemama​​​ @seawhisperer​​​ @huliabitch​​ @pedropascalito​​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​​ @livasaurasrex​ @ham4arrow​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @snivellusim​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​ @ah-callie​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​ @lady-tano​​​​ @beskar-droids​​​​ @space-floozy​​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​ @himbopoes​​​​ @findhimfives​​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​ @random066​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​​  @yabby-girl​​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​​ @punkass-potato​​​​ @coredrive​​​​ @pascalesque​​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​​ @queenquazar​ @sabinemorans​​​​ @buckstaposition​​​​ @holkaskrosnou​​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​​​​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps

“Can you hand me the binoculars?” You requested, holding your hand out behind you as you peered out the window. 

Javier shifted in his seat, reaching into the backseat to grab them off the floor. “Do you see something?” He questioned as he passed them to you.

You brought them up to your face and looked through the lenses. You rotated the focus toggle, trying to focus in on the person who was walking out of an alley several hundred yards away from the car. “No.” You huffed, sitting the binoculars on your thighs as you sank back into your seat. “It’s just an old woman walking her dog.”

He chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not quite a dangerous member of the cartel, huh?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “This feels like a bust.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth as he glanced at his watch, “Only another six hours.”

You groaned, turning in your seat to look back at Steve. He was stretched out on the backseat, sound asleep on his backpack-turned-pillow. “I wish that were me.”

“Ditto.” Javier reached down into the pocket in between the driver’s seat and the door, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “Want one?”

You shrugged, rolling your window down halfway. “Sure.” It might help take the edge off your frustration with the stakeout. It was shit intel and you knew it — so did Javier. But the DEA heads had been insistent that they knew better. 

But Javier’s informants, and your own, had made it clear that this was barking up the wrong tree. 

Javier passed you a cigarette and you clamped it in between your lips as you waited for him to light up his own. You watched him as he took a drag, sinking back into the driver’s seat like it was that easy to take the edge off things. 

You leaned against the center console, tilting your chin as Javier held the flame in front of you. The lighter clicked as he shut it off and you sat back and blew a puff of smoke out the open window. “When are you flying out?”

He drew in a deep breath, before exhaling — the smoke swirling in front of his face. “Gonna fly out Friday night. I’ll be back Tuesday.”

You nodded, “A Friday night without you at the bar. I don’t know how I feel about this.” You tapped the cigarette on the edge of the glass. “Is your dad okay?”

Javier shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s not a health thing.” 

“Oh?”

“Figured that would be the best excuse,” He shrugged a shoulder, pursuing his lip to the side as he exhaled. “It’s been… thirty years since my mother passed and I figured my pops shouldn’t have to spend it alone. You know?”

Your brows furrowed together and you nodded, “Yeah. No, I get it.” You turned your head to blow smoke out the window again. “It’s been like fifteen years since my dad passed.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You waved a hand. “It’s good that you’ve got your pops.”

“Your mom still alive?”

“I guess.” You sighed heavily as you let your head tilt to look at him. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

You rubbed at your forehead, glancing back at Steve who was still snoring. “You’re not going to judge me, are you?” You questioned as you met Javier’s gaze.

You weren’t sure you could handle being scrutinized by Javi. 

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged. “Whenever the topic comes up, people get… twitchy.” You rolled your eyes and looked at the roof of the car above you. 

“I’m not gonna make you talk about shit you don’t want to.” Javier assured you, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip before he tucked his cigarette between his lips. 

“Let’s just say, I got into narcotics because I had first-hand experience.”

“Shit.” Javier shook his head. “Your mother?”

You nodded, “My parents divorced when I was three. I don’t fault my dad for getting out of that environment, but with how backwards the courts are… I was stuck with her.” You took another drag from your cigarette before tapping the ash off on the window again. 

“I had no idea.”

“I don’t exactly lead with it.” You snorted, “I didn’t even tell Lance about this shit.”

“Really?”

You pursed your lips as you met Javier’s gaze, “I told him that both of my parents were dead and left it at that.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “He was a great guy, but I just had this feeling he was one of those ‘make it work’ types.” 

Javier groaned, “You can’t make something that’s broken work.”

“Yeah.” You picked at a bit of fuzz on your leg. “But people don’t always get that. I had an academic advisor that treated me like I was the monster when the topic came up. Like how could I walk away from the woman who gave birth to me.” You looked towards him again, “I’m sorry. God, I probably sound like a bitch. I’m sorry about your mother. You're a good son for going back.”

Javier reached over and gave your leg a squeeze. “Why are you apologising?”

You looked down at his hand, which was still resting on your leg. “I’m just used to people acting like I should be grateful.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He patted your leg once more before he returned his hand to his own lap. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“I was sixteen.” You rubbed your thumb over the crease between your brows, “I never looked back.” 

Javier nodded his head slowly, “Probably for the best.”

You glanced out the window, sighing heavily. “I have an older brother,” You shrugged. “He’s a couple years older than you, I think.”

“So ancient?”

“He had a pet dinosaur,” You snorted. “And he went to school riding a mammoth.”

Javier chuckled, flicking ash into the ashtray in the center console. “Just a bit older than me then. Dinosaurs were extinct when I was hatched.” 

“I figured.” You grinned at him. “But yeah, Mitch took me in. Finished high school in Philly and then went to Temple.”

“You’ve never mentioned a brother.” 

You drew in another drag, exhaling smoke out the window. “I don’t really know him. He had a wife and kids. I was just the goblin that lived in his basement.” You sank back in your seat, watching the tip of the cigarette burn as you held it out the window. “It was what my dad wanted. We both loved him.” 

“Sounds like he was a good man,” Javier remarked. “Might rival my old man.”

“Anyone who puts up with your shit deserves sainthood.” You shot back with a smirk.

“You’re not wrong.” He countered, putting out his cigarette. Javier dragged his hands over his face, sighing heavily as he did. “I haven’t been back since I came out here.”

“Yeah? You do plan to come back, right? I’m not gonna be stuck with Murphy, am I?”

Javier shook his head, “You think I could just up and leave you like that?”

You laughed, “That's why I’m asking you!”

“Who else is gonna stay up and listen to you ramble about telenovelas?”

“Hey Javi—“

“Hmm?”

You flipped him off. 

“Classy.”

You grinned, “Well you know my sordid origins now. I’m far from classy.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, giving a short shake of his head, “You’re more than where you came from.”

“I try to be,” You leaned forward, tying your hair up into a knot at the back of your head. “Thank you for not… I don’t know, judging me for this shit.” You tilted your head and smiled at him. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re a damn good agent and the DEA’s lucky to have you.” Javier assured you, his gaze lingering on your face. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

You rolled your eyes, taking one last drag from your cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray with his. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime.”

Javier was such a dick. That too-cocky grin and glint of mischief in his eyes. You’d miss having him around for a few days. 

“What was your mother like?”

Javier smoothed his fingers over his mustache as he made a sound, like he was thinking. “I was nine when she passed. My memories are a little faded.” His brows drew together as he looked at her. “She was brilliant. Pops always talks about how she could’ve been anything she put her mind to. I remember her wit, she could always make me laugh.”

You smiled fondly, “What was her name?”

“Sofía Ximena.” He picked at his thumbnail. “It was an aneurysm. Came out of nowhere. She was only twenty-seven.” Javier sniffed, looking towards the window then. “Pops had drove into town. She laid down to take a nap and, uh… didn’t wake up.”

“Javier—“

He shook his head, “Don’t. It was a long fucking time ago. I like remembering her as she was. Alive, animated. Giving my pops a hard time. Hell, I think she was better at roping horses than he was.”

“Yeah?” You laughed softly. “I think she would’ve been proud of you, Javier.”

“I don’t know about that.” He huffed, looking at you then. “It’ll be good to see my pops. It’s been awhile, like I said.”

“You make me want to give Mitch a call.”

“Are you?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed, waving a hand. “You want me to call him long distance? Get out of here.” 

“Do you two always have to be so fucking loud?” Steve groused from the back seat. You grabbed your bunched up jacket and chucked it at him. “Hey!”

“Shut up, Steve. We let you sleep.” 

“Did I sleep?” He tossed your jacket back at you. “All I remember is you two running your mouths.” 

Javier flipped him off, “Alright, sleeping beauty why don’t you get up here and work then?”

“It’s a bad lead and you know it,” You said over your shoulder. “I’ll nap if you’d prefer to run your mouth.” 

“So rude.” Steve chuckled. “I’m good right here.” 

“I thought so.” Javier rolled his eyes, giving you a pointed look. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll be here to talk when you get back.” You reached over and gave his forearm a squeeze. “I get it.” 

Steve wedged himself in between your seats, “You got a pack open?”

Javier grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the side of the seat and tossed it back to Steve. “Happy?”

“You got a hundred bucks too?”

You snorted. 

Only five more hours. 

[fanficshiddles]

Predator to Prey, Chapter 9

Loki was gobsmacked. He was in such disbelief that Akelia was… Not a wolf. She was… Human? Then part of him was kicking himself for not realising it. Everything made sense now.

Akelia looked like a deer in headlights. Her eyes were wide, face as white as a sheet.

Loki noticed her glancing towards the bedroom. In a split second she tried to bolt for said door, but Loki was too quick and managed to strike for her like a snake.

He grabbed her and pinned her against the wall, a hand at her neck and the other planted firmly against the wall next to her head. Fear flooded her eyes as she looked between his.

She tried to change back to her wolf form, but Loki caught on and squeezed her neck.

‘Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even think about it, I will just force you back again.’ He warned.

Loki felt her gulping and she stopped trying to change. Loki’s grip eased off, but he kept his hand in place so she knew not to try anything.

‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, pet. Are you going to behave if I let you go?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded slightly, her voice was a little croaky and quiet.

Loki slowly let go of her and took a step back. His eyes flitted down her body, suddenly remembering she was naked.

‘Here.’ He conjured up his cape and handed it to her.

She wrapped the large green cape around her, glad to finally have something to cover up with. Loki motioned to the sofa.

He could tell that she was scared, he felt a little bad for scaring her. Perhaps he had come on a bit aggressive. But his mind was racing with so many questions. He also felt a little betrayed. He had shared his home and food with her, after all. And she was hiding such a big secret.

Even though he had felt all along that there was more to her...

Loki didn’t sit down, he stood on front of her, towering over her in such an intimidating manner that Akelia wanted the ground to swallow her up.

‘Can you shapeshift into anything, or just a wolf?’ Loki asked.

‘Just…  a wolf.’ She whispered.

Loki frowned, her voice sounded sore. He backed away and went to get a glass of water for her. She was grateful and gave him a half smile when he handed the glass to her.

He nibbled on his thumbnail while she drank the water. He was anxious to know more, to know everything. But he had to be patient with her.

‘I’m sorry’ She started with. ‘My voice… when I am a wolf for so long, my voice takes a while to come back.’ She croaked.

‘Don’t apologise.’ Loki sat down next to her.

‘I… I never meant for you to find out.’ She looked down at the glass in her lap, too nervous to look him in the eye.

‘Why ever not?’

She shrugged. ‘I just… I feel more comfortable as a wolf. I don’t trust anyone. Until… You…’

Loki felt his heart sink a little. He could tell by the way she was speaking and the look of her, that she had been hurt before. Her trust in people had been broken.

‘Where are you from? Were you born able to turn into a wolf?’

‘I was born here, on Earth. The next town over… I was cursed as a baby, apparently. That gave me this gift of turning into a wolf. But the curse side is that it exhausts me whenever I change. It takes a lot out of me… But you changing me didn’t seem to do so.’ Her voice was still croaky but it was starting to get better the more she talked.

‘You were cursed?’ Loki raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. ‘Seemingly the village I lived in wanted to expand. To do so, my father led the villagers to expand across the forest that was beside it. The protector of the forest wasn’t happy, kept warning everyone. But my father ignored the warnings and carried on. So then, the protector placed a curse upon me and turned me into a wolf.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I couldn’t control it when I was a baby. I kept randomly changing into a wolf cub. I was tired all the time because of it. My parents then… sent me away. I don’t remember much about when I was younger, it’s what I’ve been told. The earliest I remember is growing up on Natuheim with who I thought were my parents.’ She said sadly.

‘It’s a beautiful realm.’ Loki said.

He’d been there before, when he was younger. Odin had taken him and Thor along once. It was the realm of nature. A beautiful planet full of wildlife. Those that lived there had learned to co-exist with the animals there. The people were just guests. He imagined it was the perfect place for her to grow up, especially while learning to control how to change forms.

She nodded. ‘Yeah… It is. But it wasn’t my real home. They lied to me all my life.’

Loki breathed out heavily. ‘Well, I know the feeling.’

Akelia looked up at him as he looked back at her. They both felt their hearts breaking for one another. Akelia had listened many nights while Loki told her all about his past. They were rather alike…

‘How did you get back here?’ Loki asked.

Akelia took another sip of her water before continuing. ‘I sneaked onto a ship that was leaving Natuheim. Had no idea where it was going, but then it got attacked and raided. I was taken onto another ship and ended up on a planet called Sakaar.’

Loki felt his stomach drop.

‘You were on Sakaar?’

She nodded.

Loki felt like he was going to be sick. He had been there before... Never again. He knew that a young woman as beautiful as her won’t have had an easy ride there. He dreaded to think what happened to her while she was there, and he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know.

‘It was… horrible. I kept my wolf side hidden because I heard about The Grandmasters champion, I didn’t want to be chucked into the arena. No doubt to be killed. Someone from Vanaheim befriended me. I put my trust into him and we were close to escaping the planet. But he betrayed me. I then went a bit… mad. I turned into the wolf and fought my way out, managed to steal a spaceship and I just put it into hyperdrive and… I passed out, I don’t know what happened. When I woke, the ship had run out of fuel and was just kind of floating around in space. I thought that was it, but then a group of people came along and saved me. They took me here, to Earth. Then carried on their journey. Until you, they were the nicest people I’d met and I was only with them for less than an hour.’

‘You’re very lucky you managed to escape from Sakaar. Not a lot manage to get away from there and live to tell the tale.’ Loki said with a lump in his throat, feeling relieved she had indeed managed to get away.

‘I know… I was stuck there for about five years. Though at least it felt shorter there, cause of the weird time thing they have going on.’ She looked down at the glass in her hands again.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’re human?’ Loki asked.

She took a moment before answering. ‘I just… I don’t trust people. I found that being a wolf everyone was just scared of me and respected me. They didn’t try and hurt or belittle me. I found it was just… easier. Safer. After two years of being a wolf I kind of just forgot that I was human. When you helped me with my leg, it was a kindness I hadn’t had in a long time. I was curious too, because I knew you weren’t human.’

‘But you didn’t quite trust me enough to tell me about this?’ Loki asked, trying not to sound too hurt.

‘No… I do… I do trust you.’ She said, looking up at him. ‘I was just worried you wouldn’t want anything to do with me as a human. I mean, you don’t exactly seem to like them from what you’ve told me.’ She said quietly.

Loki rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. ‘I guess I have been speaking bad of mortals.’

‘I’ve just become too comfortable and safe as a wolf.’ She said.

Loki nodded in understanding.

‘What’s your real name?’ He asked.

‘It’s Maryanne. But I don’t like it.’

‘Well, shall I continue to call you Akelia?’ Loki chuckled.

‘Yeah.’ She nodded and smiled.

‘Akelia it is then.’ He smiled back at her. ‘I do have one, ok maybe a lot of questions. But, that time when you disappeared for a while and returned really down… What was that about?’

Akelia looked down, she didn’t want to talk about it. But she felt that he deserved an answer.

‘I attempted to go and see my real parents again. When I first got back to Earth, I went to see them but they looked so happy and content without me. So I didn’t bother. But after some things you said, I decided to try. But when I went to their door, they were shocked to see me and then told me they didn’t want anything to do with me. That I was a… monster.’

Loki reached over and put his hand over hers, making her jump a little. She looked at him and saw him looking at her with a kindness in his eyes that made her heart melt.

‘One thing I don’t really get is that normally when I shift forms myself, I am exhausted afterwards for a day or so. I have no energy or strength basically. But when you turned me, it was ok.’

Loki raised an eyebrow and hummed, leaning back. ‘Interesting… Perhaps that is part of your curse. If that’s the worst part, then as far as curses go, I’d say you got off rather lightly.’

‘Yeah, I guess so. She is part of me now, I feel more confident and empowered as a wolf. I think I’d be pretty gutted without her.’

Loki nodded. ‘It makes perfect’ He was cut off when there was the sound of someone coming down through the trees. He rushed over to the window to look and saw a few men from the village. He groaned in irritation.

‘Give me a minute.’ He said to Akelia, his armour and daggers forming on him.

‘Change me back. I can deal with them quickly.’ Akelia said eagerly.

‘I don’t think so. You might run off, and we still have a lot more to discuss.’ Loki said firmly.

Akelia sighed and muttered under her breath while Loki went outside to deal with the intruders.

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [7/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: She had engaged in dominatrix services from Sabrina’s principal. It was enough to make her light-headed. 

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. Chapter ends angsty with mentions of self-harm (nothing explicit or overt, just a Lilith advising Zelda that she was pushing her limits to hurt her self)

Zelda chewed on her thumbnail, looking across the expanse of lingerie she owned. She was suddenly finding herself indecisive over what set to wear––something she usually wasn’t.

Usually, she’d go for the ivory and black set (a favourite), but Lilith had seen that. There was a ruby set, but Zelda wasn’t sure she liked how it went with her hair. Maybe the emerald, she wondered, or the black (also a favourite).

She sighed, standing in her dressing robe. She never fussed this much when dating any man, outside of the occasional birthday. It’d been some time since she was nervous over the idea of what to wear, which only further set her in a state of unease. Was it because Lilith initiated her enough that she felt a need to impress the woman, or was it something deeper?

Was she perhaps so lonely, that she’d projected a romantic fantasy onto the woman? It wasn’t unheard of.

But that didn’t solve her current issue: the choice between lingerie.

It was hardly as if she had anyone else’s opinion to ask. She’d never been one to have close female friends. She had a group of girlfriends in school, a long time ago, but she wouldn’t ever refer to that as being close friends. There’d been far too much backstabbing and bitching of one another to be anything but rivals masking as friends.

Perhaps that said something about her more than she liked. The closest person she could refer to as a friend was Constance Blackwood, and that was only because Constance had once advised, while drunk at a mixer, that everyone was a bunch of cowardly bitches and Zelda was the only person she trusted to tell the truth.

But she couldn’t contact her about this.

Sighing, she drew away, grabbing at the ivory set. It was an old favourite and would just have to do for now. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already had sex with the woman (though both times had been impromptu) and Lilith had seen her in lingerie before. So what did it matter what she wore? She was showered and clean, and in the end, it was all that mattered.

She switched for the emerald.

And then she dressed in a simple black dress, smoothing the arms down. The dress was simple, casual, and acted as a disguise for her as she came down the stairs.

“Ohh, you look nice,” Hilda said. “Off to somewhere?”

Zelda looked at the time. It was still early in the morning at least. “The office, my laptop is in the computer shop, and I have work I need to get done by Monday.” Not entirely false. She did plan on going to the school’s library afterwards.

Hilda seemed to frown at her but didn’t say anything. “Well, I’ll be off to Doctor Cee’s, did you want me to drop you off.”

Zelda paused. There was no way in hell she’d allow that. “There’s no need. I’ll be at University for some time.”

“Are you sure, I finish at four, I could pick you up again?”

Zelda pressed her lips shut. “Quite,” she said. “What time are you leaving?”

“Oh, well Doctor Cee’s opening so I’ll probably wander off in about fifteen minutes.”

Zelda nodded. She’d leave a little later; otherwise, Hilda was likely to see her going the opposite way to the University, and she honestly didn’t need that. Besides, she usually ended up fifteen minutes early.

Zelda realised her mistake too late when she realised that Saturday mornings were quite busy with the weekend markets, causing the streets to be busy with pedestrians, leading to arrive on the other side of town late.

Dreadfully late.

She was an entire ten minutes late. Tardy by all accounts, and when she rang the doorbell, Lilith opened it up with raised brow. “I believe I warned you that I don’t appreciate late clients,” she said, blocking the door.

“Believe me. It was not by choice. I had forgotten about the Saturday mid-morning traffic. I don’t usually drive to this end of town, as you can imagine. Or to town at all on the weekend.”

Lilith’s eyebrows rose, “Perhaps I should buy you a GPS, and then you can listen to its advice on traffic? Or perhaps I should have you read the clock face on the wall until I’m satisfied that you can tell the time?”

Zelda flushed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Mm, odds are now in the favour that it will occur again,” Lilith said, before pushing away from the door to allow her entrance. “But you can make it up to me. Get inside before someone sees you, Ms Spellman.”

Zelda shivered, stepping into the hallway. Though she expected Lilith to lead her up to the bedroom, the woman instead led her down the hall, past the kitchen, to the garden.

Zelda swallowed. The garden was outside, and it was a Saturday. Having parked her car, she was aware that the businesses on either side of the building were open. The streets were not busy by any stretch of the definition, but the garage door had been open, and the mattress store had its lights on.

She trusted that they weren’t aware of what Lilith’s business was, given that it was unmarked, but felt nervous nonetheless as Lilith opened the door to the patio, leading her outside.

“Yesterday, I admit I was deliciously surprised by the reaction you had,” Lilith said, as she continued to lead her from the concrete to the stone path leading underneath the great tree. “And I have the strangest suspicion that you are an exhibitionist.”

“Exhibitionist?” Zelda said. “I hardly think so.”

“Mm, and if I fucked out here with the sound of the mechanics working on cars, you wouldn’t get off on the idea that you had to keep quiet?”

Zelda flushed. She could hear the sounds of hammering on metal, the odd chatter and laughter from the garage.

“I bet if I even just told you to get undressed right now, you’d be in a quivering mess at the idea of kneeling on the grass, naked as people were next door going about their lives.”

Zelda shut her eyes, looking away. Admittedly, she could see the point that Lilith was getting at. There was every possibility that, perhaps, she wasn’t entirely against the idea of outdoor sex. “Isn’t exhibitionism the idea of being watched?”

Lilith shrugged. “For some people. For some, it’s just thrill that they might get caught.” Lilith’s hands were slipping over her waist, and suddenly Zelda was finding herself back up against the great tree. “If you’re very, very quiet, no one will know. But if you’re loud, and I know you’re loud, the man will go out of their way to peak over that great big fence and see what’s going on and we don’t want that, now do we?”

Zelda looked to the fence line. It was rather tall, difficult to see over. They’d have to get a stepladder to do it. Which given that they’re a mechanic, was not entirely impossible for them. Likely they had one lying about or boxes, or some sort of implement they could use to peak over if they were curious enough.

“Do you think you can be quiet?” Lilith enquired, and her hands were already tugging up the skirt of her dress, fingers raking over her bare skin. “Or will I have to gag you?”

Zelda scoffed. “I can be quiet,” she assured. “I do live in a house with three other people.”

Lilith drew over her skin, playing with the lace on her hips as she leant forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. Zelda sighed into her mouth, drawing her lips over hers as she wrapped her arms around Lilith’s shoulders.

There was something about the way that Lilith kissed. A tenderness in how she first started, drawing over her, before she would deepen the kiss, drawing more and more passion into it until it was teeth and tongue and Zelda felt as if she was drowning in rapturous delight.

And then Lilith’s mouth was drawing down her neck and shoulders, kissing there as she unzipped the dress and shoved it down her arms, leaving it to bunch around her waist as she moved to draw her mouth over her shoulders, her clavicle, down over her breasts peaking from teal lace and silk.

Lilith drew the straps of the bra down her shoulders, allowing the cups to slip down over her ribs, exposing her breasts.

“Give me your hands,” Lilith said, before kissing her again so dizzily, that Zelda forgot to ask why.

She dropped her hands from Lilith’s shoulders and felt the woman slip what felt like a leather cuff over one hand and then the other. And then Lilith was pulling back and drawing Zelda’s cuffed arms up into the air, over a branch.

Looking up, Zelda watched as the woman attached a double-ended snap hook on a metal clap on either cuff, over the top of a rather sturdy branch, leaving Zelda to stand awkwardly with her arms in the air.

“Much better,” Lilith said, raking her eyes over Zelda.

And then Lilith’s mouth was descending again.

Zelda’s hands grasped at the branches, trying to hold onto something as her legs became unsteady. It was divine and sinful at the same time. She could hear the sound of drilling, of hammering, of men talking and laughing to each other and as she became more and more aware of them, she felt a tightness tugging low in her belly, a need to gasp and swallow back the building sounds.

It was different to when she had brought long-term partners home or had masturbated in the depths of her sheets. Here, there was an absolute desire to want to get caught. To have the men intrigued, trying to peak over the fences and see nothing, knowing that something was going on.

Zelda whined low, biting her lip to prevent it from escaping as Lilith laughed, her tongue and teeth working on once breast as her hand worked the other.

“I once made someone orgasm from this alone.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zelda responded breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as she leant back against the tree.

“Usually, you argue with me. And here I was, all ready to prove my point,” Lilith said before dropping her mouth again against the nipple, teeth drawing over as she did something with her mouth that caused a sudden spike of desire to shoot straight through to Zelda’s core.

“God! Lilith I…” she rocked her hips, a whine pulling from the back of her throat. She wanted more. She was so close already she could feel her legs trembling.

Lilith pulled back, eyes staring up at her and Zelda clamped her jaw shut, trying to stand strong. “You will need to be careful,” Lilith warned. “If you can’t be quiet, I might have to find something else to do with you.”

Zelda swallowed and nodded, head rolling back to look up at the tree and the dappled light. She felt a hand squeeze over one breast and then felt Lilith tug at the bunched dress, dropping it down her legs to spill around her feet.

“If you’re quiet, I’ll give you a reward later.”

Her head dropped down, eyebrows rising “What kind of reward?”

“Be good, and I’ll let you know,” Lilith said, as her fingers played with her breast and nipple, squeezing with enough pressure that Zelda bit her lip, holding back the whimpers. “Can you be good for me?”

“Mmhmm,” Zelda managed to say, under certain in how the woman knew how to do what she did.

“Good,” Lilith said, and then her mouth was kissing down, between her chest, over her ribs, and down and Zelda was pressing her hands back against the tree, listening to the sound of mechanical work and idle chatter fill her as Lilith reached the scrap of emerald between her thighs.

She expected it to be pulled down or pushed to the side, or whatever, but Lilith’s tongue drew over it prominently as she drew a hand down Zelda’s waist, nails dragging over the skin, across the hip to thigh and then she was tugging at the back of Zelda’s leg, bending the knee until Zelda had a leg thrown over Lilith’s shoulder.

Her shoe fell off onto the ground, and Zelda didn’t care. Didn’t care if it got muddied or grass stains, not when Lilith was doing whatever that was.

Grasping at the bough of the tree, Zelda pressed her back against bark, feeling it scrape over her body as she rocked her hips over Lilith’s tongue.

If Lilith wasn’t careful, she was going to make her climax in her underwear, likely ruining them.

Who was she kidding? She could feel how wet she was already; it was slick and sticking, sliding with every movement. Her underwear was ruined already.

What she really wanted was the woman’s fingers inside of her, fucking her like she had yesterday.

Zelda bit her lip and made the terrible decision to look down just as Lilith looked up. Her eyes were bright, a smirking pulling at her lips as her tongue slid over, firmly pressing as her hand continued to squeeze and pinch.

It wasn’t enough sensation, and as Zelda’s hips jerked, her bare heel digging into Lilith’s back, she felt a string of curse words leave her mouth. There was a brief sound of mechanics stopping, laughter dying with a curious lilt of conversation as the men needed to pause in their work.

And then Lilith's fingers were tugging the underwear aside, and her tongue was sliding over her sex, and two fingers were pressing inside of her, and Zelda knew she needed to keep quiet. She knew she couldn’t say another word.

Tilting her head into her bound arms, she tried to muffle the moans spilling from her. And then, like relief, the orgasm came, and she was whining into the flesh of her bicep, focusing on the way that she was squeezing around Lilith’s fingers…until they slipped away and Lilith’s tongue gave a last lick.

Zelda drew in a breath, eyes going skyward to focus on the sun before she dropped down to look at the smirking woman as Lilith slowly eased Zelda’s foot onto the ground. And then she was rising, her hands holding Zelda steady as she kissed her.

Tenderly, softly her lips moved over hers, and Zelda felt herself quiver with the touch. An ache building in her chest.

“Look at you, you almost managed it,” Lilith said.

“Almost?”

“Oh yes, you were rather noisy just before the end. A passing grade, I suppose.”

“Passing grade,” Zelda nearly yelped, eyes narrowing. “What in God’s name does that even mean.”

Lilith hummed, her hands drawing circles over Zelda’s torso. “It means that you’re all mine, and I get to inflict all sorts of punishments to you.” Her hand came up, cupping under Zelda’s jawline, her thumb stroking over her cheek. “Don’t worry. I promise that you won't enjoy this as much as I will.”

Zelda shivered, standing up as tall as she could as she adjusted her grip on the tree. There was nothing she wanted more than to touch Lilith right now. Stroke her hands over her skin and run it through her hair. The most she could do without looking to wanton was lean back against the tree and hoped she looked as seductive as possible.

Lilith’s eyes darkened, a slow breath pulling into her lungs, and Zelda knew she had her for the moment. That if she said the right words, she could do the very same things to Lilith that she’d done to her.

And right now, the idea of tying Lilith up and going down on her until she was pleading, was exactly what she had in mind.

Lilith laughed, looking away. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “Whatever naughty thought you have in your head if you want our roles to reverse, you’re going to have to ask me very, very nicely.”

Zelda considered asking to be untied, to act as the dominant one in this situation, but it defeated the purpose. She didn’t want to ask. She just wanted.

“Now be a good girl and wait here for me,” Lilith said, her hand dropping away. Zelda watched as she stepped back, and then made her way down the stone path, back to the house. It left Zelda tied up, her bra still around her waist, underwear sitting uncomfortably to one side, and her hands bound above her in the tree.

Zelda shivered as a breeze brushed through the garden, making her all the more aware of her undressed state, even with the warm light coming through the trees.

She ended up kicking off her other heel, uncomfortable wearing just one shoe, and standing on the balls of her feet, leaning back against the tree as Lilith finally returned with items in tow.

“Don’t you look good enough to eat,” Lilith proclaimed, setting her tools aside. Zelda eyed them with interest before Lilith’s brow rose, and she used her frame to block the view of whatever was brought out. “No peeking,” she said, before bending back over her assortment, seeming to hum to herself as she chose between them.

Zelda pushed on her feet, already growing tired of waiting, before Lilith picked something up and turned around, holding whatever it was behind her back.

She tucked it in the back of her skirt and then walked up, hands drawing over Zelda’s body, her nails raking over her hips to the dip in her waist, and then up.

“I’m going to turn you around, and then I’m going to mark your back, and you’re going to take it like a good girl because you were late. Do you know how many minutes you were late?”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen,” Lilith correct. “You should have arrived at least five minutes before your allocated session.”

Zelda nodded, feeling the haze of endorphins slip over her still as Lilith reached up and unbound her before having her turn around and binding her up again.

The woman pressed against her back, and Zelda sighed as she felt how warm she was. “Do you remember your safe word?”

“Music box,” Zelda confirmed.

Lilith’s hand combed through her head, nails bluntly rolling over her scalp and Zelda sighed into the touch. Sometimes it felt like Lilith was conditioning her, that when she combed her fingers, it was a reminder that she was safe. And then Lilith pressed a brief kiss to her back, and Zelda sighed at the touch.

If it was the case, she didn’t mind a single bit.

“Let’s begin then, shall we?”

The flogging session drew over her back, and Zelda felt the mixture of endorphins acting as a somewhat effective numbing agent. Lilith’s strikes were strong and firm, and Zelda felt the leather strike down her skin and around her breasts. When the nipples were hit on the very edge, she hissed, pushing up on her toes. She’d taken eight strikes so far––halfway there.

Lilith paused, stepped forward to press her kiss down her back, unclasping the bra to it drop away.

Zelda exhaled, her heart beating fast as she felt the woman’s hands hold her steady. Her skin felt hot, and the cool hand drew over her, soothing. Zelda could feel her nerves running raw, building pressure in her chest. If she pushed too far, she was going to cry again.

But if she was honest…a part of her wanted to.

Work had built to new capacities of stressful, and there was so much she needed to do––with her computer out of action, she was doubling her work.

She would never allow herself to break in front of her family. But Lilith wasn’t family.

The strikes came again, and Zelda gripped at the bough of the tree, holding onto it firm as she felt one, after another. The sound was loud and sharp. There was a different feeling of the strikes than it had been in the office and the bedroom.

By the twelfth strike, she was biting her lip, feeling the emotions build inside of her, and suddenly she was in doubt that she did want to break. The sex had been wonderful, and the bondage was soothing, but this…she wasn’t sure she liked this.

Thirteen, Zelda gasped. It hit hard over her shoulder, ringing through her body. There was a masochistic want growing inside of her, a need for the strikes to be harder. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted them to burn across her back and mark her skin. She deserved it. Need it.

Fourteen. Zelda’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. One more, one more was all she had to stand and then it was all hers.

Her eyes were pricking as she stared at the tree, studying the grooves, and then Zelda could feel her mind receding away. She could feel the sting against her back, hear the sound of weapon, but all she could think about was––

A hand touched her and Zelda flinched, feeling anger grow inside of her as she turned over her shoulder to look at…

…at Lilith.

Her arms were undone, and she was falling against the woman, and Lilith was pulling her back to stand up again, eyes searching over her. “Where did you go?” she asked, and there was a firmness to her voice. She was displeased with her.

Zelda felt that harder than any strike and pulled herself backwards, onto her feet as she leant against the tree and crossed her arms, covering her chest up. “Unless I suddenly developed the ability to teleport, I didn’t go anywhere.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed at her. She picked up Zelda’s clothes and then made a gesture to her head to get inside. This wasn’t the place to discuss.

Zelda followed her into the house, the door shutting behind her as she was lead to the kitchen. On the wall, Zelda could see they still had another hour of the session left.

But Lilith didn’t move to make tea. Instead, she directed Zelda to sit down in one chair, as she sat across from her, setting the clothes carefully to the side of the table. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly.”

Zelda looked up at her feeling a curtain of red hair cover half of face. Jaw clenching, she nodded.

“Are you using these sessions as a way to punish yourself?”

“As opposed to what?” Zelda inquired. “Aren’t these sessions meant for punishment?”

“Let me re-phrase the question then,” Lilith said, unimpressed by her response. “Are you using me as a proxy to self-harm?”

Zelda stared at her. Perhaps once upon a time, long ago, she’d been partial to such a thing, but that had been years and years ago. So far ago now that she could barely recall. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but the venom wasn’t in her voice, and Zelda found herself looking away, feeling the words claw at her.

Lilith’s hands reached out, covering her own and Zelda looked up, swallowing a painful lump in her throat. “You need to be upfront with me about this.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, and then “Not at first…”

“But today?”

“Today I…” she didn’t know how to admit it, that a part of her had sunk into the scene, needed to feel the hits hurt and sting, past her limits. Well past her limits. She should have stopped at the twelfth hit.

Zelda drew her hands away from Lilith, pulling them into her lap. She bit her tongue, trying to shove the rising emotions back down her throat.

Lilith sighed before her, her own hands dropping away. “This is as much my fault. I should have checked in with you sooner. But I can not and will not be that proxy for you. We can engage in sex, and we can engage in BDSM if it’s truly a sexual exploration or kink that you enjoy, but I will not hit you just because you want to scratch at your trauma.”

“Trauma?” Zelda yelped. “This is not an ill-attempt to hurt me for the sake of trauma.”

“Are you so sure? Because I think you came here because you wanted to feel something, and instead of hurting yourself or using drugs, you came to me.” Her head tilted at her, and Zelda felt as if she was cutting through every barrier Zelda had. “You’re drowning, and I will not participate in that destruction.”

Zelda scoffed, looking away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No, but I know people like you. Burying themselves in work and family obligations, burning themselves out until they can’t feel anything, getting off on a well-placed pat on the head. You don’t need a dominatrix. You need a therapist.” She stood up then, and Zelda watched as she went into one of the many cupboards, pulling out a card before she came over and handed it to her.

Zelda looked at the card. It was white and blue, simple, with a little embossed ocean wave in the corner. “You’re giving me the card of a therapist.”

Lilith nodded. “Get help before you destroy yourself. Believe me, I’ve been down this path, and you won’t find salvation at the end of it. You’ll just sink further and further until you’re letting men do things to you that you’d previously never allow.”

Zelda took the card, her expression tightening. “It wasn’t just about that.”

Lilith’s face softened as she sat back down. “I enjoy engaging in your services, Zelda. But I also have a duty of care to you and myself.”

Zelda bit her tongue, pulling her hands away. She didn’t like the way the woman was looking at her. She didn’t like how she’d peeled back her skin and peered underneath, seeming to touch at the core of Zelda that she, herself didn’t want to acknowledge.

How dare she? She didn’t come here to seek counselling services. She asked for a simple transaction of labour, and now that was being refused.

“Well,” she clipped. “I suppose a thank you is in order.” She rose to her feet, suddenly feeling far more naked than she liked as she snatched at the clothes on the table and began pulling them on. “And, I suppose that’s the end of it, then?” she inquired.

“You don’t have to pay for this session. And don't leave, you should––”

“No, I insist. We engaged in services, and you were apart of them,” Zelda said, hearing the coldness in her voice. “It’s only fair that I pay you what services were rendered. Don't bother about anything else, I hardly need any alleged aftercare since, apparently, I'm only engaging in this as some sick attempt to hurt myself.”

Lilith’s face drew tight, her lips pressing shut as she seemed to bite back a comment. Zelda thought about pushing at it, prodding at the words beneath the surface, but knew it wasn’t worth burning any more fuel onto whatever fire had grown inside of her.

Instead, Zelda zipped up her dress as Lilith took out her receipt book, signing the paper over.  Zelda reached into her handbag and pulled out her wallet, handed the cash over.

That was the end of that, she thought, fixing her hair. Like Hell, she would attend a therapist. She’d sooner return to attending confession at the local catholic church.

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes: Chapter 6

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

word count: 5078

If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, feel free to reach out!

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Glenn couldn’t be gone there was no way. There was no time to really process what happened before Daryl’s attention immediately turned back to the boy. Dove lunged forward and tried to grab Daryl’s arm, but was only able to grasp his shoulder tightly as he swung at the boy. She dug her heels into the ground as she heard Rick and T-Dog approach. “Stop it,” Rick shouted.

Dove nodded quickly and stepped aside as Rick grabbed Daryl. The two of them pushed back further into the alley. T-Dog looked confused as ever but Dove just pointed. “Grab him!” She motioned towards the boy who looked ready to make a break for it.

“I’m gonna kick your nuts up in your throat,” she heard Daryl shout as she marched over and grabbed the boy by the wrist. Her head was pounding.

“Let me go!” The boy shouted.

T-Dog shoved him back against the wall, “Chill out!”

“They took Glenn! That little bastard and his little bastard homie friends,” Daryl yelled as he paced like an animal. Rick looked back quickly before he turned his attention back to Daryl.

“He’s not making it up,” Dove called over to Rick, “His friends took Glenn…and tried to get the guns.”

Daryl pointed over Rick’s shoulder. “I’m gonna stomp your ass, kid.”

Dove felt her anxiety rising as the chaos ensued around her. Then she heard Rick yell for them to move and the boy was pulled from her grip by T-Dog. “C’mon! Let’s go!” She followed as fast as she could. Part of her still wanted to raise absolute hell and just run down the street to try to get Glenn back, but that just sounded like more of a death wish than anything had in the past few weeks.

She realized once they were inside that her hands were empty. “Shit!” She stopped in the middle of the hallway. T-Dog shoved the boy against the wall again as he turned to scrutinize her.

“Why’d you stop,” he hissed back down the hall.

Dove threw her hands up in the air before she rested them on the back of her head, “The crowbar! I promised Jim I was gonna…” She trailed off as Rick and Daryl rounded the corner. The weapon was shoved roughly back into her hands as the two of them walked past her. More stomped in Daryl’s case.

“C’mon. I meant what I said. No one’s savin your ass. Better not drop that shit again, girl,” Daryl called over his shoulder after her. Dove sucked in a deep breath as she wrapped her fingers tightly around her weapon again.

It was hard to keep up with a fast moving group when your head was pounding. Dove entered the room and her gaze fell on the boy seated in a chair. “I ain’t telling you nothing,” was the response he gave to whatever they had asked him. This was going great.

T-Dog looked away from the boy, back at Daryl. “What the hell happened back there, man?” He had a right to ask. There hadn’t been much time to explain.

“I told you! This little turd and his douchebag friends came out of nowhere and jumped me! Damn near knocked bird out tryin to beat the shit out of me too,” Daryl glared at the boy as he paced.

Dove narrowed her eyes as the boy replied, “You’re the one who jumped me, puto. Screamin bout trying to find his brother like it’s my damn fault.”

“Yeah? And your guys ganged up on him with weapons. On top of that, it was two on one. He tried to ask you a question, you didn’t answer. So I think it’s best you start answerin,” Dove pointed to crowbar in the boy’s direction. A warning look from Rick only caused her to shake her head and set the weapon down. Eyes not leaving the boy, she leaned up against the side of the desk as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“They took Glenn. Could’ve taken Merle too,” Daryl attempted to reason with the others. On one hand, she could see how it made sense. On the other, it definitely seemed like he was reaching for any possibility that his brother could be alive and not bleeding out in the street somewhere.

“Merle? What kind of hick name is that,” the boy snickered, “I wouldn’t name my dog Merle.” Dove pursed her lips and shared a worried yet amused look with T-Dog for a moment before Daryl lashed out. This time, he aimed a kick right for the boy’s head. The brunette really had to admire the sheriff’s reflexes, especially when it came to keeping the angry redneck from beating someone.

Instead of staying back, Daryl marched right past Rick and began digging in Glenn’s backpack. Dove straightened up and tilted her head to the side as she observed what was happening. “Want to see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off,” Daryl said. His tone was eerily calm as he turned to the side so they could see what he was holding. It was the do-rag he had borrowed from T-Dog.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Dove whispered as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. She fought back a laugh as Daryl threw the severed hand right into the boy’s lap. She couldn’t understand why she found it funny, but if she had to venture a guess it would probably be the stress.

The boy screamed as he threw himself out of the chair and onto the floor. “Start with the feet this time,” Daryl still sounded amazingly calm as he gripped the boy up by the collar. Rick took advantage of the situation, he was really good at playing good cop.

“We just want to talk to your friends,” he said calmly as he got down to the boy’s level,” See if we can work something out.”

Daryl leaned over to pick up the hand off the ground as Dove spoke up again from behind the desk. “We don’t wanna have to let him cut your feet off, but if you don’t talk to us or tell us anything,” she shrugged her shoulders, “We just might not be able to stop him.” She smiled at the boy. The boy’s eyes flickered nervously between all of the others in the room.

He gulped and nodded his head slowly. “Alright. Just keep that crazy puto away from me!” It was almost sad to see the way the boy almost plead with Rick, but it was worth it. They were going to get their answers.

~

A little while later, Dove was seated alongside a brick wall; dark eyes locked on the boy as he sat away from the rest of them. She found herself feeling bad for the boy. Odds were he had no idea what was going on when Daryl started yelling about Merle and yet he found himself in this insanity with them. Dove’s attention shifted to Rick as he spoke up. “You ready?” He stared at her for a moment before she nodded.

The brunette nodded her head as she looked down at the gun that had been placed in her hand. It made her nervous as hell just holding the thing.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the boy again as he threatened to put an arrow in his ass. T-Dog shook his head as the kid retaliated with, “G’s gonna take that arrow out of my ass and shove it up yours. Just so you know.”

“G?” Rick questioned as he finally turned his attention back to their hostage.

“Guillermo. He’s the man here.”

Dove rolled her eyes as she rested her back against the wall. “Some man he is. Sendin a kid out to do his dirty work and shit.”

Rick hummed in agreement before loading his gun. “Let’s go see Guillermo.”

Dove stood as she watched Daryl disappear through the window.

There was a moment of silence before either one of the lookouts spoke. “We don’t tell Carol about what a shit show this was or I’ll be the next one handcuffed except this time to a fucking car. Deal?” She turned her head, a serious expression on her face.

T-Dog pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “Christ. Deal. Only because Dale doesn’t need to be putting us all on lockdown either.”

Dove smirked as she followed quietly after T-Dog. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

Once they were in their positions, Dove peeked over the edge of the building. “Holy shit that’s a lot of people,” she mumbled as she looked through the scope of her gun.

“If this goes south, I say we book it,” T-Dog whispered. The only response he got was a gentle slap on the back of the head.

Finally, the other man looked in their direction as he followed Rick’s gaze.

“Make the trade. Please,” T-Dog practically prayed.

There was a shout from down below and she saw Rick’s gaze go up toward the roof of the building. Dove’s attention snapped in the same direction and her stomach dropped. She gripped the handle of the gun tighter as she bit down on her tongue hard to keep from shouting. Glenn was alive at least for now.

“Fuckin bastards,” Dove’s hands began to shake and her ears rang. She couldn’t even pay attention to what was happening with Rick right now. In fact, a shoot out could be happening right under her nose and her only thought might still be about getting Glenn down off that roof safe and alive. T-Dog nudged her arm, finally bringing her attention back to reality.

“Let’s go, cmon.” He didn’t seem happy at all and they were walking away without Glenn.

~

Dove paced the room as Rick slammed the bag of guns onto the table. She chewed on her already bitten thumbnail as she tried to keep herself calm.

“Those guns are worth more than gold. Gold won’t protect your family or put food on the table,” Daryl said. Was he actually trying to reason with someone? “You willing to give that up for that kid?”

That triggered something in Dove’s brain and she stomped over, a finger pointed right in Daryl’s face. “You best take that back, Dixon!”

“What? It’s the truth! You willing to give away something that could keep you or your sister from dyin to save some kid who wanted to put himself on death’s door,” Daryl didn’t back down. She had counted on that.

“You’re damn right I am! I would die for Glenn if I had to! You were about to put both of our asses in the grave when you decided to fight Miguel in that alleyway when you thought he might have Merle. So don’t you dare try to preach to anyone about what we gotta give up for anyone else in the group. You got me,” Dove’s hazel eyes could have burned holes right through Daryl if T-Dog hadn’t stepped in between them. A hand pressed against each of their shoulders as he pushed them away from each other.

“Listen. If I knew he would hold up his end of the deal and give Glenn back, I might agree to it. But you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?” T-Dog looked right into Rick’s eyes as he said this.

“You calling G a liar,” Miguel piped up from the floor.

“Are you a part of this,” Daryl snapped at him just before he slapped him on the side of the head. Dove gripped the edge of the desk tightly as she struggled to regain her composure. “You want to hold onto your teeth, kid?”

“Question is, do you trust that man’s word,” T-Dog spoke up again.

“No. The real question is, what are you willing to bet on it,” Daryl cut him off before he could say anything else. “Could be more than guns. Could be your life.” Dove glanced over her shoulder and caught Daryl’s eye for a second before he looked away.

“What life I have I owe to him,” Rick stated. “I was nobody to Glenn. Just some idiot stuck in a tank.” Dove stood up straighter, arms crossed in front of her chest. “He could’ve walked away but he didn’t. Neither will I.”

“So you’re gonna hand the guns over,” Daryl was surprisingly calm. Dove felt even more embarrassed about losing her cool as she listened to him actually talk reasonably to others in the group.

“I didn’t say that. There’s nothing keeping you three here. You should get out, head back to camp while it’s still light out,” Rick tried to explain to the others in the room.

“And what do we tell your family,” T-Dog sighed as he closed his eyes.

“We leave you here alone and we go back without you, without guns, without Glenn. Hell, without Merle? What was the point,” Dove shrugged her shoulders as she shifted her gaze to Rick.

The four of them looked around at each other for a moments before Daryl nodded his head. Dove reached over onto the table and grabbed the gun closest to her. She paused a moment before she shoved the crowbar back into the bag in its place. “You know how to shoot that?” Rick questioned as the other men examined their guns.

Dove pursed her lips and looked the gun over for a moment. With a shake of her head, Dove flashed Rick a surprisingly confident smile. “Nope, but I’m countin on your diplomatic talkin to make sure that I don’t have to.”

Rick frowned before he nodded at her. He held his hand out for the gun and she handed it over to him slowly. Dove’s eyes studied his hands as he loaded the gun for her. “Now listen. If it comes down to it, the safety is right here, alright?” Rick showed her and Dove nodded her head. “You remove the safety, place the butt of the rifle against your shoulder, right here. Then you look through the crosshairs to get your target. Then you pull the trigger and pray the kickback doesn’t get you.”

Dove nodded her head as she took the gun from Rick. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

~

Dove followed closely behind Rick as they moved through the courtyard of the building where the Vatos were holed up. She was still praying that they wouldn’t have to actually use their guns, but the way that Daryl shoved the boy through the door didn’t look promising for any of them.

Dove raised her rifle slightly as she followed Rick into the building. She could feel eyes on her as she walked through the doorway and she tried her best not to shiver.

“I see my guns, but they’re not all in the bag,” the leader that Dove recognized from before smirked slightly as he addressed them

“That’s because they’re not yours. I thought I mentioned that,” Rick retorted as he raised his rifle slightly.

“Let’s just shoot these fools right now, ese,” a bald headed man spoke up from next to Guillermo. Dove clenched her jaw as she felt her hands begin to shake. “Unload on their asses, ese.”

“I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation,” Guillermo eyed Rick suspiciously. Dove felt some ounce of gratitude for the man. It seemed like he had some sense still, unlike the man that had just threatened to unload on them all.

Rick shook his head at the shorter man, “No, I’m pretty clear.” Rick nodded at Dove. The brunette lowered her gun and took the pocket knife from Rick with a shaking hand. She cut through the tape around Miguel’s arm as quickly as she could before Daryl shoved the boy forward. “You have your man. I want mine.”

For a second, she thought it was over. “I’m gonna chop up your boy. Gonna feed him to my dogs.” Dove felt a hand on her shoulder and a slight shove backwards. She caught Daryl’s gaze out of the corner of her eye as he raised his gun again. She followed suit as she took in a deep breath through her nose. Nothing could ever be easy anymore. “They’re the evilest, nasiest, man-easting bitches you ever saw. I picked em up from Satan at a yard sale.” Dove quirked an eyebrow at the man. He was really trying to put on a show for a guy who seemed so ready to kill them. “I told you how it has to be, are you woefully deaf?” Yes.

“My hearing’s fine. You said come locked and loaded.” Rick raised his rifle again. Daryl and T-Dog were right behind him, gun’s locked and loaded. Dove’s hands froze in place. Her brain knew what to do but her body wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want to have to shoot someone but she sure as hell wasn’t expecting what happened next.

“Felipe,” an older woman called as she entered the room. Dove’s eyes widened in shock as T turned and pointed his gun in the direction of the new voice.

“Abuela, go back with the others,” the bald man called back at her.

“Dude what the hell is your grandmother doing,” Dove couldn’t help but hiss through gritted teeth at the man. What the fuck was going on. 

“Get that old lady outta the line of fire,” Daryl snapped, though he didn’t lower his gun.

Guillermo just sighed and seemed to roll his eyes before he turned his attention away from them. “Abuela! Listen to your mijo, okay? This is not the place for you right now.” Dove’s head was spinning. He genuinely seemed concerned about the older woman as she continued to walk closer to them despite the many protests.

“Mr. Gilbert is having trouble breathing,” the old lady pleaded with Felipe. “He needs his asthma stuff! Carlito didn’t find it.”

Despite what everyone else seemed to be doing, Dove lowered her gun. Her right hand held rightly to the butt of the rifle as she raised her left hand to cover her mouth. Then it all clicked in her head. There was a reason they didn’t just kill them all in the alleyway. They could have easily killed her, Daryl, and Glenn and made it out with the guns with no issue. But they didn’t want to. They were more like them than Rick or any of them had realized.

“Felipe!” Guillermo shouted and it broke Dove from her train of thought. “Go take care of it! And take your grandmother with you!”

She noticed the change in the bald man’s demeanor almost instantly too as he turned to his abuela. He tried to pull her away, but the old lady wasn’t leaving that easy. “Who are those men? And that girl?” The woman squinted at them and began to walk closer. Felipe tried to plead with her in Spanish again but she didn’t listen. “Don’t you take him. Felipe’s a good boy. He have his trouble but he pull himself together. We need him here.” Dove felt herself choke up a little bit at the old woman’s pleas. She turned her head and locked eyes with T, who looked just as torn as she felt.

“Ma’am. I’m not here to arrest your grandson.” Rick tried to reason with the older woman.

“Then what do you want him for,” she questioned Rick. The sheriff struggled for a moment before Dove spoke up.

“He’s…”

“Well, you see, ma’am,” she stopped for a moment. The brunette woman turned to Rick, who just nodded his head. “Our friend went missing. We think your grandson might be able to help us find him. His name is Glenn…”

“The Asian boy,” the old woman perked up slightly. “He’s with Mr. Gilbert! Come. I show you.” She reached out her hand to Rick and he paused for a moment before taking the old woman’s wrinkled hand in his. Dove could only look on in shock as the two of them started to walk away.

Guillermo closed his eyes, clearly a little frustrated before he waved his hand. “Let em pass.” Dove didn’t wait for the others as she immediately pushed past Felipe and followed as close behind Rick as she could.

She fell back a few steps as they rounded the corner into another courtyard. “Whoa…” Dove caught the eye of Felipe as he walked past her except this time, he smiled a little and nodded his head at her. “This place is amazing.” She whispered to Daryl as she fell into step next to him.

“Better than a quarry for sure,” was the only response she got. They walked up the steps and into another building in silence. Dove peered into the first room they passed as they walked inside just as Rick was taking his hat off. Another old woman was sat on a chair in the room and she turned just as Dove peeked into the doorway. A small smile appeared on the old woman’s face as she waved a hand feebly. Dove waved back slowly as she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was T; with a slight nod, he motioned for her to keep walking.

She couldn’t help but look in every room as they passed. Her heart jumped in her chest as they finally arrived in what had to have been a cafeteria of sorts. There was a little stage in front with a group of people crowded around the front of it and in that group was “Glenn!” Dove shouted. She couldn’t hold in the excitement at seeing him alive for a second longer as she ran forward.

Glenn turned his head just in time for Dove to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Oh my god, you’re alright!” She whispered as she tried to fight back tears. Glenn chuckled a little bit as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Yeah, I’m more worried about Mr. Gilbert right now. I’m fine,” he assured her.

Dove released Glenn from her grasp, only to place a hand on his shoulders before emotion took over her once again. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on both of his cheeks as Rick and the others approached. “I’m chaining your ass to that god damn RV when we get back, Rhee! I swear it.”

“What the hell is this,” Rick hissed.

“An asthma attack,” Glenn explained. Dove finally turned her attention to the scene in front of her. Her hands slipped into her back pockets as she observed Felipe administering the inhaler. These weren’t bad people at all.

“I though you were being eaten by dogs, man!” T-Dog snapped.

Glenn turned suddenly and all of their gazes followed his until they landed on three little dogs in a bed on the floor.

“Are those…” Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“Chihuahuas?”  Dove cut him off. She was quiet for another moment before a hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “Oh Jesus Christ,” she shook her head as she covered her mouth to try to stifle another laugh.

Rick was clearly not as amused as Dove heard him speak to Guillermo, “Can I have a word with you? You’re the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met.”

Dove turned her attention back to Glenn as she pointed a finger at him. “You’re lucky we like you or I would be totally kicking your ass right now.”

Daryl shook his head in amazement as T-Dog let out a deep sigh. Rick interrupted anything either of them had to say as he called out to them from the doorway before he motioned for them to follow him.

“C’mon, Karate Kid. Say goodbye to your little friends, you’re grounded,” Dove said as she grabbed Glenn by the arm and pulled him after her. She thought she heard Daryl let out a snort of laughter.

When the six of them finally reached a more isolated room, Rick questioned Guillermo. “What about the rest of your crew?”

 “The rest of the Vatos trickled in. They came in to check on their parents or grandparents, they saw how things are here. Most decided to stay,” Guillermo explained. “It’s a good thing too. We need the muscle. The people we’ve encountered since this all started? The worst kind. Plunderers. They like to take things by force.” Dove leaned back against a wall as she listened to him

“That’s not who we are.”

“How was I to know? My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage. Appearances,” Guillermo shrugged.

“I guess the world changed,” T-Dog piped up from his spot on the floor.

“No, it’s the same as it ever was. The weak get taken so we do what we can here.” Guillermo shook his head.

Dove bit her lip as she shook her head. They really were more alike than Dove thought they could ever be when she first met them in the alley way.

“These people here? They all look at me now. I don’t even know why,” Guillermo said.

Dove thought for a moment before speaking. “They probably see that you’re smart. Capable. Plus, there’s no one telling them that they can’t,” she shrugged her shoulders as she ran a hand through her long hair.

Once Rick finished splitting up the guns, they were led to the door. An immense sent of relief rushed through Dove as she realized they were going back to the group. With a final goodbye, the five of them set off in silence towards the box car. It had been a long day and, surprising no one, it was Glenn who broke the silence.

“Admit it. You only came back to Atlanta for the hat,” Glenn teased Rick as Dove let out a snort of laughter.

“And you probably only wanted to come back to steal another car,” she elbowed Glenn in the side gently as she walked alongside him.

“You gave away half our guns and ammo,” Daryl growled from alongside Rick.

“Not nearly half,” Rick corrected him calmly.

“For what,” Daryl snapped back, “A bunch of old farts? How long you think they got left anyway?” Sometimes Dove just really just wanted to grab him by the hair and slam him against a car for being so ignorant.

“How long do any of us have,” Rick retorted.

“Son of a bitch.” Dove shouted as her gaze locked on where the box car should have been.

“Where the hell’s our van,” Daryl sounded dumbfounded.

 “Who the hell would take it,” Glenn stared at the empty spot.

“Merle,” Rick snarled.

Dove clenched her jaw and shook her head. “If I ever see that bastard,” but she trailed off as a horrible thought entered her head at the same time Daryl spoke.

“He’s gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp,” Daryl actually sounded worried.

“Then we best get fucking walking because he’s not going to take some revenge on my sister,” Dove frowned as she began to move forward.

Rick nodded his head. “Right. Glenn?”

Glenn rubbed his face before releasing an annoyed grunt. “We can probably make it back by nightfall.”

“Let’s go!” Dove shouted as she slipped through the hole they’d cut in the gate. The only thing on her mind now was getting back to her sister before things got bad.

~

Dove ran behind Glenn as the thought of getting back to Carol was the only thing that kept her moving. Her legs were tired and her lungs were burning, but for the first time all day since Glenn had went missing she thought of her family. A million emotions and thoughts ran through her head as she ran. Guilt, fear, and regret were among the many. While she was happy that they were all able to return safely, she was worried about what had happened while they were gone. What if Ed had done something while she was gone? She was really going to kill him when they got back.

“We’re getting close,” Glenn spoke up as they slowed down.

Dove drew in a deep breath but any reply was lost as gun shots rang through the air. Panic shook her to the core and before anyone could stop her she screamed, “Carol!” Dove was off like a shot in the dark. Her feet carried her faster than she could ever remember running as the screams and gun shots got closer with every second. The metal from the crowbar in her hand dug into her palm as she gripped it tight.

A scream left her throat as she broke through the tree line and brought the claw end of the crowbar right down into a walker’s face. She had never killed one before but there was no time to think. The screaming kept continuing and the gun shots from Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl rang out around her. Dove’s brain only seemed to focus on Sophia. She was screaming from somewhere up by the RV. As she looked around, she caught sight of Daryl as he slammed the butt of his gun into a walker’s head over and over.

“Carol,” Dove shouted over the chaos. “Sophia?” She shouted even louder as she saw Carl run forward and hug Rick. Finally she saw them. Carol was crouched next to her, arms protectively around Sophia. A sob escaped her as she stumbled forward towards them. It seemed like it took forever, but she collapsed next to them on her knees and wrapped her arms around both of them. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” The words spilled out through choked sobs as Sophia cried and wrapped both of her arms around her aunt’s waist.

Carol smoothed Dove’s hair out of her face as she stifled a sob. “We’re okay…we’re okay.” Then anything she said was cut off by Andrea’s screaming. It chilled her to the bone as Carol grabbed Dove by the arm and helped her to her feet, Sophia still clung to her waist as the three of them continued to choke back sobs.

“I remember my dream now,” Jim spoke suddenly. Dove turned her gaze from her sister to the older man. “Why I dug the holes.” Then he said nothing else. He didn’t have to because as she finally took in her surroundings, Dove could only see bodies littering the ground around them.

_____

@crossbowking​

[mldrgrl]

Safety in Numbers

by: mldrgrl Rating: R Summary: The Hanella in quarantine fic some of you have been waiting so patiently for.

It happens so quickly and it’s shocking, even if she suspected it might happen.  Overnight, everything just stops.  An emergency conference call is held and just like that, she’s teaching in a virtual classroom and toilet paper is suddenly one of her biggest concerns.  And the nightmares come, stealing her sleep and leaving her restless.  It’s only been a week.

Unable to sit still to give a lecture, she creates a station for herself on the butcher’s block in the kitchen area.  If her students only knew the things that had happened on that butcher’s block, but she could say that about nearly every wall and surface of the loft.  They’d probably never imagine she was capable, not in a million years.  She’s heard stories of other classrooms turning this new landscape they were in into entertainment - wearing silly hats, creating silly backgrounds on their screens, wearing pajamas - but not her.  She makes it clear from day one, criminology is a serious study and they are to treat it as such.

She’s just ended a discourse on crime scene containment when Hank emerges from the bedroom.  He hasn’t showered or shaved yet, even though it’s noon and she knows he’s been up writing since before she began her lecture.  His eyes are squinted and his lip is curled up as though he’s just eaten something distasteful.

“What timing,” Stella says, closing the lid of her laptop.

“Yeah, I…”  Hank pauses and rubs the back of his head so that his hair spikes up.  “Uh…”

“Something the matter, Watson?”

“Karen just called me.”

Stella is immediately awash with concern.  “Everything alright?  Is someone ill?”

“I don’t know.  She wants you to call her.  Said she would’ve actually called you herself, but she wasn’t sure of your teaching schedule and didn’t want to interrupt.”  

“I’ll ring her now.  Any idea what it’s about?”

“None.  She assured me no one was dying, but that it was important.  I’ve been climbing the walls in the room waiting until your class was over.”

“Well, you were quite prompt.”  Stella crosses the room to the coffee table where her mobile is charging.  She unplugs it and unlocks the screen.  She pulls up Karen’s contact card and initiates the call.

“Oh good,” Karen answers immediately.  “Hank told you I called.”

“Yes, he’s pacing the room like a caged animal.  Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Please, I want to run something by the both of you, actually.”

“Alright.”  Stella sits down on the sectional sofa and puts the call on speaker.  She holds the phone in her palm and points it towards Hank who’s biting his thumbnail and shuffling back and forth along the other side of the coffee table.

“I’ve been trying to get Becca to come up here once this whole quarantining, shelter-in-place thing started happening.”

“We tried as well,” Stella says.

“I know.  And I totally get that she’s an adult and has her own life and all that, but she finally agreed this morning.”

“That’s wonderful.”  Stella glances up at Hank.  “It’s been a concern for us.”

“Well, what I was thinking is that you guys should come up too.”

“Us?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I mean, you should come stay in the guest house.”

“That’s a very generous offer-” Stella starts, but she’s interrupted.

“I’m worried about the two of you as much as Becca,” Karen says.  “Have you been outside at all?  Can you even go outside?”

“Not since Hank’s birthday, actually.”

“See.  You guys can be here and Becca will be here and then we won’t have to worry about you.  Stella, Fish said he’ll set you up in his office for your classes.  He’s turning the garage into a studio anyway and isn’t even using it.”

There was muffled shouting in the background.

“And he says the barbeque is ready,” Karen adds.  Hank rolls his eyes in response.

“I think it’s something we’d need to discuss,” Stella says.  “This isn’t likely to last just days or weeks.  We’re looking at months.  It’s possible travel even between states could be restricted.”

“Exactly,” Karen says.  “That’s even more reason why you should come.  If it gets that bad, you may not be able to get here.”

When, Stella thinks.  Not if.

“When are you picking Becca up?” Hank asks.

“Saturday.  Probably mid-morning.  We can just pop over after that and grab you two before heading back.”

“You’ve certainly given us something to consider,” Stella says.  “We’ll have a chat about it and get back with you.”

“I just really think you guys should be with family, you know?”

It’s that statement that tightens Stella’s chest.  She’s been without a proverbial family for most of her life and still lacks experience with feeling accountable to another person, let alone others.  But, she does feel accountable now and though she’d like to write Karen’s offer off as being a polite, albeit meaningless request, she knows it’s not.

They have a few more minutes of lighter conversation and then they hang up with Stella promising they’ll seriously consider Karen’s offer and get back with her.  There’s a few moments of silence after Stella disconnects the call and she watches Hank.  He’d slumped down on the sofa before they’d hung up and began chewing the inside of his cheek and staring out the window.

“Thoughts?” Stella asks.

“I don’t even know what to fucking think right now.”

“Are you inclined to say no?”

“Are you inclined to say yes?”

“I’m not inclined to say anything until we discuss it.”

“You didn’t think it was weird?”

“No more strange than being invited for weekends, really.  And we’ve certainly done that.”

“So you want to go?”

“I’m merely positing that I don’t believe it was a strange or disingenuous offer.”

“I wonder how she wore Becca down.”

Stella shrugs and then slumps back beside Hank.  “I’m glad she’s going.  It’s a better place for her to be instead of cooped up in her flat all alone.  Or here, really, where privacy would be limited.”

“And what if something does happen, like Karen said?  How would we get there.”

“That may not be an option.”

Just as Stella drops a gentle hand on Hank’s knee, he jumps up from the couch and begins to pace again.  She folds her hands over her lap to give him the time he clearly needs to put together his thoughts.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m living in a world where I have to consider moving in with my ex and the guy she’s shacking up with.”

“And your wife.”

“I mean ‘I’ like the royal ‘we.’  There is no ‘I,’ there’s only we.  Us.  Whatever.  You know what I fucking mean.”

“So then we’ll not consider it.  It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind about it already anyway.”

“Feel free to chime in with your thoughts at any time.”  He puts his hands together as if in prayer and bows towards her slightly.  “This feels like a rather one-sided discussion.”

“I could think of dozens of reasons to stay, but weigh that against one very good reason to go and, well...”

“Becca?” Hank asks.

“I know what it’s meant to you growing closer to her since we’ve been back.  It’s actually meant something to me as well.  And, I think I have an idea of what it might be like for you to go from seeing her so often to not at all, with no idea when the next time may be.”

Hank puts his hands to his face and pulls his skin down as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead.  

“What has your knickers all in a twist over this, Watson?” she asks.  “It’s only an offer and we can respectfully decline.”

“I don’t know.”  He shakes his head and drops his hands.  “I just...Karen and I were together for a long time and we’ve been through a lot of shit together.  I love her, but there are times...I suddenly remember how much I fucking resent her and the chain events she started.  And I realize that might sound like...I mean, it doesn’t account for the actual contentment and happiness I have at this time in my life.  I just can’t fucking forget sometimes.  It’s easier to do that when we’re apart.”

Stella is not a coddler by nature.  Offering comfort isn’t something that comes naturally or easy for her, but there are times when the inclination to soothe comes over her.  She stands and takes the few steps necessary to reach Hank.  First she takes him by the hips and then slides her hands up to his chest and then over his shoulders to link her fingers behind his neck.

“Are you thinking you’re sorry you married such a pussyass bitch?” Hank asks.

“Strange as it sounds, I was actually thinking about how much I love you,” she answers.  

“Stop it, Sherlock, you’ll make me cry.”

She pinches his nape lightly.  “Don’t be such a pussyass bitch.”

“And suddenly I’m very turned on.”

“You’re always turned on.”

“Pot.  Kettle.  Black.”

She shrugs.  “I’m not going to give Karen an answer until tomorrow.  I want you to think very hard about what you want to do because it’s not something we can change our minds on.”

“Do you want to go, Sherlock?”

“I told you, I can think of one very good reason to go and many reasons not to.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, but I feel like that’s an ambiguous answer.  Do you want to go?”

Stella loosens her fingers at Hank’s neck and let’s her hands slide back to his shoulders.  She isn’t quite sure how to express the depth of the anxiety she feels about the situation to Hank or how hard she’s fought to suppress it.  The pages of her dream journal are rapidly being filled though.

“I think,” she says.  “For once, I might like to escape from danger instead of staring down the barrel at it.”

*****

They have one more discussion about Karen’s offer and though Hank still seems torn about what to do, he tells Stella he thinks they should go and asks if she’ll call Karen.  Before she can even grab her phone, he goes up to the roof and so she places the call by herself.  Karen is thrilled.  Stella can feel her elation through the phone, if that’s possible.

“This is so great,” Karen says.  “Bring whatever you need and even if you forget something, I’m sure we’ll have it.  Or we can get it.  You don’t have to worry about anything.  You know, honestly, I expected to have to sell you guys even harder than I did Becca.  I’m so relieved.”

“How did you manage to convince Becca to come up and stay?  She seemed very adamant about remaining on her own when we spoke with her.”

“I think I opened her eyes a little to how isolated she might be.  I also may have shamelessly reminded her that the pool was heated and all her meals and laundry would be taken care of, which was going to be my next tactic with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.  Well…”  Stella hesitates for a moment.  “Actually, I feel I should warn you that I’m rubbish in the kitchen.  We always order out.”

Karen laughs.  “Well, then you’re coming to the right place, honey.  I love to cook, and it’s way more fun when it’s for more than two.  Or three.”

“My fear is that you’ll tire of us.  I don’t want to be an added burden in any way.”

“Hank, maybe.  You, never.”  Karen laughs again.  “And, honestly, if Hank and I start to piss each other off, it never lasts long.”

“His fear is that the two of you might quarrel.”

“He does get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but it’s been a really long time since we’ve sworn we’d hate each other for the rest of our lives.  A lot has changed since then.  For the better, obviously.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“The only thing I’m certain of is that if we haven’t killed each other by now, we probably won’t.”

“I do suppose the odds are favorable in that respect.”

“Listen, I want you guys here, I really do.  Maybe I’m being silly or overreacting to this, but I think if we can be together during this, we should.  I think we’ve talked about this a little before, but Hank and Becca, they just function better when they remain in each other’s orbit.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So, I think this is really in the best interest of all of us to do this.  I know what I’m like when I’m crazy worried about Becca and I know what Hank is like.  But, then it’s you and Fish that have to suffer for it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering.”

“But, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never been a parent-”

“Bull shit, Stella.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s bull shit.  You might have come around later in her life, but you’re a Mom to Becca.  Don’t worry, I’m not one of those women who can’t deal with the idea of their kid having an extra parent.  I only wish you would’ve been here sooner.”

Stella blinks, stunned into a sudden silence.  Her throat tightens a little and her nose stings with the onset of tears, but she swallows them back and takes a calming breath.

“I was going to say that I’ve never been a parent, but having had Becca in my life for these past few years, I can understand the inclination to want to protect and prioritize one’s child.”

“I know you understand.  That’s why we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you for that, I…”  Stella stops and pinches away the burning sense of emotion between her brows.  “I feel as though I’m the lucky one.”

“Let’s call it mutual.”

“We can do that.”

“And honestly, one of the selling points for getting Becca to come up was that I told her I’d have the two of you on board as well.  You can’t make a liar of me.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

“Okay, so we’ll see you guys on Saturday.  I’ll call when we’re leaving Becca’s.  Everything will be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Alright.  We’ll see you soon.”

Stella hangs up the phone and then sits quietly for a few minutes before she goes up to the roof to find Hank.  The sun has gone down and grey twilight has set in.  Though it was an unusually warm day, it’s gone a bit chilly.  She pulls her thin silk robe a little tighter and crosses her arms over each other for warmth.  Hank is reclining in one of the lounge chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Did you tell Karen the happy news?” he asks.

“I did.  She was very pleased.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t think there will be anything to worry about.”

“No?”

“No.”  Stella straddles Hank’s lap over the lounge chair and sits on his thighs.  He puts one hand on her hip and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“The world is so fucking weird right now,” he says.  “I don’t know how to comprehend it.”

“No one does, I’m sure.”

“Even you, Sherlock?”

“Even me.”

He tips his head back to look at her and brushes the hem of her robe aside to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh.  They gaze at each other for a long while, he rubbing the top of her thigh and she plucking mindlessly at the black t-shirt covering his chest.  Her robe slips down her shoulder a little and he reaches up as though he’s going to slide it back in place, but instead he caresses the back of her arm and pets the strap of her tank top with the back of his hand.  Eventually, he sets his whiskey glass down on the little table next to the lounge and unties the knot holding her robe closed.

“Still fantasize about fucking on the roof?” he asks.

“It was never a fantasy, just a fleeting thought.”

“Is it crossing your mind right now?”

“It might be.”

“It’s definitely crossing mine.”

“I can tell.”  

She reaches down to cup the rigid bulge straining the fly of his jeans.  He grunts slightly and rubs the strip of skin showing below her navel with his thumb, between the loose edge of her tank top and lace edge of her panties.  Her skin becomes rippled with gooseflesh.  Within seconds, she’s swollen and pulses with arousal.  

Deftly, Stella pushes the buttons free along the fly of Hank’s jeans, from top to bottom.  He adjusts his hips as she brings him out into the closed heat of her fist.  It doesn’t take but a few strokes and strategic swirls of her thumb to have him panting and groaning under her.  

“Quiet,” she whispers, leaning close enough so she can flick her tongue out and catch his bottom lip.

“Make me,” he murmurs.  

She strokes him a little harder and then stops to raise up onto her knees.  Still gripping him tightly, she hooks her panties to the side and sinks down in one swift motion.  If he misses any extended foreplay, he doesn’t show it.  It’s a shut up and fuck me moment for her where all she wants and needs is his cock inside of her at just the right angle and she can handle the rest.  And he knows her well enough by now to know when to lay back and enjoy the ride.  She’ll make it up to him later by letting him fondle her in the shower, perhaps surprising him by requesting he wash her back, and then her front.  

For the most part, Hank just holds onto the flare of Stella’s hips and lets her set the pace.  She grips his shoulders and uses them for leverage to lift up, to arch her back, to roll her pelvis forward, and then to relax her thighs and do it all again.  They both know, from time and experience, just how quick and effective this particular move is for both of them.

“So fucking good,” he purrs.  He reaches up and grips Stella’s hair at the back of her head and pulls her down for a brief, but deep kiss.  She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip before she pulls away.  He licks the sting of it away.

When his little grunts of pleasure and encouragement grow too loud, she slaps her hand over his mouth and slips two fingers inside.  He bites down lightly and slips his tongue along the seam between her fingers, and she burns just a little more painfully with desire for him.

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand down from his shoulder to root out his nipple over his shirt.  When she finds the taut little pebble, she gives it a tweak between her thumb and forefinger, grinding her pubic bone down against his as she does.  

Hank gives a muffled cry from under her hand and his hips jerk up.  The muscles in his neck strain when she does it again and his fingers dig roughly into her ass as he holds her in place.  She squeezes him boneless and moves his hand out of the way as he tries to help bring her over the edge to do it herself.  When the tension finally breaks and she splits apart with a terrible tremble, she gives a long moan of relief and then slowly brings herself down to rest against Hank’s chest.  He puts his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re all that makes sense to me right now, Sherlock” he says.

She doesn’t answer, but she finds the spot on the left side of his chest where she can feel his heart beating and presses her lips to it.

******

Saturday afternoon, they’re packed and ready.  Stella took the lead on preparation, experienced in planning for extended time away from home.  Becca and Karen’s arrival is awkward as no one quite knows what the protocol is for both reuniting and remaining distant at the same time.  They’ve talked about keeping cautious for the first week or so and keeping masks and gloves on for safety.

The ride up to Connecticut is gloomy.  It’s drizzled off and on for a few days and today it finally culminates into a steady downpour.  No one knows quite what to say, and even Hank, who normally can’t tolerate silence, doesn’t say much.  When they arrive, they take their bags out to the guesthouse which has been transformed once again with a nautical theme.  The last time they were there, at Christmas, it had a distinctly rustic flare.

“I’m seasick just looking at it,” Hank says, pulling his mask free from his ears.  “I might vomit.”

“The accent wall is a lovely shade of blue.”

“Tell me again we made the right choice.”

“We made the right choice.”

“And this will all work out.”

“It’s going to work out.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, none can compare.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had,” she parrots.  “None can compare.”

“Smartass.”

“You walked right into that one.”

******

The first week feels endless and strange.  Stella has to utilize the upstairs office in the main house for her lectures and they all gather for dinners outside on the patio, but conversation is stilted and there is tension in the air.

It’s quickly apparent that the situation has brought underlying anxieties to the surface.  Stella’s strange dreams start to bring on episodes of sleep paralysis, something she hasn’t dealt with in some years.  Hank also seems to cling to her more tightly and for longer periods of time when they go to bed.  He doesn’t even try to initiate sex, prefering to hold her than fuck her.  It would bother her, but she also discovers something about herself that gives her pause and makes her re-evaluate her stance on cuddling: when faced with the reality that she is now in the same room on a daily basis as the people she loves most in the world, but is simply not able to embrace them, the ache it brings puts the importance of touch into perspective.  And if she’s feeling this way, she knows it’s exponentially worse for Hank.

Her birthday approaches and she asks Hank to please not mention it, to please make sure it comes and goes without acknowledgment.  Aside from waking that morning with Hank’s face between her thighs and the double chocolate brownies that are served after dinner, it passes unnoticed.  She’s grateful for that.

As the second week comes to a close, everyone seems to exhale and begin to relax.  The turning point seems to come when Fish unexpectedly asks Hank to come and have a look at the studio he’s been working on.  With Hank occupied, Stella asks Karen if she could help in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to instruct me on what to do,” Stella says.  “And don’t assume I know the difference between dicing and chopping.”

“Lesson one,” Karen answers.  “We start with a glass of wine.”

Thus begins the evening cooking lessons.  Becca joins in when she discovers what they’re doing and the three of them spend those few hours a day drinking and laughing while also trying to give Stella a handle on the basics of simple meal preparation.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Karen asks Stella one evening.  They’ve gathered around the kitchen island, making lists of recipes to try.  Karen is looking everything up on her phone, elbows on the counter.  “Something you love,” she adds.  “But that you wouldn’t think you could make for yourself?”

“Oh, that’s a rather difficult question,” Stella answers, but gives it some thought, sipping her glass of wine.  “It isn’t really a meal, but I do miss the Cornish pasties I used to get from time to time at a shop back in London.”

“Mmhm.”  Karen taps Cornish pasties recipes into Google while Becca looks over her shoulder.

“They look like empanadas,” Becca says.  “Wait, go back, there’s a vegetarian one too.”

“We could totally do these.  Put skirt steak, leeks, and rutabaga on the list.  We’ve got enough onions.  And potatoes.  Check to see if there are any carrots left.”

“How did you first learn to cook?” Stella asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was studying all the time and stuck at home with this one,” Karen answers, pointing her thumb back at Becca.  “Hank would be at his typewriter and the noise of it would make me insane so I’d put some music on and look at recipes I’d torn out of pages from magazines.  Not because I cared much about what it was, but because I liked the pictures of them.”

“You were trying to design food when you couldn’t design interiors.”

“Yeah, pretty much.  And then I just decided to actually try some of them.”

“She makes the best spinach ravioli,” Becca says.  “I went through a phase where I would only eat Italian food when I was little.”

“Must be because of the garlic,” Stella adds.

“I do love garlic.”

“I know, your dad told me the story of it once.”

“What story?”

“How you were ill one night as a toddler.”

“I don’t know this story.”  Becca looks from Karen to Stella and then back to Karen again.  “Mom?”

Karen looks slightly confused.  “Yeah, I don’t...I’m not sure what story that is.”

“I’m not going to have all the finer details,” Stella starts, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed for having knowledge of an event that Karen and Becca seem unaware of.  “Your dad was telling me once that he’d been genuinely terrified one night when you were a toddler and you’d had a rather high fever.  A neighbor woman, someone in the building you lived in with many children, came up and used some oils on you, one of which had a strong odor of garlic.”

“Holy shit,” Karen says.  “Yeah, that’s...yeah I do remember that.  Kind of.  Oh god, what was her name.  Melanie, or something close to that.  She used to call Becca ‘Pretty Baby’ all the time.”

“I don’t remember this lady,” Becca says.

“You were really little,” Karen says.  “She also moved out of the building by the time you were two.  But, yeah, she put all this oil on you and this little t-shirt and socks.  It smelled terrible, but it did the trick.  And holy fuck, did you smelled like garlic for a full week.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“That was always the thing about New York.  People were there one day and then they weren’t.”

This subdues the trio for a few moments.  The current reality is that there are a lot of people who have been there one day and then not there the next, and not just in New York, but everywhere.

“And perhaps that’s why you love garlic,” Stella says softly, finally, breaking the silence that followed.

“Interesting.”  Becca contemplates her glass of wine and drums her fingers against the kitchen counter for a few moments.  “I have some writing to do.”

Karen leans forward and stretches her arms across the kitchen island after Becca leaves and covers one of Stella’s hands with both of hers.  “I love that you know that story,” she says.

“It’s something we used to do back when we were still long-distance.  Tell stories.  Mostly Hank, though.  I’m sure you’re aware that he has a need to fill any silence.”

“That’s an understatement.”  Karen laughs.

“Indeed.”

“Oh god, can you imagine if this had happened while you were still doing long-distance?  Or even when you guys were still in London.”

“No, I really can’t.  It would be…”  Stella can’t even think of a word that’s fitting.  Difficult.  Strange.  Unfathomable.  The thought of it actually makes her feel a bit anxious.  Karen nods and squeezes her hand.

Fish and Hank suddenly emerge from the studio and stroll into the kitchen.  Fish stands just behind Karen and squeezes her hips.  Stella reaches out and takes Hank’s hand in hers and brings his arms around her.

“So, what do you ladies have up your sleeve for tonight?” Fish asks.

“Salads and a cold pasta tonight,” Karen answers.  “We’re going to get experimental next week.”

“I like experiments.  I’ll be whipping up some more marinade tonight for the steaks this weekend.  Where’s Beckster?”

“She wanted to do some writing.”

“I can learn a thing or two about discipline from her,” Hank says.  “That’s exactly what I need to be doing.”

“Go on,” Stella says, patting his arms.  “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Hank kisses the side of Stella’s neck before he leaves.  Karen starts to pull items out of the refrigerator as Fish comes up next to Stella and leans against the kitchen island.

“Your hubs been telling you about his guitar lessons?” Fish asks.

“You’ve been giving him lessons?”

“Refreshing what he already knows.  He’s been helping me teach my group.”

“Has he?”

“He’s gonna duet with one of my kids for the concert comin’ up.”

“Are you still holding that?” Karen asks, lining up mixing bowls along the counter.  “How can you?”

“We’re gonna Zoom it.  That’s how they’re all doing their school now anyway.”

“That’s how I’m doing my lectures as well,” Stella says.

“Well, you ladies are of course invited.  It’s on Saturday, in two weeks.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Karen answers.  “So many places to go right now.  So many plans.”

“Hah!”  Fish comes around to the other side of the island and pinches Karen on the side before giving her a bear hug from behind.  “Funny lady.”

Later that night, after they’ve had dinner and Stella and Hank are lying in bed, she turns to face him and he plays with the strap of her tank top, running his finger over her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.

“I hear you’re playing in a concert in a few weeks,” she says.

“Yeah.  The Trout roped me into that before I knew what was happening.  He’s got me plucking out Blackbird with some 12-year-old.  Supposed to be a confidence booster or something.”

“For you or the kid?”

“He didn’t specify.”  Hank leans over and bites the top of Stella’s shoulder lightly and then rubs the spot with his thumb while he places kisses across her chest to her throat.

“Mm,” she answers.

“Actually,” he says, and pulls away.  “I didn’t know this, but The Trout is like, a gazillionaire.”

“I presumed he was fairly wealthy from his family history.”

“Yeah, but no.  He actually made a shit ton of money on investments after designing some landmark building and so he retired and now he doesn’t have to do anything and his money just makes more money.”

“Why did he retire though?”

“He didn’t like being an architect and just went with the flow of the family business, but he wanted to be a musician.  So he quit and all the lessons he does now, he does it for free with this community program.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I know.  When this whole shitshow started, he actually made sure all the kids he taught for had iPads so they could continue their lessons.  And then because he wants them to still have their spring concert, he’s making sure all their extended families that were going to attend have iPads to watch it.”

“He has a generous soul.”

Hank flops onto his back and blows out a sigh.  “And we’re just sitting here doing fucking nothing.”

“What we’re doing is equally important.”

“What are we doing?”

“Not going out and risking exposure.  For ourselves and for others.”

“It feels like nothing.  Just sitting, doing fuck-all.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I have no idea.  I’m barely qualified to exist.”

Stella scoots closer to Hank and drapes her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh.  He tips his head towards hers and holds onto her wrist as he falls asleep.

*****

In the middle of the third week, Stella is taking attendance at the top of her lecture, as she always does.  She makes note of a student’s absence and starts in on the chapter outline.  At the end of class, she does another attendance check.

“Mr. Diaz, would you please indicate your presence if you’re at today’s lecture.”

A moment of silence passes and then another student’s window comes into her screen.  “Hector tested positive, Professor,” the student tells her.  “He’s in the hospital.”

In her years of training, Stella has conditioned herself to remain emotionally neutral in all varieties of situations.  However, she is out of practice.  She blinks once and then nods slightly, but feels her chin begin to wobble.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and pauses for a moment to keep her breathing steady.  “Please be sure to complete the chapter exam prior to Friday’s lecture.  We’ll be starting on new material next week.”

She signs out of her lecture platform to a chorus of ‘yes, Professor.’  After closing her laptop, she places her hands on the lid and breathes deeply.  It’s just like the conversation they were having the other day.  Someone is there one day, and gone the next.  

When she comes downstairs, she finds Hank, Becca, and Fish in the sitting room, tuning guitars.  They’re smiling and laughing about something.  She turns to take the long way around to the side door so they don’t notice her, but runs into Karen in the front room, who asks her to form an opinion on some fabric samples.  She obliges her and then excuses herself under the pretense of needing to review assignments.  

Later in the evening, she musters the enthusiasm to assist Karen and Becca in preparing kebabs for Fish to grill, feigns engagement in the discussion about a Netflix documentary over dinner, helps with the nightly emptying and filling of the dishwasher, and begs off a dessert of sliced fruit to go to bed early.  No one questions her, but she can see the concern on Hank’s face as he looks up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist as she’s leaving.  Karen, too, seems to know that something is amiss, but doesn’t say anything.

Deep into the night, she’s not sure what time it is, but she wakes with Hank breathing hotly against her shoulder.  The ceiling is shimmering with silver light and she has to rub her eyes to see clearly.  She hears a noise, like the soft paddling of a boat on a river.  Carefully, she extricates herself from Hank’s arms and out of bed.  She steps outside and takes the extra time to silently close the door behind her.

The kitchen in the main house is dimly lit with the muted glow of the overhead light above the stove.  She moves towards it almost like a beacon, but stops when she hears the paddling once again and then a soft splash.  Stella blinks into the darkness and is able to make out the silhouette of someone in the pool.

“Karen?” she whispers.

“Oh shit,” Karen whispers back.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I...no.”  Stella steps cautiously towards the pool.  Her eyes are adjusting more to the darkness and she can make out the dark shape of Karen swimming towards her from the opposite side.  She reaches the edge just as Karen does.

“You should come in.”

“I’m not sure where I put my swimsuit.  I’d probably wake Hank trying to find it.”

Karen laughs quietly.  “Who needs a swimsuit?”

“I’ve never skinny dipped before.”

“It’s fantastic.  Especially after midnight.”

“Is that why you’re out here at this hour?”

“Sort of a habit of mine if I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“If I knew, I’d probably be able to sleep.”  Karen suddenly dunks her head underwater and then comes back up and clears the water from her face.  “Come in.  I always bring extra towels down, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.”

Stella considers the available options of entering the pool.  She decides to use the stairs in the shallow end and leave her nightclothes on one of the deck chairs nearby.  She undresses with her back to the pool, but doesn’t hesitate to turn around and descend the steps.  Initially bracing herself for a sudden chill, she’s pleasantly surprised that even though she knows it’s heated, it’s still warmer than she was expecting.

As she wades in further, past her knees, past her hips, up to her shoulders, she’s amazed at how different and exhilarating it feels to slip through the water completely bare.  She had no idea the absence of a swimsuit would make such a difference.  Towards the deeper end of the pool, Karen floats silently on her back and Stella glides closer.

“You’re right,” Stella says.  “It is fantastic.”

“Mmhm.”

Doing a half-turn, Stella lays her head back and pulls her legs up before natural buoyancy takes over and she relaxes, floating next to Karen, but in the opposite direction.  There is no moon that she can see, but the longer she stares up into the sky, the more stars appear.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Karen says.  “But, you didn’t seem like yourself at dinner.  Everything okay?”

Stella could easily lie and tell her everything is fine, but even the thought of it feels wrong to her and she doesn’t want to risk putting up walls between herself and Karen.  Not when all she needs to do is share such a small piece of herself.

“No, it isn’t,” Stella says.  “I had a student that was absent from my lecture this afternoon and found out at the end of class that he had tested positive and is in hospital.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I don’t know what the proper thing to do is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking over it all evening.  I’ve been...reflecting on certain experiences in my life.  One in particular, which was quite challenging.”

Stella doesn’t realize she’s drifted so far until she bumps the side of the pool.  She pushes lightly away until she’s back to center.

“What was it?” Karen asks.  “Or, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“One of the last cases I worked as an active investigator was a serial rapist and murderer.  It was extremely taxing for a variety of reasons, but when we had the suspect in custody, he managed to overpower one of the guards and attack me during an interrogation.”

“Jesus!”

“It was vicious and brutal and to put it bluntly, I was severely beaten.”

“Oh my god, Stella.”  Karen finds Stella’s hand in the water and holds it tightly.

“I’m quite alright.  It was many years ago now.”  Stella gives Karen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but Karen doesn’t let go.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s alright.  The reason it’s been on my mind is because whilst in hospital being treated after the incident, I had a very kind doctor who sat with me because he didn’t like the idea that I was alone.  It occurred to him, but it did not occur to me, that I might need someone.  I had no close friends, no family, no relationship to speak of because I could not and would not let anyone close to me.”

Karen let’s go of Stella’s hand.  The water ripples around them as Karen comes out of her float and treads water beside her.  Stella also comes out of her float and begins to tread water.

“How did you get from there to here?” Karen asks.  

“I’m a work in progress.  Do you know that it took me years just to be able to hold Hank’s hand in public?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Stella breathes deeply and lifts her left hand out of the water to flex her fingers.  Her wedding ring twinkles softly.  “I called Hank, actually,” she says.  “After the case was closed and I returned home, just a few days after being released from the hospital.  I called him.  I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only asked him if he would come to London to see me and he came straight away.”

“That certainly sounds like Hank.”

“We had only met twice before that.  And both times...to be perfectly frank, our only connection was sex.  I asked him to come to London knowing full well there was a strong possibility he would be angry with me for luring him out under false pretenses.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do that.  And not just because you guys are where you are today, but because I know Hank.”

“I didn’t know him.  Not at that time.  I only knew that I did not want to be alone and he was the only person I could think of that might not judge me for it.”

“Do you know, that’s something that used to piss me off so much about him?  I always felt like he was such a selfish prick because he would drop everything for anyone at any time, no questions asked, regardless of how I felt about it.  But, really, I was the selfish prick because what I really wanted was for his full attention and to make me his only priority.”

“I had to learn how to bth be a priority and to prioritize someone else into my life.”

“The funny thing is, even when I was his only priority, I still wasn’t happy.”  Karen shakes her head suddenly and then dunks herself underwater.  She comes back up, slicking her hair back.  “Let’s come over to where we can stand.  My arms are getting tired.”

Stella follows Karen towards the shallow end of the pool.  Where Karen can stand with the tops of her shoulders exposed, Stella is still chin deep and moves back just a bit.

“Back to your story,” Karen says.  “I don’t think you were finished.”

“It’s just that what we’ve seen, what we’ve read, I know that those that have fallen ill and are in hospital are alone.  And not by choice.  There is no option to have a loved one sit by.”

“It fucking sucks.  I don’t even like the thought of it.”

“I know.  But, it makes me think back on the training I went through and how it was instilled in me to be calm, rational, to think critically, to compartmentalize my emotions to be able to do the job.”

“You were a really fucking good detective, weren’t you?  Hank said you were.”

“I was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes.  And no.  When I began teaching, I saw it as an opportunity to mold my students into the kind of detective that I was.  I think I may also be guiding them towards the same mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“It took me a very long time to learn compassion and empathy, and how to use it appropriately.”

“Is that something that can really be learned?”

“I think so.  I told my students at the start of all of this, we were going to proceed as though nothing has changed.  That this would be a lesson in adaptation to swiftly changing circumstances.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind.”

“I should have stopped to consider the effect this might have on their mental health.  Stressed the importance of self-care.  All I’ve wanted is to prepare them in the way that I was, but I should also be preparing them in the ways that I wasn’t.”

“What do you think you should do?  To prepare them?”

“I don’t know.  What do you think I should do?”

“Maybe just ask them how they’re doing.”

“I thought of that, but in my head it sounds so very superficial.  When I thought about the student that’s ill, it occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him.  Any of them.  I don’t know why they’re in my class except that it’s a required course in the criminal justice curriculum.  I don’t know where they are now or who they’re with or even if they’re alone.  They’re all so much younger than Becca.  I’m...worried for them.”

“I think you’ve got the hang of the compassion thing pretty well.”

“I think I preferred being emotionally stunted.”

“No, you didn’t.”  Karen chuckles a little and then tips her head back.  She slips easily into another float.

Stella pinches her nose and takes a deep breath.  She dunks herself and stays under the surface of the water for as long as she can hold her breath and then rises slowly.  She goes under again, this time doing a front stroke, gliding as far as she can before twisting while still underwater and coming up to her back.  She grows drowsy as she floats somewhere in the middle of the pool, under the stars.  She can finally see the half-moon, cresting high to the east.

“I’m pruning,” Karen says after what feels like hours.  

Stella is slow to follow, only just coming out of her float as Karen is taking the steps up out of the pool, moonlight glowing off her hair and shoulders.  Stella glides to the shallow end, accepting a large, soft towel from Karen even before she’s half-way out.

“Let me know if you ever feel like a midnight swim again,” Karen says.  “It was nice to have someone else with me.”

“Fish never comes down with you?”

“How’s this for irony, Fish doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.”  Stella laughs lightly.  “That is...unexpected.”

“He does come down sometimes though.  Sits on the edge and gets his feet wet.”

“Well, if you’re feeling the need as well and want someone to join you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Sleep well.”

“Good night.”

Stella retrieves her nightclothes and heads back to the guest house.  She enters as quietly as she left and tosses her clothes off somewhere in the dark.  It isn’t quietly enough though, and Hank shifts in bed.

“Stella?” he murmurs.

“Go back to sleep,” she says.  She towel-dries her hair and hangs the damp towel up on the hook in the bathroom before she heads to bed.  When she slips under the sheets, Hank rolls towards her and drapes a heavy arm over her.

“Your hair is wet,” he mumbles against the back of her shoulder.  “And you smell like chlorine.”

“I went for a swim.”

“Mm.”  He grunts a little and his hand makes a path from her hip to the back of her thigh.  “You’re not wearing anything, Sherlock.”

“No.  I didn’t know where my suit was and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are you saying you went skinny dipping?  Without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“If nudity is involved, you should always wake me.”

“It was rather spontaneous.  Karen was-”

“Karen?”  Hank picks his head up and peers over her shoulder at her.  “You and Karen were out there skinny dipping?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.  No, no.  Nope.  Not a problem.  There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now and none of them are a problem.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well, too late for that.  My ideas even have ideas.”  He pushes his hips lazily into hers and rubs her hip.

“We had a nice swim and a chat.”

“What about?”

“A student of mine tested positive.  He’s in hospital.”

“Fuck.  Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I don’t know.”

He snuggles closer to her and sighs.  She pats his arm for him to ease his grip on her and then shifts onto her back.  He rolls over as well and they lay in the dark on their backs, similar to how she had just been floating in the pool with Karen.  She reaches blindly for his hand and twines her fingers into his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“The second life you’ve given me.”

“Same.”

She turns and curls towards him, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

*****

The pasties don’t turn out quite like how they’re supposed to, but they make her feel nostalgic.  She ends up sharing a few anecdotes from her childhood over dinner that she hasn’t thought about in years.  Then Fish tells a few tales, then Karen, then Hank, and then Becca.  It feels normal and like for a few short hours, the problems of the world fade away.  It gives her an idea.

At Friday’s lecture, instead of wearing work attire, Stella dresses in more casual clothes: a white linen button-down tunic with the sleeves rolled up her forearms to the elbows, and jeans.  She doesn’t curl her hair, merely clips it back out of her face, and doesn’t wear any make-up.

“Good morning,” she starts.  “We’ll begin momentarily, but first I would like you all to know that I believe I was wrong when I told you that we should proceed with this course as though nothing has changed.  We are all living through an unprecedented time that is characterized by fear and uncertainty.  You may be feeling anxious or overwhelmed right now.  You may not even understand how you feel.

“What I would like you to know is that your emotional and mental well-being is just as important as your training.  There isn’t enough schooling in the world that’s going to fully prepare you for what it’s like, emotionally, when you walk into your first crime scene, or speak with someone who’s just been through a trauma, or have to face the mother, father, husband, wife, children of someone who was the unfortunate victim of a homicide.  Or what it does to you after many years.

“We need to be mindful, I think.  More mindful now, more than ever.  If you are struggling in any way, I would like to know.  And I don’t mean just with the course, I mean in any way.  I will help you.”

Stella stops and assesses the gallery of students on the screen.  There is silence in the classroom.  No notifications for messages.  Someone unmutes themselves to give a brief ‘thank you, Professor,’ and others follow.

“In lieu of starting our next chapter on Monday, when we resume after the weekend, the assignment I am giving to you is to think of the place you would most like to be right now.  Any place at all.  Change your background for the day into that place.  For the hour and a half we convene that morning, I want to hear from all of you why you’ve chosen that particular place.”

“Will you be changing your background too, Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Yes.”  She pauses again to glance through the gallery.  “The last thing I’d like to request before we begin the lecture is that you keep Mr. Diaz in your thoughts.  If anyone has any updates on his condition, please share them with me as well.”

Over the weekend, two students will email Stella with the anxieties they’ve been experiencing and one reaches out to tell her that Hector Diaz has been put on a ventilator.

*****

At dinner that night, over lemon herb chicken and grilled asparagus, Stella tells them her plans for Monday’s class.

“Where you gonna pick?” Fish asks.

“I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that question all day,” she answers.

“Does it have to be somewhere you want to go or somewhere you’ve already been?” Becca asks.

“Any place.  No restrictions.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Morocco,” Karen says.

“I really liked Japan,” Becca muses, stabbing at a spear of asparagus.  “I think I would go back there.”

“Bora Bora,” Hank answers, reaching under the table to slide his hand over Stella’s knee.  “Hands down, favorite vacation ever.”

“Oh?” she says.  “Not Switzerland?”

He chuckles and gives her knee a shake as he shakes his head.

“Karebear, soon’s this is over and things open up, we’ll go to Morocco.”

“Where would you go, Fish?” Stella asks.

“I like it here.”

“That’s cheating,” Hank says, ratting the ice cubes in his whiskey glass.  “You have to name another place.”

“Why?  I got my BBQ and I’m surrounded by beautiful ladies, not to mention your ugly mug.  Why’d I wanna go any place else?

”He has a point,” Stella answers, leaning into Hank’s side.  He pinches her knee and she slaps his hand in retaliation.

“I also want to go to Greece,” Becca says.

“Greece is lovely,” Stella tells her.  “Definitely go when you get a chance.”

They move on to another topic, but Stella continues to ponder where she’d choose to be, if she could be anywhere.  The sun is setting as they clear the dishes and it reminds her of her wedding day at the clearing behind the woods.  She pauses in rinsing plates and stares out the kitchen window.

Becca waves a hand in front of Stella’s face, breaking the light trance she finds herself in.  She blinks and hands Becca the plate to load into the dishwasher.  “Sorry,” she says.

“You totally zoned out there for a minute,” Becca says.

“The spot through the woods where your father and I were married, do you know the way there?”

“Sure.  It’s down the back path.”

“Can we go there?  Right now?”

“Yeah.”

They leave the rest of the dishes in the sink.  Karen is wiping down the table and Becca calls to her that they’ll be right back to finish up.  Stella follows Becca down the path away from the guest house.  The woods are more lush and overgrown than they had been in the fall of her wedding.  They step carefully so as not to trip over tree roots that have come unearthed, but finally they come out of it onto the other side and it’s just as she remembers it.

The sun is still above the treetops and the sky is a myriad of pastel shades of blue and pink and purple.  She steps onto the manicured lawn and pulls her phone out of her pocket.  She takes her time setting up the shot that she wants and then snaps a few photos.  Becca stands beside her and after a few moments, lays her head on Stella’s shoulder.  They stand quietly and watch the sun go down.

“I’m really glad you guys decided to come up and stay,” Becca says.  

“I am as well.”  Stella puts her phone in her pocket and links her arm with Becca’s.

“I thought I’d be cool being alone.  I like being alone.  And then after a week of it I was already...I guess I don’t like being alone as much as I thought I did.  I like to be by myself, but with other people around.  Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Why’d you want to come out to this spot?”

“Because I think that I already am where I want to be.”

“Like Fish.”

“Yeah.”

“I really hope that kid in your class is okay.”

“I do as well.”

“Do you think this will be over any time soon?”

Stella shakes her head lightly.  “Not any time soon.”

*****

Monday’s class goes well.  She starts off the informal chat by sharing that the photo she took over the weekend is where she was married and leaves it at that.  A majority of students have chosen tropical locations as their preferred destination.  One chooses his grandparent’s farm.  Another has a cabin in winter.  She’s surprised to see familiar scenery in one background that pops up.

“Am I mistaken, Mr. Peterson, or is that Kensington Gardens?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers.  “My mother is from London.  Her parents lived in Bayswater and we would visit every summer when I was little.”

“Is it safe to say you likely read Peter Pan just as often?”

He nods and laughs.  “I was convinced the more time I spent there it might increase my chances of meeting him and being able to go to Neverland.”

“I have very fond memories of the park from my youth as well.”

The hours fly by and class comes to a close.  She reminds her students to start on the next chapter and submit any questions ahead of the next lecture.  When she closes her computer, she feels lighter.

At dinner, they ask how it went and though she would be able to recite to them every story she heard that day, she limits it to the most interesting or humorous.  It’s a good start to the week and it makes her feel optimistic.

*****

The weekend comes and Hank spends most of the day with Fish, in preparation for the children’s concert.  There are last minute practice sessions and testing of equipment to be done.  Stella is both surprised and amused that Hank has taken such an interest in helping Fish with his students.

At the prescribed time, Stella, Becca, and Karen gather in the sitting room where Becca has set up the Zoom link to appear on the television somehow.  Because the concert is early in the evening, dinner is postponed until later.  Some of Fish’s students are quite young, only five or six years old, and they have strict bedtimes.  The littlest one is a girl that plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a pink guitar so small it’s hardly bigger than a ukulele.  

As the concert goes on, the kids progress in skill.  Hank’s duet with the boy named Dylan is towards the end.  It’s clear the boy is exceptional, but lacks confidence.  There’s a tremble in his voice when he introduces himself and the song.

“My name is Hank, I’ll be joining Dylan tonight,” Hank says.  “Any wrong notes you might hear belong to me and not the kid.”

The first few bars come slowly and haltingly, but once Dylan gets going, the song seems to pour out of him fluidly.  His eyes stay fixed on the screen like he’s following along with Hank, keeping in sync and on tempo.  When the song ends, the boy puffs his cheeks up and lets out a huge breath and his shoulders loosen.

“Virtual fist bump, D,” Hank says, holding a fist out and leaning towards the eye of the camera on him.  “Bring it in.”

There are three more students after Dylan, one other boy and lastly, two sisters on electric guitar playing I Love Rock ‘N Roll.  Even without knowing much about modern music or rock, Stella is quite impressed by the whole thing.

Dinner feels festive that night.  Fish floats high on the success of the concert and fields calls from happy parents as he grills steaks.  Becca reminisces about her time in a band and how much she used to love playing.  Karen finds some videos on her phone from a few of those concerts.  Hank tells a story about buying Becca her first guitar, and Becca follows with a story about Hank getting her an even better vintage guitar from a man that was clearly having a hard time making ends meet.

“He was trying to sell it back to the guitar store,” Becca says.  “He had a little kid with him and you could really tell things weren’t going great, otherwise he would not be getting rid of a ‘61 Les Paul Special.”

“Beckster, I hope you still have that guitar,” Fish says.  

“Of course I do.”

“Pete Townshend plays that guitar.”

“Who?” Hank asks.

“Wiseass,” Fish retorts.

“Anyway, the guy at the shop wasn’t interested,” Becca continues, and Stella recognizes the adoring look on her face as she tells the story.  “But, since we were there to get a guitar, we really didn’t care where it came from.  Dad stopped the guy on his way out and handed him an envelope of cash.”

Hank shrugs it off.  “Dads gotta stick together.”

They part ways for the night after dinner.  After finishing her nightly rituals in the bathroom, when she comes out, Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed with a guitar in his lap.  She stands before him, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play,” she says.

“Guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“You’re quite good.”

“I’ve been practicing something for you.”

“Have you?”

He nods and plucks the guitar strings softly as he adjusts the tuning pegs.  “Forgive the singing, I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.”

“A full serenade?” she asks with a smile.

“Goin’ all out for you.”

He starts playing and she doesn’t immediately recognize the tune, but just before he starts singing she realizes it’s Elton John’s Your Song.  He’s right about not being the world’s greatest singer, but she doesn’t hear any imperfections.  She only hears the man that loves her playing a song for her.  Never in a million years would she have considered herself to be susceptible to something so cliche and sappy, but she is.  It makes her chest ache in the best possible way, filled with how much she feels for him that she never thought she was capable of.

When he finishes, he looks up at her and smiles.  She takes the guitar out of his hands and sets it aside.  In two steps, she’s back before him and then straddles his lap.  He pulls her in close and she cups his face in her hands.

“Go slow,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Despite the request, he leans back just a little and takes the bottom of the shirt to pull it off.  He doesn’t remove her bra though, not yet.  Instead, he buries his face in the valley of her breasts.  He traces her peaks and curves with his tongue and then scrapes his teeth over the satin cups before pulling one side down to take her into his mouth.  She threads her fingers through his hair to encourage him, reminding herself that even if this act doesn’t do much for her, it’s a form of worship for him.

Without warning, he takes a hard grip on the backs of her thighs and stands just long enough to turn the tables and have her on her back on the bed.  He’s above her on his knees and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt and yank it off.  She dips her fingers into the top of his jeans to pull him to her, but he takes her hands, one by one, and pins them to the bed above her head.

“Slow,” he says.

She nods, but arches up and pushes her chest into his.  He eases his weight onto her to keep her in place and she wraps her legs around his hips.  When he kisses her, he goes in deep and she moans her approval.  He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around his back as he cradles her head.

She’s never told him this, but one of the reasons she prefers hard and fast over slow is that she doesn’t like the time that slowness gives her to think.  It makes her susceptible, vulnerable, and opens something inside her like a deep need for more of him.  Not physically, but emotionally.  The slower he goes, the more she needs him and the more afraid she becomes of losing what she has because it’s so perfect.  Perfectly messy and challenging and exasperating and lovely and crazy and perfect.  Tonight, she thinks that if she were to ever lose him, she would lose so much more than just him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing at all.”

“There’s something.”

“I think I just understand what you meant a few weeks ago when you told me I was the only thing that made sense to you.  Everything is right.  Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart, you feel right.  And...for the first time in my life, I am grateful to have someone by my side.”

“All that and you haven’t even been dicked down yet.  I should’ve been singing to you years ago.”

“Rest assured it certainly wasn’t your voice that led me to that conclusion.”

“Ouch.”

She caresses his back lightly and then holds the back of his neck as her thumbs skim along his jaw.  He leans in to kiss her again and again and again.  They rock against each other.  Stella pushes up and pulls him down just as he presses into her and pulls her up.  They’re both breathless before they even manage to start removing the rest of their clothes.  Her bra is the next thing to go and then his pants, her pants and lastly her panties.  His jockey shorts only make it past his hips.  

They both groan in relief when he enters her.  She folds her knees back towards her chest and takes a firm grip on his ass.  He starts off slow and deep, lazily rolling his hips against her.  There’s sweat at his temples, but not from exertion, from the self-control he’s using to make it last.  He pulls out and rolls them over so she’s on top.

“Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“Just giving you a chance to drive for awhile.”

“You’re a very generous lover.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She holds his gaze as she sinks down onto him.  “I’m already right where I want to be.”

They play with the give and take for a bit, bantering and bartering for dominance and control of the pace, but then it gets serious.  He brings her to her first orgasm with his hands as she grinds down onto him and he waits for her thighs to stop quaking before bringing her to her hands and knees.  The stinging slap of his hand on her ass as he drives into her ushers in her second release.  He soon follows, groaning out his pleasure as he pulls so roughly at her hips that she can already feel the sweet bruises blooming under his fingers.

They both collapse.  He drags her up against him even though they’re both hot and sweaty and slippery.  Her hair is damp and clings to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“In case you were wondering if quarantine had affected my virility, I think you just got your answer,” he says.

“Your virility is always my top concern.”

“Mm.”  He kisses the back of her arm and rests the side of his face on her bicep.  “What do you think about going skinny dipping?  Unless you can only get naked in the pool with my ex.”

“Now?”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes, I’ve a rendezvous with my other husband in an hour’s time.”

“We can make it a quick dip then so you don’t have to keep him waiting.”

She chuckles softly as he presses exaggerated kisses down her arm and hip and belly.  And then he lays his head down on her thigh and she strokes his hair for some time, content to soak in the afterglow.  He finally gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns with two towels.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he says.  “I want to get my naked in the pool with you.”

*****

Stella wakes in the morning to the sound of rain.  The room is darker than usual, even for the early hour.  She manages to slide out of bed without disturbing Hank and she grabs her robe to wrap up in before opening her laptop and sitting down at the small table in the corner.  She has four emails from late yesterday evening all with the subject: Hector Diaz.  She only opens the first one and then closes her laptop and sits in silence until Hank wakes.

“No fair not being naked,” Hank mumbles as his eyes drift open and shut.  He rolls over and stretches languidly.  When she doesn’t respond, he lifts up onto his elbows and blinks at her, hair spiking up unnaturally at all angles.  “What’s wrong, Sherlock?  Whatever I’ve done to piss you off before even waking up, I sincerely apologize.”

“My student succumbed last night.”

“Succumbed as in…”

Stella nods and steeples her hands in front of her chin.

“Shit,” Hank whispers and then drags half the bedsheets with him as he tries to get out of bed.  He kneels down next to where she’s sitting and looks up at her.  “Stella, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

*****

Sunday is brunch day, another meal where they gather together.  And though Stella has no appetite, she heads to the main house with Hank anyway, determined not to sit and wallow.  Besides, the rain has stopped and the sky is beginning to open up.  As they make their way across the soaked grass and around the pool, he hooks his pinkie finger with hers and gives her a squeeze.  She holds on, feeling anchored in that moment.

“Hey,” Karen greets as Hank opens the sliding door and ushers Stella inside.  “I just put a fruit platter in the fridge.  Becca wants waffles so I was looking for the...what happened?  What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asks, already weary.

“Her student,” Hank answers.

“Fuck.  No.  Fuck.  Really?”    Karen is on Stella in an instant, smothering her an embrace so tight it makes Stella’s eyes water.

“It’s okay,” Stella murmurs, patting Karen lightly on the back.

“It’s not okay.  I know you’re being polite, but it fucking sucks, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Karen sighs and releases Stella from her embrace, but keeps one arm around her shoulder.  “What can we do?” she asks.

“Nothing.  I need to consider what I’ll say in class tomorrow, but I don’t believe there’s anything that will help.”

“Right.  It just feels so senseless, doesn’t it?  All of it.  So…”

“Yes.”

“However you need to deal with it, we’re all here.  For whatever.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that.”

Stella does appreciate the sentiment very much, but she knows she also has a long way to go when it comes to openly sharing her feelings without thoroughly processing them ahead of time.  She has spent too much of her life alone and had little use for depending upon anyone else.  And the simple fact is, she’s confused and frightened by this situation.  It’s not something she has authority or expertise in.  She can’t control it or delegate tasks on it and hold anyone accountable.  Even if she was still a DSI Gibson of the MPS, she would be futile.

*****

Stella spends Sunday evening in the upstairs office responding to messages from her students.  As word spreads, her inbox fills with hesitant inquiries if her offer to chat informally is still open.  She does her best to offer words of wisdom or comfort, knowing full well anything she says is inadequate.  

Even though Stella has left the door to the office open, Becca knocks on the frame and waits for an invitation before she enters.  Stella removes her glasses and beckons her in, glad for a reprieve from the glowing screen.  Words have started to blur.

“I’m going to make some hibiscus tea,” Becca says.  “Thought I’d see if you wanted some.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t trust a Yank with a tea kettle?”

Stella smiles.  “I can’t think of a thing I wouldn’t trust you with, darling girl.”

“I also wanted to ask if you’ve thought of what to say to your kids tomorrow.”  Becca plops down in the chair across from the desk and slouches, linking her fingers across her abdomen.

“My kids,” Stella murmurs, softly.  “Such an unfortunate age to be in your first years university, isn’t it?  Not quite an adult, not really a child.”

“Every age feels unfortunate when you’re there.  And then you look back and think, it wasn’t so bad as I thought.”

“Yes, I think you might be right about that.”

“Teen angst was just becoming fashionable when I went through it.  And I had a lot of it.”

“I can imagine that you did.”

Becca grins cheekily.  “A lot of it was just for attention.  Back then, with those two, they rarely heard anything except for themselves.”

“I’m glad things are different now for you.”

“I’m just glad they’re different.  I don’t know if the me of ten years ago could deal with the situation we’re in today.  Not like your kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was pretty ragey.  I felt really destructive.  Like I wanted to scream and yell and break shit all the time.  I got some of it out when I played music.  And then I started college not knowing what the hell I wanted to do.  Your kids though, they’re probably driven.  I can’t imagine anyone that isn’t highly focused or motivated studying criminology.  Wanting to make that their career.”

“Would it surprise you then to find out that I was more like you in my youth than you think?”

“Really?”  Becca looks at Stella with a certain degree of skepticism.  “No, I can’t really picture it.”

“My outlets were...less creative.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re definitely not the artsy type.  That’s for sure.  What were your outlets then?  Breaking shit?”

“Sex.  Drugs.  Self-harm.”

Becca’s eyebrows shoot straight up and she sits taller.  “No way.”

“Very destructive.  Yet, also highly focused and motivated.”

“Then I guess the question is, what would you go back and tell yourself if you were where we are now, but back then.”

“Ah.  That is what I’ve been pondering.”

“It’s like when people say they wish they knew then what they know now.”

“Yes, very much so.”

“I think you’ll figure it out then.  You’re the most intelligent person I know.”

“Thank you, Becca.  For this chat and for the offer for tea.”

“Anytime you want to try my tea, you let me know.  I can be trusted.”

“Absolutely.”

Becca pushes herself up from the arms of the chair and then she comes around to the back of the desk.  She leans down and Stella turns to meet her in an embrace.  Becca kisses Stella’s cheek before she leaves and a calmness comes over Stella.

*****

“I want to start today’s lecture by thanking each and every one of you for being here today,” Stella says.  “For finding the motivation to be present when I know this is probably not how you’d like to be spending your afternoon.  There wasn’t a single one out of all of you who did not reach out to me yesterday in response to Mr. Diaz’s passing.  I find that to be exceedingly remarkable and it speaks not only to your character, but also of the effect that one person can have on your life.”

She pauses, her eyes moving over the kaleidoscope of her students’ faces on her screen.  Tiny boxes holding the weight of grief and despair and disappointment.  

“I wish that I could tell you this soon will pass.  I wish that I could tell you this will be the last time you’ll have to endure what feels so senseless.  But, I also know that you are in my class and on this path because of who you are.

“You are the ones that want to make a difference.  You want to help.  You want to right wrongs.  You want to make the world a better place.  You will only do some of that.  Along the way you will feel discouraged, frustrated, and angry.  What you do with your frustration and anger, your grief over what you can not change, is what will define you, and either make you a better person, or not.

“I want to reiterate my request to you to seek help.  If not from me, from the school resources, from qualified professionals, from family, from friends.  I promise you it is not a weakness, it is a necessity.  And it is something I very much wish that someone had told me when I was in your position.”

Stella ends with a deep breath.  She considers the group in front of her again.  Her kids.  She feels a deep and painful connection with them in this moment that she knows intellectually is a form of trauma bonding, but it doesn’t make it less real.  They are the only ones who know what it’s like to be in this space, together, at this time.  It feels like a watershed moment in all their lives.  She only hopes the ultimate impact will be positive.

“Let us take a moment to thank Mr. Diaz for his contribution to our class and we’ll begin in his honor.”

*****

Stella comes down from her lecture feeling hopeful.  Despite everything, her class was engaged and thoughtful.  She expects to find everyone gathered in the sitting room or kitchen, as they tend to do in the late afternoon, but there’s only Fish, sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal, gazing out the window.

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Beckster and Karebear went for a walk.  Moody took over Dylan’s guitar lesson today so they can continue an argument over who rocks harder, The Stones or Zeppelin.”

“Thank you for giving him something to do.”

“No, thank you.  The kids love ‘im.  He’s helped expand the business.”

“I thought you did this for free.”

Fish shrugs.  “Business is business.  The more the better.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in thanking you for allowing us to stay with you.”

“Bah.”

“I feel I only ever really speak with Karen about it, but I should be thanking you as well.”

“More the better.  Family’s gotta stick together.”

“Yes, that’s what...I’m learning that.”

“Your class go okay?  Kids alright?”

“I think they will be.  I wish I knew how to do more though.  Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought lately and I think that I might enroll in some psychology courses.”

“Huh.  Would’ve thought with all you’ve done you’d’ve studied some psych.”

“Yes, I have two of my degrees in Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology.  But, I was thinking of studying Child Psychology this time around.”

“How many degrees you got?”

“Hundreds,” she murmurs.  

Fish nods thoughtfully.  “Architecture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I got one up on ya then!”

She smiles.  “And I can not play an instrument either.”

“I’ll teach ya.  Come on in the studio some time.”

“I may have to take you up on that offer once the semester ends.”

“Hot dog.  Got a guitar with your name on it even.”

“In two weeks time, I’d be happy to join the ranks of your esteemed pupils.”

*****

The week drags by.  Even the weather seems depressed, raining most mornings and staying overcast throughout the day.  Her students are subdued.  Stella starts sleeping fitfully again, exhausting herself by the weekend.  Sunday morning she wakes alone, which is strange.  She’s usually up well before Hank on any given day and it’s still fairly early.  It’s brunch day, so she doesn’t feel much compulsion to get up, but when she looks at her phone she also realizes it’s Mother’s Day.

Although she wonders where Hank has gone, she’s only mildly curious and not worried.  It’s entirely possible he needed to help Fish with some lessons and forgot to inform her.  She is surprised that she didn’t even feel him slip out of bed or hear him leave.

Stella gets out of bed and opens the closet.  She’s had a gift for Karen stowed away that she’s needed to wrap for a few weeks: a photo of Becca on an evening they’d gone to dinner, back when she’d visited London and Hank and Stella were still living there.  She’d had the photo turned to black and white, printed, matted and framed.  Thank goodness for online ordering.  All she needs to do is wrap it in tissue paper and arrange it nicely in the gift bag she also ordered.

And there’s also the matter of the card.  She’s had it for weeks and has struggled to find the words she wants to write.  It’s times like this that she’s envious of Hank and of Becca and their ability to express themselves so honestly.  She sits at the desk with the blank card and a pen in hand.

Karen,

Thank you for sharing your daughter with me and for welcoming me into her life as well as yours.  You will never know how much I have learned about what it means to be a mother from you.  Thank you for your generosity and wisdom.  You are an inspiration and you will forever have my esteem and my admiration and my gratitude.

Warm regards, Stella

Stella sighs and puts down the pen.  It’s taken her a quarter of an hour to write the card and she’s still not sure if it’s adequate.  It will have to be.  She slips the card into its envelope, seals it, and writes Karen’s name on the front before she tucks it into the gift bag.  And then she gets herself ready for brunch.

It’s surprisingly sunny and warm out.  No rain and not a cloud in the sky.  Karen is sitting at the patio table with sunglasses on, reading a book, when Stella comes up to the house.  She waves her hand slightly as Stella approaches and closes her book.

“We’re banned from the kitchen,” Karen says.  “They’re cooking up some sort of surprise in there.”

“Do we trust them?”

“I think so.  Knowing Fish he would try to grill pancakes if he could, but since we’re not banned from the patio, that’s probably a good sign.”

Stella laughs and sits down across from Karen.  Shyly, she slides the gift bag across the table towards her, grateful that she actually has the opportunity to give Karen the gift while they’re alone.

“What’s this?” Karen asks.

“I wanted to get you something.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even because I got you something too.”  Karen reaches down and presents a similarly sized gift bag to Stella.  They both laugh.

“Shall we open them at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Stella rifles through the tissue paper in her bag and Karen does the same.  Since Karen takes the card out first, Stella does the same.  Her name is written on the front in black calligraphy.  The card itself is made of parchment paper and very simple.  There are two birds in watercolor on the front, a large bird and a smaller bird.

Stella - Let me be the first to wish you the happiest of Mother’s Days and know that I couldn’t have asked for a better bonus Mom for Becca than you.  You have enriched her life as well as mine and I am so so so so so so so happy to share this day with you.

Love, Karen

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Karen says, putting the card down and reaching across the table for Stella’s hands.  Stella’s own eyes are watering as she gives Karen’s her hands.

“Words are not my forte like how they are for Hank and Becca,” Stella says.

Karen squeezes Stella’s hands tightly.  “Are you kidding me?  This is an amazing card, thank you.”

“What you wrote means a lot to me as well.”

“Ach, okay.”  Karen lets go of Stella’s hands and then fans her face for a few moments.  “Too much emotion without food.  Let’s see what we got!”

There’s square box inside Stella’s bag and when she slices through the tape holding it closed with her thumbnail, she finds a framed photo of her and Becca from her wedding day.  They both laugh again when they realize they both got each other photos of Becca.

“Obviously, Mom minds think alike,” Karen says.

“That must be it.”

They’re still laughing when Becca comes outside, holding a pitcher.  She gives them both a rather dubious look.  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Look what we got each other!” Karen exclaims, holding up her photo.  “Photos of you!”

“You guys are weird.”

“And it’s your fault, Rebecca Moody,” Karen answers, lightly smacking Becca on the backside just as Hank comes out the door with five champagne flutes in his hand.

“What’s she done?” Hank asks.  “Whatever it is, I take full responsibility.  Daughter, I will defend thee to the death.”

“They’re being weird and blaming me.  And now you’re being weird.”

“Actually,” Karen says.  “If you think about it, it really is Hank’s fault.  If he hadn’t knocked me up, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I will definitely take all the credit there,” Hank answers, placing glasses around the table.  “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Mimosas?” Stella asks, nodding at the pitcher in Becca’s hands.

“Bellinis.”

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Karen says.

“Thank you,” Stella says as Becca pours her a Bellini, but she looks at Hank when she says it.

*****

Brunch is exceedingly festive.  They eat too much, they drink too much, and laugh a lot.  Becca presents Karen with a necklace and Stella with a bracelet, both of which are sterling silver chains holding three interlocking rings of diminishing sizes in copper, gold, and silver.  When Karen asks if it’s supposed to be the three of them, Becca tells her they’re meant to represent the links between the past, present, and future.  Stella would like to blame the champagne for the tears that spring to her eyes, but she can’t.

Late in the afternoon, she and Hank return to the guest house and she’s full and drowsy.  He lays down with her and she falls asleep to the warm press of his lips on just about every patch of exposed skin he can find.  When she wakes, it’s dark outside and Hank is at the table with half a sandwich in his mouth and papers strewn all over.  He’s shirtless, glasses on, a red pen behind his ear.  He rips a piece of sandwich off with his teeth and chews quickly.

“What’s up, Sleeping Beauty?” he asks.

“How long was I out for?”

He shrugs.  “Hungry?  Made some PBJs a bit ago.”

“Still full from brunch.  You should’ve woken me.”

He takes his glasses off, puts his unfinished sandwich down, and sits back in his chair.  He folds his hands and swivels back and forth a little as he looks at her.  “You needed it,” he finally says.

“I suppose I did.”

“Feeling better?”

“Refreshed, more or less.”  She sits up and slides out of bed with the wobbliness of the freshly woken.  “You editing?”

“Sort of.”

“Mm.”  She rubs her eyes and stretches.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m writing a song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, trying.  I’m doing the lyrics and Fish is going to write the melody.”

“Oh, it’s Fish now?  Are the two of you, dare I say, best friends now?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“So, you’ve formed a band?”

“Yeah, the new Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Reserve your judgement until we actually manage to piece together a song.”

Stella slides one arm around Hank’s shoulder and sits down in his lap.  He pulls back a little in surprise, but circles her hips and turns to a more comfortable angle in the chair.  She strokes his nape and touches his face.

“Have you thought about returning to New York at all?” she asks.  “Not that we’re able to, but have you thought about it?”

He holds a breath for a moment and then expels it roughly and shakes his head a little.  “No.  You?”

She shakes her head no as well.  “I think it was a wise decision, coming here.”

“I have to begrudgingly agree.”  He tips his head back and looks down the bridge of his nose at her.  “The skinny dipping may have tipped the scales, so feel free to make that a regular occurance.”

She pinches the back of his neck lightly in response and he gasps and then scoops her up into his arms as he gets up from the chair.  She laughs and holds on as he tries to dump her onto the bed so he ends up going down with her.

“Should we test that virility of yours?” she asks, drawing one finger lightly up his spine.

“I could go for a check-up.”

She hums a little and touches his face.  He presses his cheek into her hand and then turns to kiss her palm.  The bracelet Becca gave her slips down her arm a few inches and Stella stares at it as Hank nuzzles the inside of her wrist.

“Karen was right,” Stella says.

“I hate it when she’s right.  About what?  Coming here?”

Yes, but if not for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Funny how it sounds less accusatory coming from you.”

“She’s grateful.  You know she is.”

“All that matters to me is how you feel.”

“Also grateful.  You have given me the family I never knew I wanted or needed.”

“Then I take full credit for knocking Karen up back in the day and we won’t even mention how lousy she was at remembering to take her birth control.”

Stella chuckles and closes her eyes as Hank leans in to kiss her face.  She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

The End

[death-himself]

How I Met Your Father

Part of the Four Human-Eating Monsters and An Apathetic Florist AU!

Summary: Virgil's dad decides to come over to meet Virgil's soulmates. Who knew he'd have a story about his own run-in with a beautiful naga

Warnings: Talk of eating people

Word Count: 1,713

Previous Next (AO3 Link)

Virgil bit at his thumbnail as he mentally went through their plan. His dad was finally coming over and meeting his boyfriends. Virgil had realized that this would happen eventually, but he had never really planned for it. Patton rubbed gentle circles into his back.

“It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Virgil wiped down the kitchen counters a second time, not taking his eyes away from his work.

“Everyone knows the plan, right?”

“Yup! I’m sure it’ll work out fine. The night’ll end with us all eating dinner around the table having a pleasant conversation, hopefully without him being scared of any of us.” Virgil took a deep breath.

“We’re not telling him about the cannibalism, right?”

“No human-eating talk!” Patton confirmed cheerily.

“Cool.” Virgil took a final glance around the kitchen, deeming it clean enough, before double-checking the fridge to make sure no one had crammed any body parts in there. Patton could still feel the anxiety in his stiff movements and slightly trembling hands. Once Virgil closed the fridge, Patton gently wrapped his arms around his shoulders, nuzzling into his back.

“If things don’t go well, I could wipe his memory of it and we could try again some other time. Only if you were okay with that, though.” Virgil hummed, enjoying the feeling of Patton’s cold arms wrapped around him. He didn’t like the idea of Patton mind-controlling anyone, much less his own dad. But in this case...

“We’ll keep that idea on hold.” Just in case he destroyed his relationship with this. Patton smiled, laying a kiss on Virgil’s back. He pulled away and checked the time.

“Your dad said four o’clock, right? He should be here soon.”

“Oh crap.” Virgil ran down the hall, nearly running into Logan as he swung the bedroom door open. Janus and Roman were already lying there, painting each other’s nails. Janus jumped slightly at Virgil’s entrance, looking him up and down for a moment before going back to what he was doing.

“Did you need to grab something before your father got here?”

“Just...wanted to check on you guys.” Virgil walked over to the bed, shoving a part of Janus’s tail out of the way before taking a seat. “You guys are gonna be quiet, right?”

“You act like that’s hard for us to do.” Roman spoke. Virgil stared at him until he noticed, causing him to huff in an annoyed fashion. “Okay, fair point. But we’ll try our best! We don’t want to ruin what you have.”

“You told your brother about this, right? He won’t be crashing through the window like he does pretty much every Friday night?”

“I told him, Emile’s keeping him distracted.” Virgil nodded to himself, trying to think of anything he might be missing. Janus put a hand on Virgil’s cheek.

“It’s going to be fine. This will work out. You, Logan, and I came up with the plan ourselves, so the chances of it going wrong aren’t very likely.”

“Well that’s optimistic.” Virgil mumbled. There was a knock on the door, causing Virgil to bolt up off the bed. “Alright, well...just stay quiet in here. I’ll call you guys in when he’s ready.” He practically ran out the door. Patton had already opened the front door, welcoming and introducing himself to Virgil’s father.

Virgil skidded to a stop once he got to the living room, giving his dad an awkward smile and wave, glancing quickly at Patton to make sure he had donned his human disguise.

“Pretty nice place you found here, Vee. Next to a forest too, huh?” Virgil’s dad spoke as he took a look around.

“Yeah. Good for photography and plants and stuff.” He didn’t want to mention the drider cave in walking distance from his home.

“Well, that suits you alright.” Logan came in in his human form, introducing himself to the father. They had all sat down around the coffee table, allowing Virgil’s dad to get to know them a bit before revealing anything to him. By the time he had been there for a full hour and Logan had begun making dinner, Virgil decided it was time to spill.

“So, uh...dad, about my soulmates—” He gestured awkwardly to Patton and Logan, “—they’re not exactly human.” Virgil’s father stared blankly, his mind seeming to have malfunctioned. Patton glanced at Virgil nervously, before shedding his human disguise.

“Mr. Sanders, I know this is probably really weird and scary, and maybe difficult to understand, but I’m a vampire, and Logan’s a ghoul.”

“We are not planning on eating your son if you have concerns about that.” Logan added. Virgil’s dad nodded slowly, glancing between the two.

“Huh.” He thought for a moment. “So are you two dead, or did you come to life or—”

“We were kinda born like this.” Patton answered. “Our parents and siblings are vampires and ghouls, too.”

“Okay...so what about your other soulmates? Where are they, actually?” Virgil furrowed his brow, confused at how calmly he was taking this.

“They’re in the bedroom. I could have them come out if you wanna meet them.” His dad nodded eagerly, only adding to Virgil’s confusion as he ran to the bedroom to call them out.

His father’s eyes passed right over Roman, only to land on Janus, staring with a somewhat nostalgic look in his eyes. “A naga, huh?” He chuckled to himself. “What, does seducing snakes run in the family?”

“I’m sorry, what?” His dad’s smile widened as he seemed to prepare himself to tell a story he had been waiting his whole life to tell.

“Son, did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”

“If you end this by saying I’m half naga or something, I swear to god.” Virgil returned to the couch, Roman and Janus taking their seats right next to him.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you’re completely human. You do technically have a couple adopted naga siblings, though.” The father seemed to relish in Virgil’s confusion, as he wouldn’t continue until Virgil demanded for him to explain what the hell he meant.

“You see, bud, back in college I stumbled into the woods and ran into this really beautiful naga named Medea. Long red hair, bright yellow eyes, blood dripping from her mouth, the works. And she was holding these four naga eggs and wasn’t really able to do anything while protecting them, so I just decided to try and help her out.” He sighed, his eyes glazed over as he reminisced.

“Yeah, I almost died, it was kinda hot. We got to talking after that and eventually she trusted me enough to watch her eggs while she went hunting for whatever she ate. We kinda hit it off and were a thing all throughout college, but then when college was over I had to move out of my dorm. I asked her and the kids to come with me to a new home, but she just didn’t want to.” He scanned over Janus for a moment, smirking to himself before continuing.

“She wanted me to live in her cave, and I wasn’t really comfortable with that. So, she got upset and started trying to kidnap me, and that was kind of the turn off. Had to sneak out at night to stay with a friend and her roommate a few miles away. And then when I got there, I introduced myself to her roommate, a simple “Hey I’m Toby, good to meet ya,” we shook hands, and that’s when we realized we were soulmates.”

He ended the story with a pat on Virgil’s knee and a proud smile. “And that’s how I met your mother. Well, one of your mothers; your other mom was a barista at a coffee shop.” They all stared at him with wide eyes, seeming to still be processing the whole “kidnapping” part.

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“Yeah.” His dad said with a sigh. “I try to stay out of Alabama just in case Medea’s still looking for me.” Janus took a deep breath, nodding and accepting that this was truly what he had just heard.

“Well, Mr. Sanders, I can assure you that I’m nothing like this Medea. I would never do that to Virgil.”

“You tried to make me stay in your cave when we first started dating.” Janus sent Virgil a glare before forcing on a calm face.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t try to kidnap you.”

“Well...”

“Shut up, that was one time.” Janus hissed. Patton cleared his throat.

“So does this mean you’re okay with us dating?”

“Oh hell yeah, go ahead.”

“Wait, seriously?” Virgil asked. “I kept our relationship a secret for almost a whole year only to find out I could’ve told you about it right away?” His dad shrugged.

“And who’s fault is that really?”

“Dad, they kill people!”

“I’m fine with that, and it looks like you are, too.” The timer for the oven went off and Logan went to take care of it while Virgil tried to think of a comeback. Soon enough the six were having a casual discussion over dinner, and all was well.

That night as they all laid in bed, Virgil stared up at the ceiling blankly. “What do you think my moms are gonna think of this?”

“Wait, they aren’t dead?” Roman mumbled, already half-asleep.

“No, they were working tonight.”

“Well, your dad will probably tell them all about us, and that will confuse them quite a bit.” Logan answered.

“I wonder if he ever told them about Medea.” Patton questioned, running a hand across Janus’s tail.

“Probably not, so...your mothers are in for quite the confusing night, Virgil.” Janus smirked. Virgil couldn’t even imagine having to explain both his dad’s past relationship with a naga and his current relationship with four creatures his moms probably weren’t even aware existed at the same time.

He smirked, admittedly kind of pleased to imagine what his dad was probably going through right about now. “Good. Well, goodnight. Love you guys.” Patton hummed happily, curling up closer to him. With a chorus of various different love yous thrown around, the five drifted off slowly to sleep, Virgil feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

[imagine-loki]

Predator to Prey, Chapter 9

TITLE: Predator to Prey CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 9 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki lives in exile on Midgard in a forest, he can’t leave the boundary. But every night when the sun goes down he turns into his Jotun form until the sun rises again. He meets a wolf one day and befriends her, gains her trust. But the wolf is no ordinary wolf… RATING: M

Loki was gobsmacked. He was in such disbelief that Akelia was… Not a wolf. She was… Human? Then part of him was kicking himself for not realising it. Everything made sense now.

Akelia looked like a deer in headlights. Her eyes were wide, face as white as a sheet.

Loki noticed her glancing towards the bedroom. In a split second she tried to bolt for said door, but Loki was too quick and managed to strike for her like a snake.

He grabbed her and pinned her against the wall, a hand at her neck and the other planted firmly against the wall next to her head. Fear flooded her eyes as she looked between his.

She tried to change back to her wolf form, but Loki caught on and squeezed her neck.

‘Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even think about it, I will just force you back again.’ He warned.

Loki felt her gulping and she stopped trying to change. Loki’s grip eased off, but he kept his hand in place so she knew not to try anything.

‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, pet. Are you going to behave if I let you go?’ 

‘Yes.’ She nodded slightly, her voice was a little croaky and quiet.

Loki slowly let go of her and took a step back. His eyes flitted down her body, suddenly remembering she was naked.

‘Here.’ He conjured up his cape and handed it to her.

She wrapped the large green cape around her, glad to finally have something to cover up with. Loki motioned to the sofa.

He could tell that she was scared, he felt a little bad for scaring her. Perhaps he had come on a bit aggressive. But his mind was racing with so many questions. He also felt a little betrayed. He had shared his home and food with her, after all. And she was hiding such a big secret.

Even though he had felt all along that there was more to her…

Loki didn’t sit down, he stood on front of her, towering over her in such an intimidating manner that Akelia wanted the ground to swallow her up.

‘Can you shapeshift into anything, or just a wolf?’ Loki asked.

‘Just…  a wolf.’ She whispered.

Loki frowned, her voice sounded sore. He backed away and went to get a glass of water for her. She was grateful and gave him a half smile when he handed the glass to her.

He nibbled on his thumbnail while she drank the water. He was anxious to know more, to know everything. But he had to be patient with her.

‘I’m sorry’ She started with. ‘My voice… when I am a wolf for so long, my voice takes a while to come back.’ She croaked.

‘Don’t apologise.’ Loki sat down next to her.

‘I… I never meant for you to find out.’ She looked down at the glass in her lap, too nervous to look him in the eye.

‘Why ever not?’

She shrugged. ‘I just… I feel more comfortable as a wolf. I don’t trust anyone. Until… You…’

Loki felt his heart sink a little. He could tell by the way she was speaking and the look of her, that she had been hurt before. Her trust in people had been broken.

‘Where are you from? Were you born able to turn into a wolf?’

‘I was born here, on Earth. The next town over… I was cursed as a baby, apparently. That gave me this gift of turning into a wolf. But the curse side is that it exhausts me whenever I change. It takes a lot out of me… But you changing me didn’t seem to do so.’ Her voice was still croaky but it was starting to get better the more she talked.

‘You were cursed?’ Loki raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. ‘Seemingly the village I lived in wanted to expand. To do so, my father led the villagers to expand across the forest that was beside it. The protector of the forest wasn’t happy, kept warning everyone. But my father ignored the warnings and carried on. So then, the protector placed a curse upon me and turned me into a wolf.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I couldn’t control it when I was a baby. I kept randomly changing into a wolf cub. I was tired all the time because of it. My parents then… sent me away. I don’t remember much about when I was younger, it’s what I’ve been told. The earliest I remember is growing up on Natuheim with who I thought were my parents.’ She said sadly.

‘It’s a beautiful realm.’ Loki said.

He’d been there before, when he was younger. Odin had taken him and Thor along once. It was the realm of nature. A beautiful planet full of wildlife. Those that lived there had learned to co-exist with the animals there. The people were just guests. He imagined it was the perfect place for her to grow up, especially while learning to control how to change forms.

She nodded. ‘Yeah… It is. But it wasn’t my real home. They lied to me all my life.’

Loki breathed out heavily. ‘Well, I know the feeling.’

Akelia looked up at him as he looked back at her. They both felt their hearts breaking for one another. Akelia had listened many nights while Loki told her all about his past. They were rather alike…

‘How did you get back here?’ Loki asked.

Akelia took another sip of her water before continuing. ‘I sneaked onto a ship that was leaving Natuheim. Had no idea where it was going, but then it got attacked and raided. I was taken onto another ship and ended up on a planet called Sakaar.’

Loki felt his stomach drop.

‘You were on Sakaar?’

She nodded.

Loki felt like he was going to be sick. He had been there before… Never again. He knew that a young woman as beautiful as her won’t have had an easy ride there. He dreaded to think what happened to her while she was there, and he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know.

‘It was… horrible. I kept my wolf side hidden because I heard about The Grandmasters champion, I didn’t want to be chucked into the arena. No doubt to be killed. Someone from Vanaheim befriended me. I put my trust into him and we were close to escaping the planet. But he betrayed me. I then went a bit… mad. I turned into the wolf and fought my way out, managed to steal a spaceship and I just put it into hyperdrive and… I passed out, I don’t know what happened. When I woke, the ship had run out of fuel and was just kind of floating around in space. I thought that was it, but then a group of people came along and saved me. They took me here, to Earth. Then carried on their journey. Until you, they were the nicest people I’d met and I was only with them for less than an hour.’

‘You’re very lucky you managed to escape from Sakaar. Not a lot manage to get away from there and live to tell the tale.’ Loki said with a lump in his throat, feeling relieved she had indeed managed to get away.

‘I know… I was stuck there for about five years. Though at least it felt shorter there, cause of the weird time thing they have going on.’ She looked down at the glass in her hands again.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’re human?’ Loki asked.

She took a moment before answering. ‘I just… I don’t trust people. I found that being a wolf everyone was just scared of me and respected me. They didn’t try and hurt or belittle me. I found it was just… easier. Safer. After two years of being a wolf I kind of just forgot that I was human. When you helped me with my leg, it was a kindness I hadn’t had in a long time. I was curious too, because I knew you weren’t human.’

‘But you didn’t quite trust me enough to tell me about this?’ Loki asked, trying not to sound too hurt.

‘No… I do… I do trust you.’ She said, looking up at him. ‘I was just worried you wouldn’t want anything to do with me as a human. I mean, you don’t exactly seem to like them from what you’ve told me.’ She said quietly.

Loki rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. ‘I guess I have been speaking bad of mortals.’

‘I’ve just become too comfortable and safe as a wolf.’ She said.

Loki nodded in understanding.

‘What’s your real name?’ He asked.

‘It’s Maryanne. But I don’t like it.’

‘Well, shall I continue to call you Akelia?’ Loki chuckled.

‘Yeah.’ She nodded and smiled.

‘Akelia it is then.’ He smiled back at her. ‘I do have one, ok maybe a lot of questions. But, that time when you disappeared for a while and returned really down… What was that about?’

Akelia looked down, she didn’t want to talk about it. But she felt that he deserved an answer.

‘I attempted to go and see my real parents again. When I first got back to Earth, I went to see them but they looked so happy and content without me. So I didn’t bother. But after some things you said, I decided to try. But when I went to their door, they were shocked to see me and then told me they didn’t want anything to do with me. That I was a… monster.’

Loki reached over and put his hand over hers, making her jump a little. She looked at him and saw him looking at her with a kindness in his eyes that made her heart melt.

‘One thing I don’t really get is that normally when I shift forms myself, I am exhausted afterwards for a day or so. I have no energy or strength basically. But when you turned me, it was ok.’

Loki raised an eyebrow and hummed, leaning back. ‘Interesting… Perhaps that is part of your curse. If that’s the worst part, then as far as curses go, I’d say you got off rather lightly.’

‘Yeah, I guess so. She is part of me now, I feel more confident and empowered as a wolf. I think I’d be pretty gutted without her.’

Loki nodded. ‘It makes perfect’ He was cut off when there was the sound of someone coming down through the trees. He rushed over to the window to look and saw a few men from the village. He groaned in irritation.

‘Give me a minute.’ He said to Akelia, his armour and daggers forming on him.

‘Change me back. I can deal with them quickly.’ Akelia said eagerly.

‘I don’t think so. You might run off, and we still have a lot more to discuss.’ Loki said firmly.

Akelia sighed and muttered under her breath while Loki went outside to deal with the intruders.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter seven | crab society

a/n: this chapter is so long, i had to split it right in two (i also had to post something; i don’t like going more than a few days without an update)

“Hang on, Joey—let's get some warmth into you.”

Joey shivered and trembled under the blanket as he took to the front seat next to Frank. He kept the sunglasses over his face to guard his eyes from the glare of the snow outside. Sam slid into the back seat next to Charlie, who put his arm around her to keep her warm even though the car's idling brought enough heat to comfortably ride. Frank turned the dial on the heater and they were met with a strong blast of warm air. They drove off the side of the road and began towards the main freeway. Within time, the Binghamton skyline emerged through the windshield; Frank turned his head in Joey's direction: all Sam could see was the crown of curls upon his head.

“How you feelin'?” Frank asked him. “You getting enough warmth?”

“Yeah,” Joey replied in a flat monotone. His shoulders shook under the blanket; he shuffled his feet on the hard floor.

“It's alright, man, we're almost there,” Charlie assured him, even though Sam could tell they were a ways out of town. The snow capped trees lining the sides of the road made her think of gingerbread and sugar plums, to the point it made her teeth itch. He looked over at her with his eyebrows raised up into his bangs.

“Are you warm?” Charlie asked her in a low voice.

“Getting there,” she confessed with a shudder of her shoulders. Frank peered into the rear view mirror for a second, and then again for another few seconds.

“How 'bout you two birds?” he called to them as they passed a few signs pointing to Syracuse.

“We're getting all kinds of cozy back here,” Charlie replied.

“Speaking of cozy...” Joey started but his voice trailed off. Frank looked over at him for a split second before he switched lanes.

“What about being cozy?” he asked Joey.

“All the time I was tryin' to get to the nearest pay phone, right?” he cleared his throat. “An' when I got there, I was thinkin' about cannolis.”

“Oh, man,” Frank's face lit up at the sound of that.

“Cannolis straight out of the oven—all for me, y'know?” He turned his head towards Frank, such that Sam could make out the mischievous look on his face. “I was thinkin' of stoppin' over here for a bunch of cannolis for my parents.”

Charlie turned back to her.

“You ever had fresh cannoli out of the oven?” he asked her.

“I don't think I have,” she confessed.

“You'd know if you have,” he said.

“Yeah, you'd know,” Frank called back to her. “Crafted by like—mine and Charlie's grandmother, or Joey's grandmother.”

“My grandma would make hers right from scratch,” Joey elaborated; he adjusted the blanket over his shoulders and he snuggled further down in the seat. “I remember she had this little bottle of vanilla she brought over from Italy. There was just nuthin' like it.”

“Our grandma does, too,” Charlie added.

And then it all clicked.

“I'm a California girl in the same car as three Italian guys,” she remarked.

“Yeah, you are!” Frank laughed out loud. Joey laughed along with him and then he shuddered again.

“God—God damn it,” he muttered.

“It's warm in here,” said Frank with a knitting of his eyebrows.

“I know, but—I can't get warm, though. It's horrible.” Joey shuddered and rubbed his hands on his upper arms.

“Get this old boy some liquids,” Charlie declared as they spotted a welcome sign on the side of the road.

“I want some cocoa,” Joey said as he tugged on the blanket again.

“With marshmallows?” Sam asked him with a bit of a smile on her face.

“Ooh, yes! Those little tiny marshmallows the size of my thumbnail. And maybe a glass of scotch after that.”

“Hot cocoa and then booze?” Frank was stunned. “Jesus Christ, Joey.”

“At that point, you might as well have some Irish coffee,” Charlie remarked. Sam wondered if they would in fact have a drink together later there in town; she was a year away from being able to drink in public.

“It's a little early to be drinking, too,” Frank added as he changed lanes again. “I'd like a little bit myself at some point, but I think we should at least wait until noon to indulge a bit.”

“Well, that's just kind of the day it is today, though, Frankie,” Joey insisted. “My car broke down and now I'm gonna miss my parents when I promised them I'd be there. I need a drink.”

“I'm sure you can find a way to get a hold of them,” Frank assured him as they took the next exit into the downtown area. “You got a hold of me.”

“Yeah, but I used the last of my change on it, though.”

“I can help,” Charlie assured him.

“Yeah, me, too,” Frank added.

“I'll try to, too,” Sam chimed in.

“See? You've got people looking for ya, Joey. Don't sweat it.”

Within time, they rolled into the cozy downtown part of Binghamton and Frank pulled up to the nearest coffee house there on the main block. Joey kept the blanket wrapped around his little body as the four of them strode inside for a round of hot cocoa and some other things. Sam huddled next to Joey there in the far corner of the room, but she never touched him; she had left her journal in the car. He took off his sunglasses and set them down on the table in front of them. Charlie had disappeared into the back of the coffee house for the bathroom and to search for a phone.

“My friend might have hypothermia a little bit,” Frank told the barista behind the counter.

Joey turned to Sam and a few disheveled strands of inky black hair fell down over his forehead towards his large brown eyes. She eyed the tip of his nose, which was almost perfectly straight. Complete with the heavy woolly blanket over his body, he actually resembled to a little Native American boy hailing from the Great Lakes area.

“I wish there was something I could do,” she confessed to him.

“I'll be okay,” he promised her with a small smile on his narrow face. “Thank you, though.”

She lowered her gaze to Joey's legs, which jutted out from underneath the hem of the blanket. She recalled what Aurora had told her about his checking her out when they were in the room together about to eat breakfast. She examined his knees and his lower legs: the dark denim of his jeans accentuated the delicate shape of his legs. He was nice and thin, not too thin but elegant and lovely; even from underneath the blanket, she could make out the sinewy shape of his thighs. They were tight and toned but not overly so, and they tightened up even more as he huddled down even more against the warmth from the heater vent over their heads.

Frank strode over to them with a cup of hot chocolate in either hand for the both of them. Joey reached out from the under the blanket for the cup on the left, while Sam took the one on the right. He was eager for a sip; Sam took a second look to find a few of those little marshmallows at the top of the chocolate.

He set the cup down for a second and he shuddered again.

“I can't get warm—like internally,” he confessed.

“Just drink the cocoa,” she told him in a soothing voice. “Drink it up slowly.”

Frank had returned to the counter for a poppy seed muffin for himself. Charlie emerged from the back of the coffee shop.

“Joey, there's a phone over here,” the latter announced once he was within earshot.

“Okay...” Joey took another sip and shuddered again. He then looked at Sam out of the corners of his eyes. A couple of inches of clearance separated the two of them. A voice in the back of her head told her to put her arm around him to keep him warm, much like how Charlie did that for her in the back seat. But he kept on sipping at the cup of hot chocolate, and that time, he did it at a slow pace much like how she advised him.

She blew on the top of her cup and took a sip for herself. It was warm and soft, and the marshmallows added to it to keep her warm. She looked across the table at Frank, who picked off pieces of his muffin and slipped it into his mouth. Charlie took a seat next to him and ran his fingers through his black hair.

“You didn't get something?” Sam asked him.

“Nah. I'm good.” His cheekbones filled out and the cleft in his chin accentuated when he smiled. She returned him a smile as well. Even after having lived in New York for not very long, she clicked with Frank and Charlie as if she had known them both for years. But then there was Joey, the man on her left and a blind spot of sorts.

She turned her head to him to make out the shape of the curls on his forehead and the side of his head. His skin was smooth and even silken in appearance; she had no idea if he was even welcome to the feeling of an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm.

“How're you feeling?” she asked him in a low voice.

“Still cold,” he replied without changing his expression. He took another sip of hot chocolate and that time he sipped down one of the marshmallows. “Hot cocoa's good, though.”

“Oh, yeah.” She turned to Frank. “How's that muffin?”

“Little dry. But—” He shrugged. “—it was all they had there in the case.” Sam turned back to Joey to look at his hair again. Little tight tendrils made up his bangs; stray locks jutted out from the side and crown of his head. She could run her fingers through his hair and feel the tightest of curls: she wondered about the tightness of the roots down at his scalp. Those curls looked silky and coarse at the same time.

She knew it would be a challenge to draw, and perhaps one with black ink.

“So you wanna get cannolis still?” Frank asked him.

“Nah—I think I'll help my grandma make some when I get to their place,” Joey confessed at a reluctant rate.

“Your grandma's still alive?” Sam smiled at that.

“Yeah, she's—kinda old, but yeah. Nothin' beats her cannoli, anyway.” He took another sip of hot chocolate, albeit a larger one that time. He let out a long low whistle and held the cup down to his chest. He was hiding something. That cold stony demeanor hid something from the rest of the world. She could sense it; she could see it in his eyes.

Sam took another sip of hot chocolate and downed a few of the marshmallows all the while. There was a way in there.

But there was Frank and Charlie right before her. Perhaps she could separate the drawing of them from her sketchbook: the pages were perforated after all. Or she could find another piece of paper for the drawing of them.

Once he had drank down half of his chocolate, Joey stood to his feet and, once he fixed the blanket around his body, he rounded the side of the table. Charlie gave him a bit of change; once Joey thanked him, he ambled across the floor towards the other side of the room. He looked like he was carrying a cape as he made his way over to the phone behind the counter. Frank and Charlie gazed on at her.

“So—what'd you do with your journal?” Frank asked her.

“It's in the car.” She squinted her eyes at him. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He showed her a little smile, and his two front teeth shone in the lights of the coffee shop. He had star's teeth, even as a struggling musician. She returned to Charlie, who sat right across from her.

“You got any more sex stories?” she asked him, which brought a laugh out of Frank. Charlie's face flushed with embarrassment.

“I'm afraid I don't,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Although when Jaws came out, Frank and I stood in line at the theater to see it and we saw these two lesbians making out on the other side of the street.”

She gasped at him.

“I was like ten,” said Frank in a low voice. “He was—how old were you, Charlie?”

“I was twelve,” Charlie answered. “Yeah—” He cleared his throat and glanced about to make sure no one was eavesdropping; they were the only ones there in the coffee shop as the barista had disappeared into the back room. “—you and I got exposed to sexuality at a young age. We watched it happen from across the street.”

“I couldn't get it out of my head for like a week,” Frank added as he put in a few more bites of muffin into his mouth. “These two women on the other side of the street making out with each other and you and I looked at each other in shock.”

“We didn't tell our parents, either,” Charlie continued with a brief glimpse over at Sam.

“I mean, there was just no way we could,” Frank admitted once he swallowed down the bites. “Like, how do I say to my mom—and how do you tell your sister—that we saw two gay women together like that? We saw actual porn in broad daylight together!”

“It was something that we experienced as like pseudo brothers. I couldn't get it out of my head for days on end.”

Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. She was at a loss for words but she knew she could find her way with the two of them and that photograph Frank had lent with her. Joey surfaced from the counter, still with the blanket wrapped around his body and still with a disgruntled look on his face.

“How'd it go?” she asked him; he returned to his seat and set the cup down on the table. He huddled down next to her, still a few inches next to her.

“My father was like, 'well—it's not the first time I've lent you money to do something, son.'” He sighed through his nose and bowed his head.

“Well, at least he's willing to give you some for gas,” Frank pointed out as he stuffed the remainder of the muffin stump into his mouth.

“Yeah, but...” Joey's voice trailed off.

“But what?” Sam asked him.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” he said almost under his breath. He downed the rest of his hot chocolate right there. She turned to Frank and Charlie, who glanced at each other with looks of concern on their faces.

“We were also talking about Irish coffee earlier, and now I'm wanting some,” he confessed.

“It's not even noon yet,” Frank remarked.

“Yeah, I know.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together. He was definitely hiding something.

She downed the rest of her hot chocolate and the four of them stood to their feet in unison.

“So what's gonna happen?” Frank asked Joey as he adjusted the blanket around his body.

“Well, my dad was gonna go out anyways,” he explained in a low voice, “—he's gonna swing by here and take me to the gas station up the street here for me. He's bringing a gas can with him, too.”

“How you feeling?” Sam asked him as she handed him his sunglasses.

“A little better—the cup of cocoa definitely helped a bit. But it's gonna be a little while before I can fully feel warm, though.” He clutched onto the blanket with one hand as he opened the sunglasses with his mouth and then slipped them on over his eyes.

“You guys can go back to the City if you'd like,” he said.

“Well, we gotta at least keep you company, though” she insisted.

“Nah, that's—that's real kind of ya—” He raised his eyebrows from behind the mirrored lenses. “—but he told me he'll be here in like ten minutes.”

She turned to Frank, who shrugged his shoulders at her, and then to Charlie, who hovered closer to her with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweat pants. She swallowed and nodded her head.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Stay warm, okay?”

“Of course,” he said with a little glimmer of a smile at her. “I'll see you guys soon.”

She wanted to crack that cool demeanor if no one else did already. Frank and Charlie led her back to the car, and in turn left Joey there alone in the coffee shop in anticipation. As she huddled down in the front seat next to Frank once again, she looked on at her journal upon the dashboard.

“I hope he's gonna be okay,” she confessed aloud.

“He will,” Frank assured her as he fired up the car again. “He's an upstate boy who's half Italian and half Iroquois Indian. He might look like a little guy but he's tough, though.”

“He was a hockey player before he showed up with us,” Charlie added.

“Really?” Sam peered over her shoulder at him with her mouth agape.

“I dunno the full details but yeah. When our producer brought him down from this town way upstate called Plattsburgh, he told us he played hockey pretty much most of his life.”

“And I think it's just cold getting to him, too,” Frank pointed out; he reversed the car out of the spot and then he almost drifted to the driveway. “I know I'd be miserable if it were me in his position. Car broke down right before you get to civilization and you use your last bit of change on a lifeline, and you totally freeze your ass off waiting for them.”

“Doesn't he have other friends, though?” Sam asked them.

“Oh, yeah. But I guess that—since it's still kinda early and it's a little out of the way—he thought we—or at least, I could come and get him.”

“It also builds a relationship with us, too,” Charlie added.

“Yeah, he is the new guy after all,” Frank recalled as they rolled out of there and returned to the freeway. “Or maybe he did call up a friend of his, and they couldn't come, and we were like a last resort of sorts. I dunno—like I said, I think the cold was getting to him. He wasn't his usual bright and plucky self.”

“He did use his last bit of change after all,” Charlie pointed out. “He's kinda anal about spending a lot of money.”

“We are, too,” said Frank.

“Kinda have to be,” said Sam.

“Yeah, right! We kinda have to be when we're still just starting out and there's not much to work with.”

They drove past a tailor shop, one with red blazers on display in the front window, and she flashed back on that dream she had had the night before. She could only recall the man next to her in the water as they held onto the nose of the plane together, and she could only recall the look of fear in his eye.

They reached the onramp and they sped up the freeway, back to the cut off and the way back to New York City. Another few hours and a few hours whereby Sam thought about what to put into that journal, which she had eventually lay down on her lap to keep the heat coming out of the vents. The three of them sat in silence all the way down to Monticello, when Charlie finally spoke.

“I think Scott wanted to tell me something.”

“Something about what?” Frank called back to him, which he accompanied with a glimpse in the rear view mirror.

“I dunno—just something about something.”

“Something something something?”

“Something something something, exactly!”

“Care to share?”

“Can't.”

“Why not?”

“I just can't, Frankie.”

“Why? We're related and we're in the same band together. We should be able to share secrets with each other. We shared Spreading the Disease with Sam here, and we kept the whole lesbian thing between us for almost ten years.”

“Scott just doesn't want me talking about it yet,” Charlie tersely said.

Frank fetched up a sigh and he glanced over at her.

“Alright, fine.”

Sam frowned at that. They were related, and so close in age that they passed off as brothers. She could sense it: they fought like brothers, and yet they kept it at bay because of her being there in the passenger seat. She glanced down at the journal on her lap and she stroked the hard cover with the pads of her thumbs.

Within time, the Twin Towers emerged from the gray sky, and the rest of the skyline followed suit.

“I'm sure Scott'll understand that we had to rescue Joey,” Frank said with another sigh.

“Yeah, it's gonna be—it's gonna be a while before we get there,” Charlie added.

Indeed, the freeway brought them back to the Bronx and they meandered their way through the heart of New York City. It was a little trip in and of itself, even with it being a stretch of freeway that led them all the way down to Manhattan. Frank took the next exit and they reached that familiar block. Sam wondered if Aurora was in at work that day, and she thought about having another round of pho with her at some point.

They hung a left and that rehearsal space entered their view. Sam looked around for Aurora's car anywhere on the block, but it was nowhere to be seen. She did recognize Scott sitting on the front step: he was wrapped in a black leather jacket, snug denim jeans, and those big black Doc Martens, and he had hunched his shoulders against the cold of the day. They parked at the curb right in front of him. Charlie climbed out of there first to talk with him; Sam followed suit, and then Frank.

“We had to rescue Joey,” Charlie told him.

“From what?” Scott chuckled.

“He ran out of gas outside of Binghamton,” Frank joined in, “and he didn't really elaborate much, but we can only assume that he called someone and they couldn't come, so he turned to us.” Sam huddled next to him, and thus the three of them congregated before Scott there on the front step.

“Brought the girl along, too!” he proclaimed with a grin and a raise of his dark eyebrows.

“Yeah, I just happened to be there when he called,” she shrugged, “I didn't wanna be alone, either.”

“So, what'd you wanna—tell me?” Charlie asked Scott.

“Huh?”

“You know—that one thing you wanted to tell me.”

Scott's eyes darted about, and then his face lit up.

“Oh, that!” He stood to his feet and he led them into the building. Frank shut the door behind them, and he and Sam stood side by side on the edge of the room.

“Apparently we got finished with the recording process ahead of schedule,” Scott explained as he strode up the hallway, “like way ahead. Jon told me we've got to do something the studio time. So I brought a surprise for you guys—” He ducked his head into the room there at the end of the hallway, and he said something. He leaned back out so the guy could come on out of there.

“Dan!” Charlie declared.

“Dan?” Sam asked.

“Dan!” Frank said.

“Dan,” Scott echoed from down the hall.

He was like a tall lanky version of Scott: a round faced boy with a thick head of jet black curls, and eyebrows as wide as a frozen fish stick over bright eyes. He wore a heavy dark sweater and snug leather jeans. He raised those eyebrows at her as if he was taken aback by her.

“Our old bassist Danny Lilker,” Scott announced; “Danny, that's Sam from California.” He ducked into the room there.

“Bright and sunny California.” Dan's voice was gentle and smooth. “What brings you to New York City?”

“A new chapter in life,” she said; Charlie disappeared into the room closest to them. “That's cool! I know what it's like to start over.”

“That's—what I've heard.” She glanced over at Frank, who fiddled with the zipper of his puffy jacket. “So what's gonna go on here?”

“I dunno. All I know is Scott said he had an ace up his sleeve and one that he wanted Charlie and some other guy named Bill to join in on together.”

“Bill,” Sam echoed.

“Bill—Milano, I think is his name? I dunno, that's what Scott told me. He knows more than I do.”

Scott emerged from the back room with a composition notebook tucked under his arm. Dan turned around to look at him.

“Seeing her,” Scott gestured to Sam, “and knowing that she's gonna do the whole art thing—it gave me an idea to make my own art.” He opened the journal to show her the drawing on the first page: a large grotesque skull looked to be made of splinters with deep set bulging eyes, a partially burnt cigar jutted out from its mouth, and a dark green army helmet atop its head. Underneath the skull read: “Sargent D. I'm not racist; I hate everyone. Speak English or die.”

“Wow,” she remarked, unsure of what to believe.

“I scribbled this down after I lay down the guitar tracks,” he explained, “I showed it to Charlie and he laughed and was like, 'dude, we should do something with that!' Told Danny about it and he had the same reaction. We started throwing around the name Storm Troopers of Death and he decided to come along.”

“So we're gonna do this?” Dan asked him.

“Yeah—if Charlie's gonna be onboard with it, anyways.”

“I'm in!” Charlie himself called out.

“So what's this mean now?” asked Sam.

“It means tacos,” Dan teased her. “Nah, it means we gotta get our asses back upstate 'cause that's where the recording studio is. And where another buncha demo tapes called Crab Society are—I'll explain it later. You can come along if you'd like—that is, if you're not doing anything.”

“I'm not doing anything. So we're gonna say hi to Joey again.”

“We're gonna say hi to Joey again, yes!”

[miaa4tez]

Season 3, Episode 1 or so help me god... Also available on AO3.

Finally // beautiful stranger 

He sort of thought she’d maybe... say something, after everything. He’d walked home that night a bundle of uncertainty and self-doubt, but for the first time, he actually felt a bit hopeful. He and Maeve couldn’t seem to stop missing one another, and he was damn near determined that this time, it’d be different. 

 

But then the weekend came and went, and he hadn’t heard from her once, and he found himself growing more self-conscious by the second. Had he been too late? Did he miss his chance for real this time? Was she really... over him? 

 

He nearly races to school come Monday morning, a ball of nerves and pent up energy. He tries being happy for Eric as he recounts endless details about his weekend with Adam, really he does, but all he could think is whether Maeve had truly heard his confession of love and felt... nothing. That might just be the thing to do him in for good. 

 

It takes him a few laps through the school but he finally finds her in the library, a book perched on her lap and her thumbnail between her teeth. He nearly loses his nerve, can’t help but stare at her like this for a moment - unguarded, serene - but then he reminds himself that he’s done being an asshole, damnit, and pushes forward. 

 

“Um, Maeve?” Fucking loser. Man up. 

 

He sees her jaw clench, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek, her eyes shut briefly before she flips a page. He hates that he elicits that response from her now. “Studying, dickhead.” 

 

He watches her swallow and her eyes seem to be going over the same line over and over. 

 

He clenches his hands at his side. “Can we talk?” He unclenches his fists, stretches them in the silence. “Please.” 

 

She’s so good at masking her emotions, but he catches a slight hitch as she clears her throat, shuts her book with a definitive thud and stands abruptly. She meets his eyes, cool and steady, and he feels himself shrink under the weight of her gaze. “I’ve got to get to class.” 

 

She pushes past him then, out the door, and for a moment he considers letting her go. Surely she deserves better than him, better than the hurt he’s caused her. But then he spies her jacket left dangling over the couch and his body is moving without his consent.

 

“Look I know I said some stupid things but I really think we ought to talk it out so I could tell you how sorry I am,” he pleads, her jacket draped across his arm as he strides behind her. 

 

She speeds up, forcing him to trail after her. “Not much to talk about then, is there? You’re sorry, so that’s it. We’re good then.” She bites the corner of her thumb, refusing to turn and face him as she weaves through the halls. 

 

“Well I just thought...” He stops short. What did he think, really? “I hadn’t heard from you this weekend,” he mutters instead. 

 

She stops in front of her locker, flicks her eyes to his briefly, searching. He lamely extends her jacket to her and she snags it from him a touch too harsh. “Yeah well. I’ve been busy. Not everything is about you, you know.” 

 

He buries his hands deep in his jacket pockets. He’s a little ashamed it’s taken him this long to congratulate her. “Yeah, no, of course. Sorry. Congratulations, by the way. I saw you on TV.”

 

The corner of her mouth turns up in the barest hint of a smile, but she ignores his attempt to meet her eyes and reaches for her Maths book. “Right. Well it wasn’t just me.” 

 

“You should be proud of yourself, Maeve. They couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

If he’s thawing her at all, she won’t let on. She bites her bottom lip anxiously and slams her locker in a hurry, but he presses on, hands extending then retracting back to his pockets. 

 

“And I just thought we could clear the air, you know. Be friends again?... I’d really like to be your friend again, Maeve. At least.” He shakes his head. This isn’t going well. “I’ve let you down and I know that. And I understand if you didn’t lis-“ 

 

“Otis.” She interrupts him, exhaling his name almost as if she’s got no energy left. He sucks in a breath and looks at her. Sees the hurt swimming in her eyes. “Forget it, okay? We’ve tried being friends but all we do is hurt one another.” She wraps her arms tight around herself, her eyes boring holes into her shoes. “I’ve got enough people in my life to hurt me. I don’t need another.” 

 

She meets his eyes then and he couldn’t save this if he tried. He opens his mouth anyway - foolishly - but whatever he intended to say is drowned out by the class bell. 

 

Her eyes flicker to his once more - pleading him to fight back? Maybe, but she’s pushed past him and out of sight before he can find the words.

 

...

 

She’s basically a ghost for the rest of the week, slipping through the halls in silence and keeping her eyes to the ground. She‘s forgotten how easy it was to go unnoticed in this school, and she both loves and hates how easily she slips back into it. Fleetingly she thinks that she hasn’t seen Otis once, even from the corner of her eye, and it’s not like she cares or anything - she hardly noticed, really, fuck off - but the clinic has been almost nonexistent and she’s got rent due Monday and this spat between them is really fucking with her source of income.

By Friday she’s said maybe ten words total to another human being (three of which being “Piss off, Isaac” when the wanker insisted on perching himself at her doorstep after she refused to answer his calls), but she found herself somewhat comforted by still having people around her. The fact is she hates the idea of going home to an empty trailer almost as much as she doesn’t want to be at school, so she sucks it up and makes plans to ask Aimee if they can walk home together. Thinks maybe she can spend the night there if she asks, too. God, she hates asking for things. 

 

It’s not just Otis she’s avoiding. It’s everything. Her mom, her shitty fucking luck, the reality that of all the Quizheads, she’s least likely to get a full ride scholarship to Uni even though that’s the only way she can realistically afford to go. She knows she‘s destined for more than a shit job at the mall and a double wide with no heat, but she’s certain she was born in the wrong dimension, because in this one life is determined to fuck her over. 

 

Her mind is a tangle of self-doubt but she’s trying her fucking damnedest to silence it all as she waits for Aimee by the school’s entrance, perched against a tree and attempting to focus on Silas Marner - she finds it far superior and the more relatable of George Eliot’s works, no wonder it took her so long to finish Middlemarch - but she’s been standing here for over an hour and Aimee is nowhere to be found. In fact, the front lawn is basically empty aside from a couple stoners and some horny couple grinding on a bench in the corner. She checks her phone, shoots a text to Aimee, waits five minutes for the three dots to pop up and when the message comes through, she feels her heart fall to her feet.

Steve wants to try hugging. Raincheck?

The sun is setting as she walks home alone, a crisp in the air that wasn’t there last week, and she’s trying to match her steps to her heartbeats but it’s proving harder than she’d like. Who says her breathing’s more ragged than usual? Sod off. 

She wishes she hadn’t lent Erin her headphones - she’ll never see those again either - because she could really use something right now to drown out her racing thoughts. She focuses instead on the faded crescent moon rising in the sky, and by the time she walks onto the lot the sky is dark and the only thing she wants is to curl into a ball in her bed and not leave until Monday morning.

She sees the bag from far away, hanging from the door handle of her trailer. She looks left and right on impulse, wonders if it was Isaac before she feels certain it wasn’t. If her steps quicken, she’ll never admit to it.

She snags the bag quickly and slams the door behind her, fingers itching to find out what’s inside. Her hand wraps around a binder and she pulls it out slowly, suddenly nervous. A note flutters out with it and falls to her feet, and her jaw clenches as she recognizes the familiar scrawl.

 

You deserve better than all of us.

She stares at the message a moment more because she collapses into a seat at the table, binder spread out before her. She opens the first page and her throat tickles with the emotion of it all.

It’s a collection of paperwork, brochures and articles and informational pamphlets. Schools she mentioned, universities she’s named in passing conversations when she thought they were just killing time before his next session. He compiled them all by the areas of study she might be most interested, and she smirks despite herself that each school is color coded. He’d always busted her for organizing the clinic schedule like that. He’s even taken the time to highlight new places she hasn’t considered, places that offer creative writing programs and financial scholarships for independents.

She feels the smile on her lips but it’s like her brain catches up, stunned for a moment by the gesture, and she’s suddenly furious.

 

Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know what she needs, what she wants, what’s best for her. All he’s done since he came into her life was cause her pain, and now he’s trying to be some fucking savior for her? She snags a sweater strewn over the couch and is out the door before she even knows where she’s going. All she knows is that he doesn’t get to make some grand gesture and have her forgive him. It’s bullshit. She’s going to storm over there and tell him exactly where he can shove his fucking charity. He’s -

-standing in the middle of the bridge. Waiting for her.

Her breath catches in her throat and she absently notes that he looks terrified. There are so many things she wants to spit at him but for some reason she can’t find words just yet. He shocks her by speaking first.

“I didn’t want you to have to come all the way to me again,” he shrugs, the corner of his lip curling up just slightly.

She crosses her arms quickly, petulant as a child as she scoffs at him. But despite herself, she feels lighter standing before him. Damn it all to hell. “How’d you know I’d even come to you?” She’s trying for offhanded but knows she doesn’t manage it.

He scratches his ear and looks to his shoes. “I didn’t?” He has the decency to sound sheepish. “I figured I’d give it an hour or so and see if you called maybe.”

“Oh, only an hour then?” She deadpans. She gets way too much satisfaction from his rosy cheeks.

He cocks his head just so, offering her a half smile. “Maybe two,” he relents.

She feels her mouth pulling into a grin but she bites the inside of her cheek before it erupts. Instead she nods once and wrings her hands together by her chest. The silence sits between them and it’s colder out here than it was an hour ago.

“I’m sorry,” she hears him breath, and he must realize how quiet he said it because he clears his throat and meets her eyes. “I’m really sorry.” Louder this time, more conviction.

She can see the sincerity in his eyes and he always did know how to get to her. She nods this time, her mouth twisting in a wry smirk. “Yeah you should be,” she jokes, but it doesn’t feel much like a joke once it’s out of her mouth, and she feels the frustration seep back in. “You know, you can’t go around trying to manipulate me by doing something nice. Doesn’t work like that. You’re not charming, you know.”

Otis blinks. “Is that what you were coming to tell me?”

“What?”

“You were headed to my house, weren’t you? Was that what you were going to say?”

Her eyes widen, indignant, and the anger mounts. “Yes,” she demands. “You can’t just hurt me and expect it to all be okay just like that. It’s not. I trusted you, Otis, and you let me down. Everyone else is shit but I never thought you’d...” her voice catches and a small sob fills her chest but she won’t let it out. Refuses. Instead she stops, catching her breath and turning her head to the side as angry tears threaten to pour over. She digs a nail into her palm to stop them. She won’t let him do this to her again.

He takes a tentative step forward and reaches out for her slightly, and she finds great satisfaction when he retracts his hand, until she follows his gaze and realizes he must notice that she’s wearing his sweater. Shit.

It seems to embolden him though and he looks to her again. “I know, and Maeve, I know I hurt you and I was a dickhead -“

“Massive dickhead,” she elaborates.

“But I don’t think it’s all my fault.” He finishes.

She’s certain she heard him wrong.

“Excuse me?” She gapes, incredulous.

“We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for months,” Otis argues, arms up for emphasis. “All year, really. And then Jackson -

“Are you seriously turning this around on me?” She can’t believe him.

“No but -

“‘Cause it sounds like you are -“

“I’m not!” He insists. “It’s just that...you’re you! And I’m ME and, and we were friends. Such good friends, Maeve, and then you... And it just made me so angry that you didn’t tell me you liked me until things with Ola.... it’s just... I had no idea someone like you could have possibly liked someone like me.”

 

Her nostrils flare with her anger and she’s trying not to strangle him right this instant. She’s not sure if it’s because he doubted her or that he’s so fucking sure he’s right (and so what if he is a little?) “Right well it’s probably for the best you didn’t know. I’m the most selfish person you know, after all.”

 

He sighs loudly. “Maeve, of course I didn’t mean that.“

“It sounded like you did,” she quips.

“I was so drunk. I ate a whole roast chicken that night! And I was confused and I was trying to hurt you like I was hurting when of course you didn’t deserve it.” 

He’s got her there.

She sniffles and crosses her arms, choosing to count the railings on the bridge rather than meet his eyes.

 

He sighs and reaches toward her, palms open. “I know I can’t take back what I did. And I know things are still broken between us. But... I like you, Maeve. I really, really like you.”

She looks up then, against her own will honestly, but he’s got his eyes closed. Either because he can’t look at her either or he’s mustering up the courage, she can’t be sure.

He rubs a hand over his face and chuckles ironically. “Hell I think I even love you. You’re brave and you’re resilient and you’re honest and you’re good. Life should have taken you out dozens of times already but you never let it. You’re too good for every fucking one of us and we just keep letting you down over and over. But I want to be there for you. I want to be the one you turn to. I don’t want you to feel alone or scared or hurt. And I hate that I’ve already done all those things but if you let me, if you give me a chance, I promise I won’t hurt you again. And I know, I know so many people have said that to you before, but I’m going to prove it. You don’t have to believe me, but let me prove it to you. Please. I -“

She’s not sure at what point in his speech her arms drop to her sides, when her brow smooths and her gaze softens and her lip drops just slightly. She feels the heat pool in her chest, warm and bubbling and even a little uncomfortable, blooming its way up her neck to her cheeks and face. And in her haze she really can’t remember when she steps forward and brings her mouth to his, soft but hard all at once, but she knows when she does that she’s never quite had a kiss like this in her life.

That is, because he doesn’t quite kiss her back.

Her lips are tingling but his body is like a statue before her, and she’s sure he’s unconscious but she can feel his heart thrumming beneath her hands atop his chest, and has she killed him? She pulls back slightly, exhaling a harsh breath, not daring to meet his eyes but seemingly incapable of putting more than an inch of distance between them. The barrier’s been broken now and she finds she’s never been warmer in her whole life. She’s about to say something, anything really, when his hands come up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her to look him in the eyes. Nerves grasp her now - it was so impulsive, she didn’t give it a second of thought before - but she has no time for them. She hears him swallow just as he pinches her chin and brings her mouth to his once more, and this is what their first kiss should have been. His lips are tender on hers and she wants to be closer to him all at once, so she wraps her arms around his waist and opens her mouth, feeling his breath on her tongue before his follows along. She was sure he’d be timid but it’s like his body is reacting all on its own, and she can’t help herself. Her lips curl into a smile against his mouth, and she nearly melts into a puddle when his thumb comes to the corner of her lip, the pad of his finger tracing the outline of her smile.

When they properly pull back for a breath, she can feel his eyes on her, blue crystals boring into her soul, and for the life of her she has no idea why she meets his gaze. She wants to look away but somehow she can’t, and he’s smiling at her and by God if she’s not absolutely fucking in love with this dickhead.

“You kissed me.” He tucks her hair behind her ear as he says it and she hates him even more. Her life will never be just hers again.

She licks her lips. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll bite your dick off. Okay mouth breather?” There isn’t the slightest trace of malice in her voice. It’s barely above a whisper.

Otis nods once, brow creased in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m still angry at you,” she murmurs, eyes fixated on his bottom lip as she grips the ends of his shirt tighter.

He swallows hard and nods. “I know. I’m still angry with me too.”

She wants to keep the banter going but she’s got no fight in her, just butterflies wrecking havoc on her stomach and fire in her cheeks. She can’t stop staring at his lips - it’s like he’s cast a spell on her or something - and then she remembers she can do it again if she wants. This is going to be a real problem, she can tell. She’s on her tiptoes when he seems to remember the same thing, and he’s wearing the goofiest smile when he brings her face to his and leans down to kiss her again.

(It might take him a few hours to calm her down after he tells her about the missing voicemail - she could fucking murder Isaac - but he quickly finds exactly how to shut her up. If they don’t sleep that night, it’s entirely his fault.)

...

Note: this was shit but I wrote it in the notes on my phone because please let them be together next season PLEASE. It’s my first tumbler post too so sorry the format is weird as shit.

[sugxrmotta]

Duet Dalliances || Ryder/Sugar

TAGGING: Sugar Motta and Ryder Lynn WHEN: 9th December WHERE: Ryder’s room GENERAL NOTES: Sugar and Ryder hang out and discuss karaoke options before getting distracted. WARNINGS: None

Sugar checked herself out in the mirror once last time as she got ready to leave for the evening. She had spent time doing her hair and make-up, spending hours to make it look like she'd spent minutes on it. After all, she didn't want to look like she'd tried too hard, whilst trying hard in the process. She quickly ran her fingers over the creases in her dress before deciding she needed to leave if she was going to make it on time. Sugar pulled some boots on, choosing the cutest practical pair she had since she was making her way across the resort and that involved a lot of snow. She shrugged on her coat and checked she had everything before heading out of the chalet. She made her way through the snow to the hotel, stomping the snow off her boots as she reached the door. Sugar smiled at the doorman as he pulled the door open for her before looking around the lobby for Ryder as she stepped inside.

Ryder was feeling a bit nervous about hanging out with Sugar that evening. He had even rushed back to his room after work to shower even though he took one earlier that morning and, if he was being honest, he didn’t do too much around the resort. Still he wanted to make sure he looked presentable and not like some handyman, so he made sure to lose the hoodie and t-shirt and put on a nice flannel button down and clean pair of jeans. Ryder’s eyes were on door of the lobby, waiting for Sugar to meet him. He got there a few minutes early because he figured better him waiting for her than the other way around. Never make a lady wait, he was raised. He spotted her instantly, and waved from across the room despite the amount of people in the way. Walking over with a huge smile on his face, he called out over the noise of the lobby. “Hey, Sugar. Ready to see my humble abode aka my room?” He asked, lowering his voice as he greeted her.

Sugar was glad that Ryder was already waiting for her, she didn't exactly want to be sat in the lobby waiting. It wasn't like she spent much time in the hotel at all, the Mottas had their own chalet after all, so it would have been a little suspicious for her to start now. "Hey." Sugar grinned as Ryder approached, letting her eyes run over his outfit. He looked like he'd tried, which she appreciated. Plus the flannel was definitely working for him.  "Yes I am." She nodded at his question. They'd been flirting with each other for a while, at least she had been, and it finally felt like she might be about to get somewhere. "Lead the way."

“Great. It’s just down the hall over there,” Ryder motioned with his head before leading them through the lobby. “They keep me on the first floor so I’m close and handy.” The keycard to his room was already out and in hand when they reached the door. “This is me. Room 18,” he flashed her a quick grin before letting them both inside and closing the door behind them. Earlier in the week, Ryder had decorated a little for the holiday. Since he was going to be here for Christmas, he figured his room should look the part, so he strung up some lights and had a tiny Charlie Brown type Christmas tree sitting on the desk in the corner. “I went to Sam’s for a little inspiration in decorations. I don’t have as much room to work with as he does but I think this works though, yeah?”

Sugar followed him through the hallways until they came to a stop outside of a door with the number 18 on it. She returned his grin before following him into the room. It was small, at least by her standards. It was probably around the same size as her ensuite bathroom in the chalet, but if she squinted then it was kind of cute at the same time. She looked around, taking in the Christmas decorations. There wasn't a lot but it almost made it sweeter - although part of her wanted to go and grab him some of her spare decorations to make it a little less sad-looking. "Yeah it works." She nodded. "If you want some more though then I can hook you up." She added with a smile. "Do you have anywhere I can put this?" She asked, looking around for a coat rack as she began to take her snow-dusted coat off. It was warm in the room, and she certainly didn't need all of her outdoor gear on.

Ryder was watching her glance around his room, and he was having the realization that she was the first person he was having over and these rooms weren’t exactly built to host. Hopefully she wouldn’t judge him too much on the kind of quarters he was staying in and maybe next year, he’d ask for a bigger room. “Really? Okay but only if you help me put them up,” he grinned at her. Reaching in front of him, Ryder held out his hand for her coat. “Yeah, I can take that.” He opened his closet door and grabbed a hanger, placing her coat beside his. “If you want to take off your shoes, you can put them beside my snow boots. They’re right there. And I’ll take off mine off so you’re not alone.” With one hand on the wall to help prop him up, he pulled off his shoes and dropped them to the side. He looked over at Sugar finishing taking off her boots, and waited before heading towards his desk. “So not really a lot of places to sit, but are you okay with my bed? I can grab my laptop and we can look up songs we might wanna sing? Or I could sit here at the desk. Whatever works,” he offered not wanting to make her uncomfortable in any way.

"Yeah, I have some spare ones left over." Sugar smiled. The "I" was maybe a little generous, her dad had been the one to pay and they'd had a professional decorator put them up so she wasn't involved in the slightest, but Ryder didn't need to know that. "And I think I can manage that." She nodded at his condition. "Thanks." She smiled as he took her coat before she turned her focus to her shoes. She pulled them off and dropped them next to Ryder's boots. "The bed is fine." Sugar shrugged, making her way over. She sat on the edge of the bed before pulling herself backwards, leaving her sitting cross legged in the middle. "You can sit here too, I can't see your laptop from over there." Sugar added, patting the spot next to her. Her plans for tonight involved being close to Ryder, and him sitting across the room wasn't exactly part of that.

The idea of having plans already set for the future excited Ryder. That just meant he’d be getting more Sugar in his life and so far he had been enjoying the few times he spent with her. So when Sugar patted the bed beside her, he didn’t hesitate and quickly grabbed his laptop to join her. He had been hoping she was going to opt for him sitting on the bed with her. Once sitting legged next to her, he opened his laptop and placed it in front of them. “Did you bring any suggestions along with you? Something more modern?” He asked with a small smirk as he pulled up Youtube and searched for a song. “We won’t do this song but this is the one I was talking about the other day.” He click the trackpad on his laptop, and Islands in the Stream began playing through the speakers.

Sugar grinned as Ryder decided to join on her the bed, twirling some of her hair around her finger as she watched him open YouTube and start typing. "Yes I brought some suggestions." Sugar nodded. "And of course they're modern, I'm me. I don't do old things. I like things new and shiny." She joked. Sugar sat and listened to the start of his song, about to complain about how old and boring it was when she caught the lyrics, hearing lines about her doing something to him, and having something going on and suddenly the song didn't seem so bad. "It's better than I thought it would be." Sugar admitted, a small smirk pulling at her lips. "It can go on the maybe pile."

"After this, you can show me those suggestions.” Ryder glanced over and smiled at Sugar playing with her hair. He found the act kind of cute of her. As the song played, Ryder made sure to keep his eyes on Sugar. He softly swayed next to her and mouthed along with the chorus, enjoying the song and he was happy to hear she hadn’t thought it to be so bad. “See.” He was feeling a little pleased with himself for showing her a good song. “The maybe pile it is,” he nodded. “Alright, you’re up. What’s your first choice for us?” He asked, slightly pushing the laptop keyboard a more in her direction.

Sugar couldn't help but smile as she watched him mouth along with the words. It was cute and she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. "So I had a few ideas." Sugar replied, taking the laptop from him. "We could go like the Shawn and Camila route with Señorita or I Know What You Did Last Summer. Or there's Halsey and Khalid if we wanted to do Eastside. Oh, what about Close by Nick Jonas and Tove Lo?" She rattled off her ideas. "Or if you wanted to go down the classic route, there's this one." Sugar grinned, typing Promiscuous Girl into the search bar. "Do you know this one, and more importantly, can you do the Timbaland part?" She asked. Her definition of classic definitely differed from everyone else's, and she was curious as to what his opinion was of her song ideas - if he'd even heard of them all.

While she ran through he list of songs, Ryder tried to think of each one and how familiar he was with it. Before he had the chance to comment on knowing 2 of the 4, Sugar pulled up the video of what she called a classic song. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at her view of the classics. “I think I’ve heard this before,” he said, his eyes turning to the thumbnail of the video. From what he remembered of the words and the song, it was pretty steamy. He wondered what it’d be like to sing, or rap to her, about wanting her. It wouldn’t be as though what he was saying wasn’t true so he figured it was something he’d should be able to do. He swallowed, and looked at Sugar before giving her a small, not-so-confident nod. “Yeah, I think I could. A little practice with you and yeah I could. Do you know all of Nelly’s parts?” He questioned.

Sugar was waiting for his reaction, figuring that it would give her a pretty good indication of how the rest of their evening was going to go. If he looked horrified by the idea then she would know that she needed to back off and if he didn't, well she would move onto the next part.  As he agreed to the song, she put that down as the latter. "Well we can have all the practice we need, but for what it's worth, I think we're going to be great." Sugar grinned, clicking play on the video. "Of course I do, it's a classic after all." She shrugged, handing the laptop back to Ryder as an advert played. "I figured I could do a dance too. Let me show you my parts - join in if you can, the lyrics should be on the screen." She said, scrambling off the bed just as the music started. The beat was catchy, and she did her best to keep her dancing sexy without bordering on cringey. All the comments about her singing from Santana had thrown her off though, and she stuck to lip syncing her way through the first Nelly parts. After all, she was trying to build the mood up, not kill it.

Ryder enjoyed Sugar’s confidence, and knew even if they didn’t practice much together that he’d practice on his own. When it came time to actually do the song, he’d want to pull it off without a hitch and impress her or, at least, he wanted to make the attempt to impress her. Taking the laptop from Sugar, Ryder raised an eyebrow at her mention of a dance. “Oh? Alright, I will,” he said, his eyes moving from the screen to Sugar getting off the bed. The song started, and Ryder’s gaze went back to the screen to read the lyrics. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sugar’s body moving along to the music and it became nearly impossible to look at the laptop. Eventually, he gave up on trying to pick up some of the song and put the laptop to the side. He brought out his feet from under him and slid himself to the edge of the bed to plant his feet on the floor. Ryder reached out and put a hand on Sugar's waist, hoping it wasn’t crossing any line by touching her, and stood up in front of her. He began dancing himself, but a little slower than she was in an effort to not make a fool of himself or turn things awkward. It seemed appropriate, though. “You’re a good dancer,” he whispered, looking down at her hips before bringing his eyes up to meet her’s.

Sugar noticed that Ryder's gaze had shifted from the laptop to her, and that only spurred her on. If there was one thing she knew how to do it, it was be sexy. Hell if he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her now then she could only imagine what he was going to be like when he saw her in her favourite lingerie set she'd picked especially to wear under her dress. She couldn't wait. She smiled coyly as she watched Ryder move towards the edge of the bed before his hands moved towards her waist and then he was on his feet. "Thanks, it's one of my many talents." Sugar murmured back, smiling back at him softly as their eyes met. There was a great line coming up and Sugar decided to use it for all it was worth. "Promiscuous boy, you already know that I'm all yours, what you waiting for?" She lip synced, taking one of Ryder's hands and holding it up to spin herself under. As she completed the twirl, she then used the hand to pull herself in closer to Ryder, their bodies closer than they had been a moment ago.

“You’re welcome. I can’t wait to find out what some of your other talents are.” Ryder watched her mouth the words, and gulped when she spun around in front of him. What was he waiting for? “I’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?” Usually, he would’ve just gone ahead and kissed someone rather than asking but Sugar made him nervous. He knew she was a guest of the hotel and while it was clear they were enjoying each other’s company, Ryder didn’t want to cross a line that she didn’t want crossed. Something told him, though, she wouldn’t have minded. Instead of waiting for her reply, he snaked his hand from her waist to the small of her back and leaned down to kiss her.

Sugar smirked at his talents comment, and she was ready to fire off a smutty comeback when she noticed the way Ryder was looking at her and figured there was no need, things were clearly about to get moving between them. The smirk turned into a genuine smile at his question, she was taken aback by just how sweet a gesture it was. Most guys just launched themselves at her, she had never had anyone stop and ask before. She was about to nod when she saw Ryder leaning in. Figuring her actions would give her answer for her, she leaned up to meet him halfway. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back, closing the gap between them so her body was now flush against his. She kept the first few kisses light before tentatively getting bolder, each kiss getting longer and more daring than the one before it.

Ryder brought his hand up and rested it against Sugar’s cheek never letting his lips part with her’s. He took a small step, and slowly turned while guiding Sugar so eventually they switched positions, and he stood where she had previously. Based on the way she was kissing him back, he had no reservations about his next move. Ryder moved forward and held Sugar close to his body as he backed her towards the bed positioning it so they wouldn’t need to worry about falling onto the laptop. It was then his phone began ringing inside the pocket of his jeans. He opened his eyes for a second and reached down into his pocket to pressed the side button so he could silence it. He’d call whoever it was back later. “Sorry,” he mumbled against her mouth before bringing his arm back around her. He pushed her until the back of her knees hit the bed. Ryder opened his eyes and pulled back, breaking the kiss. He looked at Sugar and gave her a small smile, waiting for her to make the next move and fall back onto the bed.

Sugar happily let Ryder move her, enjoying the idea of him taking control. He was a good kisser, something she was grateful for. There would have been nothing worse than having all this build up only to be disappointed when they finally got to the good part. Sugar paused as Ryder's phone rang but was grateful when he chose to ignore it, more than ready to get back what they were doing. She returned his smile, hooking her fingers into his jean's belt loops so she could pull him down onto the bed with her. She slid backwards underneath him until her head reached the pillows. She leaned up to kiss him again, her fingers beginning to wander through his hair experimentally.

Ryder fell on top of Sugar, his hand reaching out to catch himself before completely crashing down on her. Moving with her, they reached the top of the bed where he was happy to find her mouth meeting his again. He breathed out at the feel of her fingers running through his hair - it had been one of his weaknesses and he loved when a girl played with his hair. Ryder placed a hand on her waist and bunched up her dress between his fingers to slide it up a bit. He then reached his hand down to her leg, pulling it up against him. Just as he was about to grind his hips against her, his phone rang again. He grunted out of frustration and let go of her leg so he could reach in his pocket for his phone. This time, he took it out and silenced it before lightly tossing it to the floor. “Where were we?” He smirked, closing the distance between them again and kissing her.

Sugar smiled against Ryder's lips as he reacted to her hands, making a mental note that he liked her playing with his hair. It was something that she hoped would come in useful at a later date, and this wasn't just going to be a one time thing. She felt Ryder's hand moving her dress and then her leg, and she was looking forward to seeing what he was going to do next when her thoughts were interrupted by his phone. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching as he silenced it before banishing it to the floor. "Someone's popular." She mumbled in response, but any following comments soon died on her lips as he kissed her once more. Bored of the interruptions, she decided to step it up a gear as she pulled Ryder even closer, adding her tongue to the mix as the kisses began to get dirtier.

Ryder didn’t know why his phone kept ringing, and he didn’t even bother checking to see who had been calling him. His attention had been solely on Sugar. Forget anything else. And when she deepened the kiss with her tongue, he knew ignoring the call was the right decision. Ryder returned his hand back to her leg and trailed his fingers up the outside of her thigh. He toyed with the hem of her panties then slipped his hand to her ass before pushing his hips into hers. Breaking away from her mouth, Ryder began peppering her cheek with kisses down to her neck. He pulled back and looked down at her, a small smile played on his lips. “Are you okay with me taking this off?” He asked, tugging softly at her dress. He wasn’t looking to get her naked, at least not yet, but the dress made it difficult for him to explore her body. Once it was off, it’d be a lot easier for his hands to wander like he wanted.

Sugar was thoroughly enjoying herself, it had been too long since she'd had sex and it seemed like her dry spell was finally coming to an end. She allowed herself to get lost in the kisses, each seemingly better than the last. A soft moan fell from her lips as she felt his hips push into hers, her own hips responding by rolling against his in search of friction. She opened her eyes briefly as Ryder pulled away before they fell closed again as he started kissing her neck and she tilted her head to the side to give him more room. "God yes." She breathed at his question. "As long as you take yours off too." She added, gently tugging at his shirt before dropping her hands to his waistband, running her hands teasingly over the fabric of his jeans, which seemed to be getting ever tighter.

Ryder hadn’t anticipated that Sugar and his time would lead to this, but boy was he glad it did. Every kiss and every touch had made him want her even more. “You got it.” He said, his gaze following her finger. Just the slight touch from that, constricted him even more. Their clothes needed to come off and quick. As if on queue, once Ryder took his shirt off and it hit the floor, there was a knock on his door. His head jolted towards the sound then he looked back down at Sugar. Just as he had done with his phone, Ryder was going to ignore the knock. Maybe they’d think he wasn’t in. "Ryder? Are you in there?” *Another knock. “We have an emergency! A Christmas emergency! We need the handyman.” Ryder groaned, and shook his head. Perhaps it wasn't going to be as easy as pretending someone wasn't there. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I have to see what’s going on.”

Sugar watched Ryder take his shirt off, an appreciative smirk growing on her lips as she ran her eyes over his shirtless body. She had just reached for the zip on her dress when they were interrupted once again by a knock on the door. It seemed like no matter what, she couldn't catch a break. First there was the thing with Sam and now the universe had intervened once again. She looked towards the door and then back at Ryder before there was a second knock and someone was speaking. "Ugh, fine." She groaned, waving a hand towards the door as she collapsed backwards against the bed. "Tell them you'll fix whatever it is tomorrow." She added half heartedly.

“I’ll try,” Ryder said in hopes it would be that easy. Once standing, he adjusted his pants a bit in an attempt to make himself a little less uncomfortable given his situation. He walked over to the door, and opened it just enough so he was in view but not enough where for Sugar to be seen - he hoped. He found one of the girls from reception standing in the hall looking exasperated. “The Christmas tree lights are out and no one can figure out what’s wrong! We need you, RIGHT NOW.” Ryder titled his head back hearing about the Christmas emergency and rolled his eyes. “Okay, give me two minutes and I’ll be there.” Closing the door, he turned back to Sugar on his bed. It was going to take everything in him to put his shirt back on and go to work but he knew he didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t any way he could put this off until tomorrow, he knew that. The resort couldn’t be without a lit Christmas tree. “I gotta go.” He shook his head in disbelief as he reached down and picked his shirt up off the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to but.. work,” he said as if the word work should explain it all.

Sugar honestly wanted to scream, it was taking everything in her not to just roll over and yell into his pillow. She knew already that he was going to leave and in all honesty, the moment had gone anyway. Whoever had been on the other side of the door had well and truly killed the vibe that they'd had going. "Work sucks." She pouted, watching Ryder for a second longer before sliding her way over to the edge of the bed. She wasn't going to sit around in his room by herself, maybe she'd go to the bar and see if Santana could ply her with alcohol to drown her misfortunes with. "I'm like their most VIP guest, surely they should care about customer satisfaction." She joked as she pulled her dress back down and got up to check her hair in the mirror, hoping it wasn't too messed up after their fooling around.

This was probably the worst way them to have to end their evening together. Now Ryder was going to have to go work, semi-hard, not thinking about anything but Sugar. “I care about customer satisfaction.” He stopped buttoning up his flannel midway to watch her check herself in the mirror. The dress she was wearing should’ve been off and on the floor along with his clothes. He had to shake his head of the thoughts, and he began buttoning his shirt again. “As the resort’s handyman, I can make sure to fix any problem you have.” It worried him that the interruptions might’ve screwed any future possibility Ryder had with Sugar and he definitely didn’t want that. Now more than ever, he wanted to make sure he’d be seeing her again. “Maybe in the future sometime soon?” He asked, hopeful.“I feel like we need to finish this.”

Sugar could see Ryder watching her in the reflection of the mirror, a small smirk playing on her lips. She wished she could stay and explore this thing between them further but some dumb Christmas tree lights had put an end to that plan. "Okay I'll make sure to remember that if I ever have a, uh, problem." She smiled. She smoothed her hair down one more time before retrieving her shoes from where they were by the door. "Maybe." She nodded at his proposal as she pulled the shoes on before finding her coat and shrugging it back on. She definitely wanted to see him again but she also wanted to be cool and aloof, and maybe be chased a little. Checking that she had everything she brought with her, she made her way over to Ryder. She reached up, wrapping a hand around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. She poured her frustration into it, letting it get a little dirty before pulling back. "Until next time." She shrugged before heading for the door, hoping it would be enough to keep him on the hook until they found a time to meet up again.

Ryder hoped Sugar would be having a problem soon because just their short encounter had him hooked. His eyes followed her as she got her shoes and put on her coat. He probably should have been doing the same since he had a Christmas tree problem to fix, but he was entranced. He was cursing work in his head because all he wanted to do was spend more time with her and she was really leaving him hanging with her ambiguous maybe. Ryder smiled, seeing her come his way. He kissed her back, wishing they could stay in his room a bit longer. "Yeah," he whispered, his eyes locked on her while she made her exit. His mind was already focusing on when and how he could make the next time happened.

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

Oh Fuck...

Bambam x Reader + Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut + Flatmates to lovers Fluff

Word Count: 6,352

Concept: BTS/GOT7 Crossover. You’re in love with your flatmate, Jungkook and you’re planning to tell him tonight. But Bambam has other ideas…

Masterlist

‘Oh fuck!’ your brain revolts belatedly, as Bambam wraps his amazingly long, slender legs around you while trailing his tongue along your jawline. ‘I’m not meant to be doing this, remember? Amazing, adorable, flawless love of my life flatmate due home imminently remember?!’ You've tried so hard for so long to ignore your growing feelings for Jeongguk but it’s gotten to the point where you just have to say something or one day you’ll have to watch him walk out of your life and into some other girI’s, and then you'll spend the rest of your life regretting never having opened your mouth. Finally -  tonight - you both have some time off in the evening and nowhere to be, so you’ve psyched yourself up and you're finally going to take a chance and let him know how you feel. That is once he arrives home and you're eventually alone. You’ve been hoping that, if you play your cards right, he will hopefully see you as potential girlfriend material. But Bambam always gets what he wants and, unfortunately what he wants this evening is you.

The evening had started out innocently enough. Jeongguk was at a BTS rehearsal, but still wouldn’t be home for a few hours, having convinced Yugyeom to go bowling with him afterwards. He had actually asked you along, but you didn’t want to intrude, so he had agreed you could have a cute flatmate night once he got back instead. He’d also said he wanted to watch a horror film, so you'd picked out a few fun things as options and he was going to bring a couple of pizzas home. So you were just assuming he’d forgotten the keypad combination, as he’d done 100 times before, when you heard the doorbell chime. You'd skipped to the door to greet him, your head full of happy fantasies of cuddling up on the sofa with him during the scary parts. In hindsight, it was wishful thinking that he could have been home so early, since he had probably only just been finishing up rehearsal at that point and would likely spend hours at bowling. Even so, you'd been a bit taken aback to see Bambam’s slight form leaning casually against the side of the building when you pressed the intercom.

“Bambam?” you'd exclaimed, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“GOT7 have the day off,” he’d told you. “But Yugyeom said he’s going bowling with Jeongguk after they finish practice, so I thought I’d come wait here for them to get back.” You'd been a bit suspicious but you’d shrugged it off and let him up, not thinking too much more of it. You certainly hadn’t expected him to have drinks with him. 

“Um I don’t know that they’ll be...drinking...when they get back…” you’d said as he’d pulled his boots off and placed them on the shoe rack by the door.

“They’re for us,” he’d grinned. “I thought we could watch something while we wait for them to come back.”

“Ah sure...why not?” You still hadn’t caught on to what he was trying. He had settled onto the sofa with you, passed you a drink and curled his legs up to the side so that he was leaning against you but you’d still missed all the cues and just assumed he was comfortable around you.

“So what are we watching?” he’d asked you innocently, his dark eyes watching you as you'd messed about with the television. 

“Horror films?” he’d deduced quickly, from the selection on the screen. 

“Um no...I mean that’s...Kookie and I are gonna watch one of those later. He likes horror,” you’d explained. Bambam’s lips had slowly curved upwards into a smirk.

“And you like him, right?” he’d guessed. He’d taken a swig of his drink and shrugged, taking your silence as affirmation. You’d been caught off-guard, dumbfounded that he had so casually figured out and brought up something that you'd always been so careful to keep hidden. You'd opened your mouth to say something, but you hadn’t even been able to answer.

“Thought so. It’s kinda obvious,” he’d concluded.

“I like horror movies,” you'd asserted. “I wasn’t only going to watch a horror cos Kookie likes them, it’s just that I don’t really like watching them alone cos I get scared, but I don’t have many friends that like to watch them. Doesn’t mean I like him.” You’d rambled, attempting in vain to defend yourself from his accusation, and trying to stop your mind from drifting back over your favourite daydreams about you and Jeongguk. Bambam had just responded with a look of disbelief, his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed into a ‘really?’ expression. Clearly not taken in by your protestations of innocence, he’d just taken another swig of his drink and left the subject alone.  Apparently he’d silently calculated the odds of you getting scared and throwing yourself in his lap against the odds that he’d get scared himself and then have to walk home alone in the dark and decided to take a gamble. 

“We can watch that one,” he’d decided, pointing at one of the thumbnails at random. “Then you can watch a different one with JK later.” You'd been amused at his sass, but objected that you didn’t know which one Jeongguk would actually want to watch and that you’d tried to find ones neither of you had seen and that he might enjoy. You had tried to keep the anxiety out of your voice at having anyone mess with your careful selection, optimally chosen for excuses to cuddle up with Jeongguk. Bambam had wryly pointed out that you’d only be reducing the list of ten or so movies by one. Not wanting to give any more of your feelings away, you had eventually shrugged and pressed play, then grabbed your favourite blanket and climbed back onto the sofa with him. He’d looked at you questioningly.

“Security,” you’d muttered, self-conscious. He’d smirked again, thinking his plan was falling perfectly into place. And it kind of had…He just hadn’t quite calculated how scared he would get. But nor had he realised that you’d find terrified Bambam kind of sexy. The way he would jump and cling to you was kind of turning you on. He’d probably got further by being scared than he would have if he’d played the protective tough-guy role.

At any rate, you'd made it through about a third of the movie, edging closer and closer together until he’d eventually taken refuge under your blanket with you, pushing the sleeves of his red t-shirt up to alleviate the extra heat. Although you’d tried hard not to, you'd felt the skin on your arm tingling irresistibly where his bare forearm rested against yours, and the more he’d squealed and jumped at the jump scares, the more you'd been reluctantly titillated without him even trying it on with you. Gradually you'd stopped even focusing on the movie and started paying more attention to Bambam instead. By the half-way point he had been basically sitting in your lap and you’d had no objections whatsoever. Justifying yourself desperately, you had reasoned that if Jeongguk wasn’t even showing any signs of noticing you like that, you may as well enjoy Bambam’s company. On that train of thought, you'd snuck your hand under the hem of his top and let it rest on the warm skin just above his belt.

“Ooh!” he’d yelped instinctively.  Then, with a touch of the coquette: “Your hand is cold.”

“Sorry,” you’d apologized quickly, pulling it back and wondering to yourself what the hell you were doing.

“No, it’s fine,” he’d told you. “Here,” drawing your hand further around to his abdomen. “This is warmer.” You’d stayed like that for a while, until he’d pulled your other hand around his waist to join the first, so that you were basically embracing with him in your lap. A little later you had shifted him reluctantly from his cozy position and readjusted yourself to lie down, curled away from Bambam with your head on the armrest, hoping by doing so that you might resist the increasing temptation to cuddle him and instead return to preparing yourself mentally to be in the right headset for your planned night with Jeongguk later. But instead of admitting defeat Bambam had jumped up to grab more drinks and then, upon his return, he had tapped your knee and you had absentmindedly stretched your legs out, allowing him to lay down beside you, facing away to continue ‘watching’ the film. He’d then dragged your arm loosely around him and settled into the curve of your body as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You’d concentrated hard on the film, trying to ignore the warmth of his body cuddled against you. 

After a moment, he’d caught your hand in his, entwining your fingers, but when you’d shot him a suspicious look, he’d played innocent: laughed at himself, apologised and claimed it was just cos he was nervous about what was happening on the screen. He’d let go of your hand then, but your palm had itched for him to take it again and you'd died a little at his cute, guilty laugh.

A little later again he’d jumped and yelled at something on the screen and you'd wrapped him tighter in your arms under the guise of “protecting him”. Not ten minutes after that he’d flipped around to “hide” against your chest, having swiftly caught onto what kind of behaviour was getting him somewhere, and then, not five minutes after that, he’d stealthily wound his slender legs around yours and when you'd responded by moving your own legs so that he could press his hips closer to yours, rather than pulling away as he’d expected, he’d tilted his head and you'd felt his tongue under your jawline at which point you’d found yourselves in the compromising position that had caused your mind to finally catch on to what was happening.

Now you want him to stop, but not as much as you want him to kiss you and he must be able to read it in your body language, because, after biting you playfully on the neck, making you cling to him as you feel a familiar tingle run through your body and finish between your legs, he brings his head up, kisses you on the mouth, then daringly slips his tongue between your lips.

You kiss him back, totally intoxicated with him, but then force yourself to pull away with a murmured apology, Jeongguk’s sweet smile flashing uninvited into your mind and forcing you to rethink your actions. Bambam looks a little frustrated, but shrugs and resettles himself along your legs, not even bothering to face the television this time. Instead he lays his head on his arm and watches you until you look at him.

“What Bambam?” you snap, a little more vehemently than you'd intended, but he’s making you nervous and you have a guilty conscience from wanting to feel his lovely full lips on yours again.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” he reads your mind. 

“No,” you lie, avoiding his eyes and purposely keeping yours focused on the television. “I want to watch this.” You gesture behind him at the film. He raises his eyebrows to let you know he doesn’t believe you but shrugs and goes to turn back around as if he’s going to watch as well.

“No wait…” you object, in a strangled voice, wanting him now but still not wanting to admit to it. He waits, half-turned towards the television and half-turned towards you. But then everything happens at once: the killer in the film jumps into shot, Bambam jumps and squeals, burying his face in your chest, You stroke his hair without thinking and when he looks up you kiss him without hesitation. His hands come up to hold your face as your kisses get more and more heated and he twists himself around until he’s lying under you with his legs wrapped up around you.

“Bambam...jebal…” you beg, in a barely audible voice, unsure whether you're begging him to stop or to fuck you. He groans softly into your mouth in response, biting your bottom lip, then moves his kisses from your lips to your neck. His breath is hot against your skin and, as he snakes one arm around behind your back to pull you tight against his crotch, you can feel more than you strictly need to through his skinny jeans.

“Ow!” you complain, trying to play it off as innocent and avoid the real reason for your objection. You sit up and sit back a bit. He props himself up on his elbows, looking curious. “Your belt buckle is digging into me,” you tell him. Uh-oh. He gives you an amused, suggestive look.

“Is it?” he asks, smirking.

“Ani. Bambam,” you protest, weakly. Keeping his eyes locked with yours, he slowly removes his belt, dropping it on the floor. You give him a look but he just crawls over you on the sofa, switching your bodies in one fluid motion, so that you end up underneath him. Fuck it. You reach up for him and pull him down into another heated kiss, letting your hands glide under his top to caress his bare skin and wrapping your legs around him this time. He smiles against your lips, knowing he’s won, then moves himself up and down a little, thrusting his hips against yours until you can no longer ignore the fact that he’s obviously turned on. You grab his ass, pulling him closer and letting him know, with no words, that you want him just as badly as he wants you right now. He keeps kissing you but then makes a little frustrated noise as one of his more dramatic hip thrusts nearly tips you both onto the floor. 

He gets to his feet, then leans down to scoop you into his arms, letting you envelop his waist in your legs and his neck in your arms, so that you're facing him, sitting on his hips. You can feel the heat of his body between your thighs and it’s making you giddy with lust. He carries you over to the narrow hallway and yanks open a door at random, making a guess as to where your bedroom is. You don’t notice where he’s headed because you're too busy kissing his neck and pulling at his clothes impatiently, finally committed to this and now just wanting him in your bed already. Nonetheless, you still laugh at his disappointed face, when you look up from inflicting a love-bite on his delicate neck and realise he’s staring, baffled, at piles of bed linen and towels rather than your bed. You gesture to your bedroom door and he walks you both across.

“Lock the door,” you murmur, between kisses. He lets you suck on his tongue while he twists the lock and carries you to your bed. You allow him to lay you down on top of your covers but then, as he’s standing in front of you, removing his socks, you get nervous. You sit back up and crawl across the covers towards the edge of the bed to kneel, seated on your shins, in front of him.

“What if JK and Yugyeom come home now?” you fret. “What if they find out?” Bambam waits patiently for your panic to subside, hands folded together in front of his crotch.

“I mean I can go?” he suggests, gesturing towards your door with elaborate politeness. “Or we could finish that film - see what hap…” he can’t finish his sentence, because your tongue is already down his throat the second you change your mind again.

“Okay, okay, wait…” he giggles, when you come up for air. You drop back onto your shins and watch hungrily as he pulls his top over his head and flings it onto the chair by your desk. He drops his head, letting his hair fall forward onto his face, then gives you a wicked little smile as your eyes rake his bare chest, taking in the shadow of his belly-button, the concave curves of his abdomen and collarbones, and lingering on his dark nipples. You kneel back up and kiss him greedily, letting your hands run down over his chest, deliberately brushing his nipples, tracing the tattoo running down his ribs and then resting them just where the waistband of his Armani underwear is visible above his skinny jeans. 

But when you start on the buttons of his jeans he pulls back, confusing you.

“Ooh!” he teases. “Are you sure about this? Cos once you go there, you won’t be able to resist me.” You give him a wry look, knowing what he’s doing, but the temptation is too much. He shrugs, digs his tongue into his cheek, trying to hide his smile, and lets you undo his jeans. But when you feel the heat under your fingertips and notice the tent that’s formed in the front of his knickers, you sit back on your heels, nervous again.

“Oh my God!” he complains, stamping his foot in frustration. “Stop teasing me, jebal!” He laughs to let you know he’s just mucking around, then leans down to kiss you again, somehow knowing that once you're kissing, your fingers will go exploring again. You grab his hips to pull him closer, but he shimmies out of your grip with another giggle.

“Ani, you’re just going to get me all hot and bothered again. I’m too horny for this,” he tells you. You pout and shake your head, promising you just want his dick.

“You wanna see it?” he teases, hands at the waistband of his knickers.

“Ne,” you admit, blushing. His lips curve into a smile as he carefully extricates himself from his cotton knickers. When he straightens up, his cock is pointing straight out towards you, quivering slightly. It’s not that thick but the length alone is going to make it hard to walk tomorrow. Wow. Unable to drag your eyes away for a spell, you can finally see the reason he drives all those girls wild for him. He raises his hands, palms upwards and gives you another of his sassy smirks. 

“Touch it,” he dares you. You reach for him instinctively, letting your fingers pull his foreskin gently back and glide over his silky tip. You start to pump your hand up and down his shaft, feeling the muscle moving under his skin as you speed up your strokes. You can feel him getting even harder, under your touch, until he lets out an involuntary groan and his eyes roll back in his head. He grips your wrist, trying to make you speed up more and you oblige him willingly, enjoying the feel of his dick, warm and pulsating in the palm of your hand.

“Aish! Suck it! Jebal!” he begs, trying to push your head towards his crotch. You extend your tongue and swirl it around the length of his shaft, pausing to lap the pre-cum that leaks from his tip as his hips jerk. He tastes so good you want to swallow the lot, so you start bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can, listening to his breath get shorter and shallower as you continue.

“Yaak! Putang chan!” he moans, reverting to his native language in the throes of passion. You’ve zero idea what he’s saying, but he pushes you gently back just afterwards, so you remove his dick from your mouth, coming off his head with a soft ‘pop’ and look up at him questioningly. He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no. I didn’t mean stop. It just means in Thai like ‘fuck’ and that I want for you to have sex with me” he reassures you in sweetly broken English.

He yanks his jeans and pants the rest of the way off, kicks them out of the way, then waits for you to lie back, before climbing between your legs. You pull him down on top of you, wrapping your legs up around him and kissing him breathlessly. You can feel the tip of his erection pushing insistently at the material of your knickers, so you reach down and pull them aside for him, then gasp as you feel him finally slide up inside you, making you scream his name. You stop immediately, clinging to him and listening over his shoulder to make sure the others haven’t come home unexpectedly, but everything’s quiet out in the other room, so you start to move your hips against his again, trying to hold back the tingling that’s started in your body. 

Bambam grinds himself against you, his hands clutching your hips as he thrusts himself relentlessly into you over and over again.

“Can I rip your clothes off?” he gasps, his hot breath making the skin on your neck prickle as you belatedly realise you're still fully clothed.

“Yes!” you pant, just wanting to feel his fingers all over you. He stops fucking you, making you groan softly in protest and you feel his agile hands deprive you of your carefully-chosen ‘casually lounging around but still looking attractive enough for JK to hopefully sit up and take notice’ outfit. Your mind flashes back to the way you had originally wanted this night to go, but Bambam’s tongue tracing its way down your body, pushes those thoughts completely out of your head. He pushes your legs gently apart then kneels between them, grabbing you around the waist so that you can raise your hips from the bed to meet his. His warm hands move from your hips up your body to caress your naked skin until he settles on kneading your breasts with both hands, before plunging his dick back into you and rocking you both back and forth urgently, making your muscles contract around his erection.

“Fuck…” he breathes. “Can I put my...jaji...here?” he squeezes your breasts to show where he means, making you gasp.

“Yes...Do it...Oh fuck!” you manage. 

“One second…” he pants, his breath hitching. He sits back, pulling out from between your legs, but immediately replaces his dick with two fingers, making you yelp. 

“Oh my God, you’re so wet,” he giggles, proud that he’s had this effect on you. “Here, just let me…” He starts slowly, wiggling his fingers and then moving them in and out. The lingering excitement from before starts building swiftly as he plays with you. You lean forward and circle his rapidly-hardening nipples with your tongue one by one. He cradles your head with his free hand, encouraging you as you feel his slender digits curl inside you, slowing at the sudden pleasure, then he starts stroking the inside of you as his thumb shifts upwards to your clit, matching the circles you're drawing with your tongue, around the sensitive nub. He applies light pressure, making your entire body zing with pleasure, and you push your head back into the pillow, involuntarily grinding your hips against his hand. 

Bambam gradually speeds up, still keeping a steady rhythm until he can feel you begin to tighten around his fingers, the ecstasy building until it slowly breaks and floods through your body, causing you to fall back onto the bed, your chest rising and falling as you gasp for air. He gently withdraws his fingers and leans over you, smirking as he gives you a quick kiss before moving his long legs to straddle you around your lower rib-cage, bringing his swollen cock up between your breasts.

“Push them together,” he instructs you. “I want to go...between them...you know?”

You do as he asks, letting him pleasure himself with your body. You watch his slender, toned figure ride you, his head thrown back and his lovely features contorted in ecstasy, as his cock slides in and out of the crevice you've created in your cleavage. After a moment, he puts his warm hands over yours to cup your breasts himself and lets you grab his thighs instead. You can feel his dick go rigid as his thrusts get sloppier and you can tell he’s close to finishing when he swears softly and asks where you want him to cum.

You dart your tongue out to lick his tip, then look up at him letting him read the answer in your eyes. His trademark smirk slips across his lips as you raise yourself up enough to envelop his cock in your mouth. His hips buck a few times, he moans loudly, and your mouth is flooded with jets of his jizz. You swallow the majority of it and then lick him clean, before he collapses onto your covers with a satisfied sigh.

“Mmmmm…” he murmurs, his eyes closed and his lips curved into a satisfied smile. You laugh softly and curl up next to him. He flings his arm out to embrace you, pulling you close against his side, and lets you entwine him in your arms in return. Half an hour or so passes, during which time Bambam drifts off to sleep while you lie there, staring at the ceiling and a sudden rush of thoughts make you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. You know Bambam is a bit of a slut: he seems to have a different girl sneaking out of his room every time you guys go over to visit GOT7. But somehow you don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse about what you and Bambam have just done. 

Sighing and shrugging, as there’s no way to change it anyway, you extricate yourself gently from his embrace, and climb out of bed intending to go and grab a drink, before you fix yourself up, ready for Jeongguk to return. The guilt wells up inside you as you think about going back to your original plan after what you've just done. You hazard a glance back at the sleeping beauty in your bed, wondering if you should try and wake him now, but honestly the damage is done and he looks so lovely and innocent lying there, with his slender legs entangled in your sheets and his hand curled under his cheek that you resolve to deal with it when you come back in. Still you want to get him out of your bed quickly before Jeongguk and Yugyeom arrive and you figure the best way to do that is coffee, so you pull his discarded top over your head, as it’s the most accessible piece of clothing and this should only take a minute, and sneak out into the kitchen. 

You're waiting for the kettle to boil and trying to remember how Bambam takes his coffee, when you hear the keypad release the door's lock and Yugyeom’s voice, followed by Jeongguk’s giggle. Shit! You freeze, unable to even process what’s about to happen. Your eyes dart towards your bedroom for an escape, but to get there you'd have to go through the living room where you can hear the boys. You see the overhead light flick on and then you hear Jeongguk’s voice, puzzled.

“This isn’t my belt?” he murmurs, puzzled.

“Maybe it’s your flatmate's?” Yugyeom suggests. You can almost see Jeongguk shaking his head.

“I don’t think so…” he says. “I mean maybe but...she’s usually pretty neat.” Footsteps.

“Where is she anyway?” asks Yugyeom.

“Shower maybe?” Jeongguk tries.

“Wait a sec…” Yugyeom again. “I’m pretty sure these are Bambam’s boots.” You hear the sounds of consternation and shoe-examination. “Yeah, definitely Bambam’s” he confirms. “That could be his belt. Oh my God! He didn’t!” he laughs suddenly. The kettle clicks off and you curse under your breath. More footsteps and Yugyeom’s face appears in the kitchen doorway. He laughs and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with his detective skills.

“Mwoh Yugyeom?” you ask, trying to maintain your dignity, as you avoid his eyes.

“Found Bambam’s top!” Yugyeom calls out to Jeongguk, ignoring your response. Jeongguk’s pretty face appears behind Yugyeom.

“Wonder where the rest of him is…” Yugyeom teases you. You glare at him, unable to stop your eyes darting guiltily to Jeongguk, whose gaze drifts down to the hem of Bambam’s top and onto your bare legs as he places the pizza boxes on the kitchen bench. He doesn’t look amused or angry, just spaced out and you wonder if he’s okay.

“Jeongguk? Kookie?” you try, your voice catching a little.

“Ne?” he acknowledges you in a soft voice, dropping his eyes to the floor.

You watch him anxiously, completely forgetting to acknowledge his response and then after a second that feels like an eternity to you, his eyes flick up to meet yours and you immediately know something has changed between you. There’s something you can’t read in his eyes that could be hurt or disappointment but neither of those emotions make sense to you under the circumstances, so you're not sure what to think. Yugyeom is on a mission though. He darts back out to the living room with you and Jeongguk trailing reluctantly behind him.

“Shall we play a game of hide and seek then?” he suggests impishly. Jeongguk is avoiding all eye contact, while you continue to glare at Yugyeom defiantly.

“No need,” Bambam counters Yugyeom’s suggestion, as he walks back into the room, shirtless but thankfully with his jeans and knickers back on. He has the grace to look slightly abashed, keeping his head down as Yugyeom howls with laughter.

You nip back into your bedroom to change and when you return, Bambam is fastening his belt back around his waist. He tosses his hair and smiles when you hand him back his top.

“Gamsahamnida, noona,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek softly in an obvious attempt to show Yugyeom he’s not bothered by his teasing. Jeongguk’s lips tighten in disapproval, but he recovers quickly, pretending to be amused by Yugyeom’s harassment of Bambam. Yugyeom steers Bambam towards the door by the shoulders.  

“Might save the drinks for another night, JK,” he grins. “Thanks for the bowling games.” You and Jeongguk watch them leave, though you do shoot him a guilty glance when Bambam waves at you, cute, over Yugyeom’s shoulder and you wave back. After a moment, you turn to Jeongguk, your mouth open to spew out some excuse - any excuse - but you're met with an empty living room and the sound of his bedroom door closing.

By the end of the week, you're lucky if you've managed to spend ten minutes in the same room as Jeongguk. You don’t want to think he’s avoiding you, but it certainly looks that way, though he’s elaborately polite when you do cross paths. Tonight though, neither of you have any plans and you find yourselves soaked in awkwardness, sitting with as much space as possible between you on the sofa. Jeongguk is sitting stiffly, playing a video game at one end as you sit writing at the other end. You ask if he wants to watch a film, seeing as you never got to the other night and he looks uncomfortable and a bit shy but allows that that might be fun, once he’s finished his level.  

And so the awkwardness might have continued indefinitely if not for the doorbell ringing once again. This time Yugyeom and Bambam are both downstairs and you push the button to let them speak.

“Hey sexy,” Bambam addresses you teasingly. You dart a glance back at Jeongguk who, having finished his gaming level, now looks frozen in place, staring off into the middle distance.

“Hi Bambam,” you mutter. “What’s up?”

“Yugyeom wants to know if Jeongguk wants to go bowling tonight - his shout.” 

“Just Yugyeom?” You raise your eyebrows as Bambam smirks.

“Ne,” he clarifies. “I’m not in the mood for bowling and I had...other plans.” You close your eyes as a wave of guilt and regret rushes over you. Bambam is hardly being subtle about what he wants this time around. He’s clearly put Yugyeom up to this bowling suggestion and is hoping that Jeongguk will play along and leave so that he has the chance to go for another round with you. You look back at Jeongguk questioningly, your heart sinking as you feel your chance to finally spend some time with him evaporating. Even worse, you'll miss the opportunity to hopefully try and sort through the current walking-on eggshells-mood in your apartment and get back on good terms with your lovely flatmate. But to your surprise he turns towards you, locks his eyes with yours and shakes his head decisively. There’s a certain determination in his eyes, but you're not sure what he’s thinking, just that he clearly doesn’t want to go bowling right now.

“He’s not feeling very well,” you lie smoothly, protecting Jeongguk. “Rain check?” Bambam looks a little disappointed, though Yugyeom doesn’t seem remotely phased, but they both send Jeogguk their best, hoping he’s okay and then say their goodbyes. You ring off and step back over to the sofa.

“Gamsahamnida, noona,” Jeongguk says softly as you pass him.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, once again sitting at the furthest point of the sofa you can without sitting on the arm of the damn thing. He keeps his eyes steady but glazed, looking down at his hands that lay open in his lap. You can’t take it anymore. You move suddenly, moving closer to Jeongguk and making him jump a little, finally drawing his attention to you.

“Kookie what’s wrong?” you ask desperately. You can see his eyes studying your face, his expression blank. “Is it about the other day?” you ask tentatively. As soon as you mention it he looks away from you, looking back down at his hands. 

“Because I’m really…” You're about to start a rambling apology when he cuts you off.

“I think I…realised something,” he starts, pausing to move his gaze up from his hands to the now blank television across the room. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, so you move to adjust yourself to face more towards him. He must think you're getting up to leave though, because he suddenly asks, “Do you like Bambam?” You're taken off your guard.

“Um...I mean he’s a friend, yeah. But not like that, I don’t,” you fumble over the words, trying to get your message across.

“But you...he...you guys slept together the other night, right?” he points out, sounding lost and confused.

“Yes,” you admit, in a whisper, dropping your eyes from his anxious gaze. You don’t even bother trying to spill any of the pathetic excuses or evasions that come to your mind, knowing anything you say in your defence right now will just make it so much worse.

“And just now. That’s why they wanted me to leave, right?” he surmises.”So you guys could...have some privacy.”

You don’t answer, but you're feeling thoroughly miserable and wretched.

“Did you want to…you know..." he falters to a stop, realizing what he's about to ask, takes a breath, tries a different angle. "I mean...Did you want me to leave?

“They’re two different questions,” you start, deliberately finishing his first, unfinished query: “Do I want to sleep with Bambam again?" He looks away, sulky, but you press ahead with his completed question: "...and do I want you to leave?” But then before he can clarify, you take his hands, to make him look up at you. “And the answer to both is...definitively... ‘no’,” you tell him firmly. He looks surprised, but then a tiny glimmer of hope shines in his eyes, so you get brave enough to ask him your own question.

“What was it that you realized, Kookie?” He hasn’t tried to move his hands, so you keep them in yours, tracing the letters of his tattoos with your thumb as he gathers his thoughts, his eyes still firmly fixed on your entwined hands.

“I realized that I’ve never seen you with a guy.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. “I mean I’ve heard other guys talk about how pretty you are, which I always knew was true, but you never showed any interest in anyone, and you never bring guys around to the house… you’ve just always been there with me....” He pauses again looking down at his hands in yours. “But then, all of a sudden seeing you in Bambam’s clothes and realising what was happening. Seeing him kiss you like that... like you were his. I realized...I realized that...I’m in love with you.”

He swallows hard, but his eyes search yours for some kind of reaction. You're so taken aback you have no idea how to even respond. Your pause must cause him to assume the answer, as his expression changes and this time you recognise the hurt in his eyes.

“Mianhamnida, noona,” he chokes out. “I just thought you should know. I didn’t mean to…” but you stop his mouth with a lingering kiss. He startles at first but then you feel him smile against your lips and you sense his eyes close as his hands come up to tangle in your hair. He returns your kisses as passionately as you give them, until you both collapse into each others’ arms, with contented sighs, your chests heaving and your head nestled against his neck. You can’t help but let out a gentle laugh, relieved to have finally been able to tell Jeongguk how you feel, one way or another. Jeongguk giggles as well, and your laughter builds until you're clinging to each other, both in fits of giggles. 

When the giggles subside, Jeongguk asks, with one of his cute bunny smiles, “How about that horror movie then?” You meet his smile with your own and respond, “Hhmm. I have a better idea.” Grabbing hold of his soft hand, you both start laughing again as you drag him towards the bedroom that, after this night, will become your shared bedroom.

Masterlist 

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (2/?)

AO3

It’s three days before Janis’ rest results are available. That night, her mom pops her head around her bedroom door and tells her they need to be at the hospital early the next morning. She had spent the intervening time lounging around her house, rotating through different sweaters and reading the same book over and over, all the while filling in Damian and Cady as much as she could, trying to reassure them and herself that it was nothing and in a few days she’d probably be fine. She’d be back bugging them in no time, probably by the first day of school, in fact.

And that better be true, she thinks, because she has never been so bored in her life. In those few days between appointments her biggest achievement was successfully showing her dad how to master Netflix and introducing him to Killing Eve. She had tried to draw, but no idea stayed still in her mind long enough for her to recapture it on paper. The pencil bounced between her hands as she looked through outlines of unfinished sketches, trying to make one jump out at her. She puts them all in her drawer with a resigned sigh, one of those impossibly rare moments where she willingly admits defeat and submits to her fate. Her body feels too weary to move and her brain completely burnt out, but her soul keeps pushing her to create, to be active and busy. Her hands weren’t meant for scrolling through her phone as she’s half asleep, they’re artists hands, built for innovation. The restlessness crept through her nerves and up to her brain, shaking it so much that when her mom hung up the phone and told her she had an appointment the next day, she threw her head back and thanked God.

But her initial relief is gone now as she and her parents follow the perky secretary’s directions down to the doctor’s room, passing sunshine yellow walls and hurrying over pristine white floors. She keeps her hands in her pockets, her heart clenching each time she catches a glimpse of a patient. Some of them smile, some of them don’t, some look normal and others… not so much, gaunt faces and loose headscarves. Wrong as it is, her anxiety only spikes when she sees them, not to mention her bedside manner isn’t the greatest. Perhaps it’s lucky her parents don’t set high goals for her because she’d never make a doctor.

Her dad keeps looking back at her, asking if she’s okay, and she tells him she is, even though her chest is pained and tight, either from worry or her own body’s weakness. Or worse, both. Her little personal storm cloud makes itself known again, desperate for her attention after she had put so much effort into ignoring it. It clings to her brain and strains against her skull, stretching over and whispering in her ear, telling her she should get used to this place. She might be seeing more of it than she wants to.

She closes her eyes tightly and stops walking for a second, wishing she could go back to a few days ago, lounging in bed with Cady when everything was normal and okay. But she can’t, so she jogs to catch up with her parents and keeps her eyes on her boots.

“Mr and Mrs Sarkisian.” The doctor they meet is around her dad’s age, brown hair beginning to grey with thick rimmed black glasses and wearing a funky green and blue tie over a white shirt. If he ditched the white coat and clipboard, he’d look like a dad. On his desk, amongst the paperwork and nameplate, is a Rubix cube, a framed photo of two kids and a stuffed frog chilling against the computer, wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses. Doctor Dad looks at Janis, his mouth opening and closing silently for a split second, a fearful glint in his eyes. Exactly what she needs. “And Janis, I assume.” She lets him shake her hand, not letting herself show how clammy it feels. His nerves sparks on the skin in a way only someone who has been through it could pick up on.

She’s been reading him since she first saw him and none of it puts her at ease. His smile looks like someone is pulling it across his face with wires and his eyes flash behind his glasses when he looks at her. His breathing hitches, his fingers fidget and when he sits down, she sees him pull himself back together, starting with the shoulders and up to the chin, straightening everything out, looking presentable. Approachable. Softening the blow he’s about to make. Maybe her parents take notice, or not. They’re specific things, only noticeable to those who are looking for them.

They do say ignorance is bliss.

“These… these types of conversations are never easy.” Oh, what a brilliant opening line. It makes her mom’s hand clasp her dad’s with a grip that’s white-knuckled and desperate. As for Janis herself, she squirms in her chair, biting down hard on her thumbnail. She feels like there’s a million little centipedes all over her body, scurrying around with their tiny feet, wriggling into her elbows, writhing beneath her knees, twisting around on her stomach. She could burst at any moment and they’d invade his office, bury themselves in his carpeting and make homes in the vents.

“Just give it to me straight, doc,” she blurts out. Her parents turn to her, more amused than surprised, and she offers a shrug, the beginnings of a smirk on her face. “Which might be hard in my case.” Her parents chuckle as she looks over at the doctor, herself getting a kick out of his own dumbfounded expression. “Because I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, right,” he says, managing something that sounds like a laugh. He clears his throat and opens the file in his hand, blocking it from her view in a move that she isn’t sure is accidental. Pressure builds in her chest, her lungs feeling smaller and smaller inside her. The clock must be wrong, because it says only seconds have passed, but they’ve been there for far longer. Minutes. Hours, it must be. She grips the side of the plastic chair, drumming her nails along the underside and pressing her palm into the metal legs. Her mom rubs her hand down her back, asking quietly if she needs anything. She shakes her head, knowing ‘for this to be over’ probably isn’t a good answer.

“Janis… I’m afraid you have leukaemia.”

She’s falling.

Someone took her chair out from underneath her and she’s falling. She phases through the floor and keeps falling, her surroundings a silent blur. She tries to breathe but nothing can come in or out, her hand outstretched but no one holding it. She’s trapped in a bubble, one with no air or no sound, keeping everyone else away from her. She’s alone as she falls, nothing but the white expanse for company, her heart still, her mind empty. All she knows is she’s hurtling towards… something, at full speed and getting faster with each second.

“Janis!”

She blinks, the bottom of the chair cutting a deep, red line into her palms. But it’s steady beneath her, even if nothing else is. All at once, her body and mind come back to her, her heart beats faintly in her chest, weak from shock, and her breaths are quick and rapid. Her brain is a jumbled and confused mess, so much so that she preferred it when she couldn’t think of anything. Now her mind is opening ideas in a flash and tossing them out just as quickly; dashing around her head so thoughtlessly and rapidly that she can’t get a grip on anything. So instead she’s just sitting there, a ringing in her head and cold weakness in her chest, waiting for someone to fix this.

“Janis.” Her dad’s hand is on hers, his fingers curling around with a touch that’s so soft and gentle it almost doesn’t belong in here. Not with that word lingering between them. “Are you okay kid?”

How the hell is she meant to be okay?

“Leukaemia.” She drags her eyes up, not to meet the doctor, but to look past him, to look at the ugly shade of yellow his wall is painted and the framed certificate, declaring him as having graduated from somewhere with a degree in something. She bites her lip so hard she feels the beginnings of a little lump forming there. Like the ones on her neck. Like the ones they always say are a sign of…

The word sticks in her throat and she has to tear it out of her.

“Like… cancer? Like the cancer kind of leukaemia?”

“I’m afraid so,” the doctor says, his voice soft. She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard a voice that soft before, maybe when she was a kid, a really tiny kid and her goldfish died and her mom had to explain to her what death was.

Why did her mind have to go there?

It’s only now she notices one of the posters on the wall. Bright green lettering and a glossy photo of a little girl, fourteen, maybe thirteen, sitting up in a bed, a tube in her nose and a hat on her bald head, grinning brightly up a nurse with a sweet face. That’s what cancer is. It’s losing your hair and being in hospital and having tubes sticking in and out of your body. It’s other stuff too, stuff she hasn’t thought about and doesn’t know because it’s not for her. Cancer isn’t for her, it’s for old grandmas in knitted cardigans and tragic little kids who get to meet spiderman. Occasionally, it’s for teenagers and young people like her, but not her specifically. Never her. Cancer is something that exists far away, lurking around corners, on the tongues of adults who them about the dangers of cellphones or their health teacher telling them to eat healthily. It exists all right, but it doesn’t happen to her.

“Janis,” her mom says gently, running her fingers through her hair. Her voice is thin and shaking as though she’s about to cry. Why would she be crying? She’ll fix this. There’s no way this is real and now her mom is crying over nothing.

“I’m fine,” she replies, squeezing her mom’s hand back. Life comes back to her body and she looks up at the doctor, finally feeling heat inside her, attacking the cold emptiness and sending it back where it belongs. It flares up in her chest, a spark that she’d sorely missed these past few days. She grips her mom’s hand tighter, her own hand shaking and her fingers tight and tense. “I’m fine because I don’t have cancer.”

“Janis I know this is difficult to hear-”

“It’s not. It’s not because I am fine. Because I don’t have cancer, you did the test wrong.”

“Our team ran several tests. We ruled out other possibilities.”

“Clearly you didn’t if you’re telling me that I have cancer, which I don’t, so do another one.” Her grip on her mom isn’t just for her sake, but it’s also keeping Janis from getting up and flipping that desk over and telling Doctor Dad to get fucked. Who does he even think he is anyway? That degree can’t be much good if he’s telling her this and screwed up a test like that.

“Janis,” he sighs, gesturing with his hands like that’s going to fix anything. “I understand that this is a lot to take in right now-”

“It’s not,” she snaps, the smile on her face strained and sharp. “It’s not because you’re fuck-you’re wrong. I don’t-I can’t have-”

“Janis!”

Her mom’s voice is what pulls her back down. When she looks over at her, she sees brown eyes identical to hers, but they’re filled with tears and rimmed red and show a tiny spark of anger amongst the sadness. Her mom’s mouth is half-open, a plea waiting on her lips, begging her daughter to see sense. Her hand tightens around Janis’, her grip becoming less comforting and careful and more irritated and exhausted.

“Sweetheart… please.”

God she’s a horrible person. Her parents just heard probably one of the worst things a parent could hear, and she just threw a tantrum over it.

She looks at the doctor with uncharacteristic and unfamiliar shyness, trying to pick herself back up, present herself as anything close to reasonable after the meltdown she just had. Something about him makes her feel like he understands. Maybe she’s not the first to react like that. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“So what happens now?” she asks in a flat voice.

“What happens now is you start treatment as soon as possible,” Doctor Dad explains. He leans forwards on his desk, his hands clasped together and when Janis notices the distressed expression on his face, the pain of guilt in her stomach only gets worse. “My colleagues have already discussed this and we think it would be best for you to begin within the next two weeks. The earliest start would be next Monday.”

“Next Monday?” she echoes, her voice cracking. “But… but I start school in three days I start before that, I can’t…” She knows it’s a lost cause and there’s no point to it, but it’s the last thing she has. Her school is the last part of her life that’s real in all this, so forgive her for clinging to it. She looks from her parents to the doctor, three different, grave expressions and only one is able to give her an answer.

“I’m afraid going to school will be out of the question,” the doctor tells her. Her mom’s fingers lace between hers, squeezing her hand in what’s meant to be comforting, but Janis can’t feel it. She’s too busy trying to push back another protest. “I’m sorry, Janis. There is the option of online school, but your treatment is likely to make you too tired to focus. It might be easier on your mental health if you saved school until next year.”

Saved school until next year. When everyone she knows is already gone and this year’s juniors will be seniors. She’ll have to wait a year for all the fun stuff that seniors get to do, cutting in the lunch line, going to prom, graduation parties, using the senior’s lounge. She’ll be sitting in a class of people she’s a year older than her, all in pre-formed friendship groups and likely knowing her as Cancer Girl. Cady, Damian, Karen, everyone else will be graduating this year and will move on to new adventures. And she’ll be left behind.

The idea makes her more sick than the cancer has.

“Jan?” her dad asks softly. She finds three pairs of expectant eyes on her and all she can offer is a small nod.

“Okay,” she whispers. She’s not sure what she’s saying okay to.

“What about the treatment itself?” her mom asks. “How is that going to work?”

“We might have to do a few more tests to find that out,” he explains. “But it would likely be chemotherapy. What we’ve discussed so far is two weeks in hospital and then a week at home to recover for around three months. Thankfully, the cancer hasn’t progressed far enough to warrant more, and we’ll want to keep it at that. The goal is to get Janis to remission.” She nods, her head starting to throb a little. She presses her fingers to her temples before she can stop herself, and that’s a red flag to both her parents. She drops it, muttering a lie about being fine.

“Of course there will be a lot of support for Janis through this,” he goes on. “There is an excellent support group and appointments can be made with a counsellor on a one-to-one basis.”

Somehow that doesn’t help, she thinks. It’s not meant to, she guesses.

It’s cold when they step outside, or that might just be her. The wind cuts through her jacket and the sweater she pulled on and attacks her skin, leaving her fighting off shivers. She pushes her dad’s arm off her when he tries to help her to the car. That only makes her feel worse, mentally and physically.

Being in a car with your parents after a cancer diagnosis is a weird experience. The tension between the three of them strangles her. An unspoken conversation passes between her parents in the front and frankly, it pisses her off. If they’re going to be concerned about her, they could at least do her the courtesy of involving her. But maybe it’s better that way because despite being an arm’s length from them, she feels as though she’s miles away. Like when they started driving, she stayed put. She sinks back into the seat and stares straight ahead, the pain in her head coming back louder and stronger, pushing against her skull and screaming behind her eyelids.

“Janis… are you okay?” her mom asks.

“Fine,” she sighs.

“Do you need anything? We can go to the gas station-”

“I said I’m fine,” she replies, firmer than before. “I just want to lay down.”

She’s not kidding. She wants to press her face into her pillow until everything blacks out and all that exists is the colours that explode behind her eyelids. Then they can fade to, and she won’t have to deal with anything anymore.

They drive on in a heavy silence, and the longer they go, the angrier she finds herself growing. She doesn’t know where it’s directed, at herself or her parents or the doctor or the universe, but it’s there, rising in tandem with her the pain in her head and making her restless. She grabs her upper arm and squeezes hard, pressing her nails in until it starts to hurt, just to get it out somewhere.

“Hey… why don’t we go to Dairy Queen?” her dad suggests, as though they’re on their way back from mini golfing. It’s a sweet offer and Janis almost smiles at it. But it’s why it’s sweet that she doesn’t want it.

“I don’t want to,” she replies. “I just want to go home.” Besides, there is a real risk of her upchucking a milkshake on the seat.

Her parents exchange another worried look, their hands clasping over the gearshift, and Janis has to bite back a scream.

When they do finally get home, Janis doesn’t wait for them to get out of the car. Instead she storms ahead, regardless of how it hurts her head more, because she’s so damn relieved to be out of that care and in open space. She opens the door with her own key, remembering to leave it open for them. She runs into the hallway and then stops almost immediately, her chest tight and her breaths coming in short, quick gulps. Something rushes against her and grabs at her legs, and she takes a minute to work out that it’s Maxie, no doubt pouting at her and wondering what she was doing and where she was and why she didn’t take him. He’s probably whimpering or barking, and her dad is probably trying to talk to her, but she can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears.

“Oh my God,” she says out loud. Everything she’s held back in the car bubbles over and she can’t hold it back any more.

She just about makes it to her room in time to throw herself on the bed and start screaming. She doesn’t even sound like a human. It’s deep and it’s guttural, tearing at her throat and painted with rage and pain and fear. Poor Maxie is probably hiding in his bed, scared of the monster upstairs. Her eyes, her face burns and her bedroom melts away, leaving just a mesh of dark colours bleeding together. Tears and snot run down her face and over her hands and on the pillows, making the mark of a miserable, self-pitying girl going insane.

Her head doesn’t just hurt any more, it’s screeching and kicking at her and she can’t do anything about it. She can’t do anything about anything. That’s the problem. Her chest aches and her neck hurts and her mouth is dry and her eyes burn. But all that’s nothing to what’s going on in her heart and head, where dangerous, toxic cocktails bubble. All she wants to do is not feel, but she feels everything and it’s all just pain.

She runs out of tears at one point and they dry on her face as she looks up at the ceiling, the word “cancer” written in invisible ink above her. She thinks “I might die” and then rolls her eyes at herself for being bleak. She wants to tell her all the good stuff about new treatments and technology and whatever but it’s all surface level nonsense. Fear wins over optimism and it cuts right into her, deep into her soul.

She doesn’t know what she’s most worried about and she’s an idiot for it. Not knowing if she’s more scared of the fatal disease wreaking destruction and chaos inside her body or of not getting to go to Cady’s Mathletes competitions or see Damian in the musical. It should be plainly obvious what’s the worse one, but it isn’t. Is this her now? Vapid and shallow, more obsessed with her petty teenage fun than her health? Was she always like this?

Her parents find her laying across her bed, unblinking, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only thing that indicate her being alive.

“How long ago did you guys wait?” she asks flatly.

“Two hours,” her dad explains, shifting on his feet. “We thought you’d need some space.” She nods numbly at that. “Janis… I know this is a lot to process for you.”

“Understatement of the century,” she mumbles. At least she’s still got humour. The bed sags and she sees her mom sitting next to her, her hand reaching out to stroke her hair. Janis can’t remember the last time her mom did that to her, not like this, with dainty fingers that could send her to sleep.

“We’re going to be here the whole time,” her mom promises. “You’re not doing this alone.”

She is though. That’s the problem. They’re not going to be the ones in the hospital beds and taking medicine and missing her senior year. She is. They’ll be beside her all they like, and she hopes to hell they are, but they aren’t going through it with her.

“I know,” is what she says instead. “I know.” She pulls herself to a sitting position, grabbing her mom’s shoulder as her room starts tilting. It takes a few seconds of deep, shaky breaths and her eyes shut tight before she feels normal again. “I’m okay.” She looks up at the two of them, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness that makes her feel tiny despite her impressive height. “So what happens now?”

“We’ll take care of the official stuff,” her dad days softly, his arms wrapped around himself Holding himself together. “Letting the school know and all that. But… it might be better if you tell your friends.” She shakes her head on instinct. She can barely get that word out of her mouth on her own. In front of Damian or Cady, she knows she’d crumble.

“Sweetie,” her mom says. Her hand hasn’t stopped stroking her. “I know it’s hard. But they love you and they’re going to want to hear it from you. Not from us and not from the school either.” Janis presses her face into her knees, blinking away another wave of tears. They’re right. Of course they’re right. But that doesn’t mean that the idea of telling them makes her want to vomit.

Right now, only she, her mom, her dad and some doctors know. And she can pretend the doctors don’t exist and remove them from the equation. And when the only people who know are living in this house, it’s easier for her to pretend that it doesn’t really exist. She can push it away and ignore her parents and keep it inside these walls. Once she tells her friends…

It’s real. There’s no going back after that. Granted there’s no going back either way, but there’s no hiding either.

“Janis,” her mom agrees, sharking a look with her dad. “If it’s really too much for you… we can tell your friends for you.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “No, you’re right. They need to hear it from me.”

“Oh, baby,” her mom breathes, hugging her tightly around her shoulders. She’s not crying, but her breathing is ragged and her grip scared. “I’m so sorry. I wish this wasn’t happening to you.” Her dad sits on the other side of her and wraps his arm around her, letting her head on her head on his shoulder. The hug is clumsy and a little forced, no-one knowing when to let go and Janis quickly becomes uncomfortable in their embrace. The longer it goes on, the less like herself she feels.

She spends the rest of the day and most of the following morning looking at her phone, even when she’s eating or watching TV with her dad or playing with Maxie. Every gesture is half-hearted, the building sense of dread distracting her form everything else. She scrolls through the messages from yesterday, Cady asking how her appointment went and Damian asking if she was free and Gretchen asking her opinion on a shirt. All living in blissful ignorance.

It’s no contest as to who to tell first. She sits on her bed, Damian’s face looking up at her from the phone screen, one button all that separates the two of them. Just press a button. How hard can that be? Very hard, it turns out, when your arm feels like lead and you don’t even know what to say to him, your words written and crossed out and written again on the notebook beside you. The worst part is that she isn’t even sure what she’s scared of. There’s a lot to choose from and when it’s telling someone you love as much as she loves him, that only makes it worse. Like she’s on top of a skyscraper, about to be pushed off and into darkness.  

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and calls him.

“Hey,” he chirps on the other side, picking up after just one ring. She leans back on her bed, biting her nail, her heart ceasing beating altogether. In the back of her mind, she wonders if he’d been waiting for her. “What’s up?”

“Are you-can you come over?” she asks. “Are you free right now?”

“Uh yeah,” he replies. “Everything okay?” No it’s not, the okay train left the station yesterday and I missed it and I’m about to pull you off it too. “Janis… are you okay?”

“Just… how soon can you come over?” she says, moving from biting her nail to her knuckles. “It’s just… it’s kind of important and I don’t know if I can-”

“Woah, woah, woah, okay,” he replies. “Hey, my mom’s giving me a ride. I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods. “Thanks.” She’s not even sure if he heard that last word.

He’s seven minutes actually. Seven minutes between her hanging up the phone and the front door opening, her mom letting him in and telling him she’s up in her room. Every step closer only makes her stomach hurt worse and she prays she’s not headed for a panic attack.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle as he opens the door, stepping into her room cautiously, like she’s in the middle of a minefield. He must have picked up on the tension in her house; rather than draping himself across her bed or sitting on her desk, he lowers himself gently beside her, offering her a comforting smile. The same kind he gave her years ago when she was crying in a bathroom stall. God, she loves him. “Everything okay? You sounded nervous on the phone.”

“Because I was,” she confesses. Her hand wraps around Damian’s, him squeezing tightly, but she doesn’t feel the usual strength she gets from him. There’s just a cold, heavy weight in her stomach. “Oh God.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, rubbing his hand up and down her arm, confusion and compassion in his eyes. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she tells him. Her chest feels like someone is tying a rope around her lungs. The words battle from her mind to her mouth, weary and unwilling. “It’s about my… that doctor’s appointment I had. We found out-”

This is it. The point of no return. No pretending or faking or daydreaming after this.

“Damian… I have cancer.”

Damian shakes his head a little, disbelief written all over his face. He keeps his eyes on her, waiting for her to laugh and tell him she’s kidding, almost willing it so. She wishes. Soon the doubt and hope melt away, his eyes turning sad and his mouth falling open, a small, strangled noise coming out as he realises she’s not kidding. As for her guilt tears her chest open and her face crumples. She begins to untangle herself from him, but he refuses, his arm in a firm grip around her shoulders. Maybe he wants to hold her or maybe he just can’t move, paralysed by what she dropped on him. The longer he goes without talking, the more it hurts her.

“What?” he asks eventually. “You… what?”

“Leukaemia,” she tells him as if that makes it better. He blinks, looking around the room like he’s searching for another answer.

“You have cancer?” he asks. She nods, exhausted from the two sentences she spoke, and he pulls her closer, her head falling onto his shoulder. Tears that aren’t hers fall onto her body and her own wet his shirt. His arms are weak around her as he tries to make sense of it. “How?”

“I don’t know how. It just happened,” she mumbles. “Karma, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Okay then let me talk to Miss Karma because this is… fu-this isn’t…”

“Go on. Say it,” she urges, a grin beginning to tug on her lips. “Just for me.” Maybe this will be the day Damian Hubbard finally says fuck.

“It’s fiddlesticks is what it is.” She laughs and it feels unfamiliar. He pets her hair in a steady rhythm, strength coming back into his body. “So what do you do now? Do you know? What even happens?”

“Okay.” She pulls away from him, seeing for the first time how red his eyes are. “I start… I start getting treatment next Monday.”

“Next Monday?” he interrupts. “But you can’t, we have school. We start school in two days!”

“Yeah I don’t think the cancer gives a shit,” she sighs heavily. “I’m just going to do senior year next year.”

“No,” he whispers, his face nothing short of heartbroken. Part of her is actually kind of weirdly flattered that someone cares so much. Most of her just feels worse every second for doing this to him. “But… we were going to… What about the LGBT society? I’m going to have to run it by myself?” He rakes a hand through his hair and looks over at her. His mouth falls open and his hand drops to his lap. “Oh God I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“For making this about me,” he says. “This is about you.”

“Oh please, the other half of your soul has cancer, you can be a little self-centred,” she says.

“Who said you’re the other half of my soul?” he jokes.

“You did.” She lifts the half-heart around her neck, the twin to the one around his. He smiles sadly, his eyes glistening. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, holding on to the only trace of familiarity. “Besides, the club will survive without me. You can always get Cady to do it. I’m sure she’d love something for her college application.”

“Oh my God, Cady,” he says.

Why did she bring up Cady? she thinks as another wave of sadness crashes over and drowns her.

“Have you told her?” She shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“How could I?” she says. “You’re… you’re one thing. Cady’s another.” She leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. “I don’t know how to do that to her.” Damian hums in understanding. He doesn’t need to ask what she means. He saw her at her absolute worst five years ago, at her most scared and angry and broken. He’s seen everything there is to her and it hasn’t pushed him away. Cady thinks she’s seen the bad, but that’s just scratching the surface. While she heard how it was back then, Damian lived and breathed it.

What she has with Cady is perfect, far too perfect to be scarred by something like this.

“You know… I could tell her for you,” he offers. “If it’s too much for you.”

“No,” she cuts him off, opening her eyes. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” he tells her. She nods, but the conversation ends there. Of course he’d do that for her. He’s the most loyal person she’s ever met, worthy of the Hufflepuff badge on his backpack. He’d move Heaven and Earth for the people he loves, especially in their hour of need. Or months of need, she guesses is her case now. He deserves endless happiness and love and joy, and an amazing senior year.

Seconds pass in silence before she croaks out “I’m sorry”.

“Did you just apologise for having cancer?” he asks. He shifts and tilts her head to make her look at him, his hands cupping her face and his eyes severe. She’s never seen him like this before, completely serious, devoid of jokes or laughter, and it makes her nervous. “Janis Catherine Sarkisian, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare apologise for this. This isn’t because of you. This is because… I don’t know. But it’s not you.”

“Okay.” She covers his hands with hers, her breath catching. His thumbs wipe at her wet cheeks and she wonders what she did to deserve him. “Okay, I won’t.”

“Good.” His voice cracks and two tears race each other down his cheek landing in his lap. He takes a heavy, shaking breath before continuing. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.”

“Of course you’d say that,” she mumbles, their clasped hands now sitting between them.

“You will be,” he says again, a fierce determination shining on his face. “Even if I have to go in there and physically fight that cancer myself.”

“You’d win,” she tells him, sniffling. They sit in the quiet, letting the weight of her news settle over both of them, a new and terrifying reality looming in front of them. Then she reaches out and pulls him into a hug; her arms wrapped around him, her head in the crook of his neck. As he hugs her back, she can feel the anxiety in his touch and how his touch is far more careful now. Like she’ll break if he holds her too much. But there’s also courage in there and above all, so much tenderness and it makes her heart grow and almost burst out of her stone cold chest.

“I love you,” she whispers against his shirt.

“I love you too,” he replies, ferocity in his voice, and Janis is struck by just how grateful she is that her best friend is Damian.