March 17th

Maggie doesn’t realize how dependent she’s become on Alex bringing her breakfast – and lunch most days now – until Alex is suddenly gone.

Maggie hasn’t seen her all week.

She hasn’t seen Lucy either, for that matter. Or Kara.

She has no idea what happened. At first, she starts to think that maybe Alex is sick and staying home. But after four days of complete absence, Maggie doubts that’s it. She knows Alex would get word to her somehow if that were the case.

So then, she starts worrying that she did something to make Alex upset. They had hung out again with Kara and Lucy on Saturday, no one really mentioning what had happened the night before at the diner other than the two of them asking if Maggie felt better that day. But even though Alex was trying to act normal, she still seemed off somehow to Maggie, like she had a lot on her mind. And now she’s wondering if it was because of her.

But Alex hadn’t said anything and she had seemed fine the last time Maggie saw her, on Monday when she had brought Maggie breakfast like normal before she left for school.

But then she hadn’t shown up the next morning. Or the next.

So Maggie doesn’t know. And she tries not to think about it too hard because if she does, the loneliness starts creeping back in. Even though she’s been on her own for weeks now, it hasn’t really felt that way, not when she’s had a combination of Alex and Lucy and Kara to break up the dull moments.

And that makes her kick herself mentally, because she had promised herself after Eliza that she wasn’t going to get too attached to anyone ever again, but here she is, almost completely dependent on people she met practically the second after getting here. But she knows it’s too late now.

But there’s a more pressing problem than even the possibility of suddenly losing her only friends, and it’s one that’s a lot simpler.

She’s absolutely starving.

Like it or not, Alex is her consistent source of food, and without her, Maggie flounders.

She had a little bit of money left over from the last time Alex gave her some, but she had stupidly spent it all to buy dinner Monday night, before she realized that something was wrong. And so when she did realize and needed to come up with a game plan, she had absolutely nothing to work with. Not even some leftovers.

Not exactly a great start.

So she figures she really didn’t have much of a choice. She starts going through the garbage cans on the boardwalk late at night. But when she realizes that the payoff for that is too low and the risk of being caught too high, she switches to dumpster-diving in the back alleys downtown.

After the first couple times, she doesn’t really feel shame in it anymore, not like her first week on the streets. Most of her attempts end with some half-eaten pizza slices or cups of half-finished fries, but she realizes that right after the restaurants close and the workers have dumped the trash for the night that she never knows exactly what she might find. Sometimes she’s able to piece together a full meal.

Her companions most trips are usually the rats and stray cats, but twice she runs into a couple of homeless people doing the same thing she is. The first time, it’s a woman missing most of her teeth who just grunts when she sees Maggie and hands her a fully wrapped, intact burger that’s still kind of warm. The second time, though, it’s a guy covered from head to toe in filth, and he immediately starts screaming about Maggie trying to steal ‘his dumpster.’ Maggie’s quick to book it as soon as that happens, and she’s really glad she did after she sees two police cars prowling around the area.

She makes a mental note to avoid that place, but after that, she’s too afraid to try again, and she goes a full day with nothing but water, her stomach achingly empty.

She prays each night that she’ll wake to a brown bag with Alex’s familiar writing or see her out on the water. Twice, she considers ringing the doorbell on Alex’s front door and asking to see her. But she’s still scared of Alex’s mom discovering her, and the lingering fear that Alex is purposely ignoring keeps her from doing so. And although she’s learned a lot about the layout of Midvale since she arrived, she still isn’t quite sure where Lucy lives. So she’s stuck until she sees one of them again.

She studies herself in the bathroom mirror Thursday morning. She hasn’t really looked at herself too hard since she got there, her new haircut and the bruises on her skin making her avoid her reflection, the reminder of what happened too painful. But the bruises are gone now, and Maggie’s captivated with the fact that she no longer resembles the picture she has of herself in her head.

Her skin is darker now, a product of spending so much time outdoors, and she definitely looks skinnier than before she had left Blue Springs. She finds she doesn’t really mind her shorter hair anymore, although the ends are kind of choppy and a little uneven, but altogether it doesn’t look too bad. She’d eventually like to grow it out again, maybe not as long as she used to have it, but close to the length of Alex’s, coming in just below her shoulders.

And there she goes again, thinking about Alex.

She doesn’t really know why, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to stop thinking about Alex.

By Saturday, she can’t take it anymore. She wakes hours before dawn because of the ache in her stomach. Unable to fall back asleep, she spends the time until the sun rises watching the ocean, desperately hoping more with every passing moment that Alex will show up that morning.

But when the sun’s fully in the sky and there’s still no sign of Alex coming, Maggie lets her hopes die.

She stands and makes her way to the boardwalk to start the day, her body achy and stiff. She starts walking downtown, past all the shops opening up for the day. She thinks about maybe trying to swipe some food from the farmer’s market she knows takes place every Saturday morning near the other end of the boardwalk. The fruit stands there are making her mouth water just thinking about them.

But she doesn’t really trust her thieving skills, and the last time she had been there, she had seen at least two police units patrolling the large crowd the event always gathered.

Plus there’s the whole stealing-is-wrong thing, Maggie thinks. Her dad had drilled that into her for as long as she can remember. But she’s past the point of really caring about that if she’s being honest.

She’s so deep in the argument with herself that she almost misses it, and nearly trips herself up as her brain registers what she’s just seen a second after her eyes do. The grin that breaks out on her face as she looks at the item on the ground is the first genuine smile she’s made in days.

A quarter, face up and shiny in the morning sun, just lying there in the middle of the sidewalk. Calling to her.

Maggie scrambles to pick it up, feeling like she just won the lottery. Because maybe it wouldn’t seem like much to most people, but Maggie knows exactly what it will get her.

Breakfast.

Or, more specifically, one of those oversized muffins from the best local bakery in town.

Maggie heads there with a spring in her step, knowing it’s still early enough that the pastry selection will be largely untouched.

Her hunch is proved correct when she gets to the bakery and the woman behind the counter happily informs her that she’s the first customer of the day. Maggie waits and watches as she finishes setting up a large display of cinnamon rolls before setting it on top of the counter.

Maggie orders a chocolate chip muffin, practically drooling as she takes in all the delicious pastries in front of her. She desperately wants to gobble up half the bakery, particularly the cinnamon buns sitting right in front of her, almost mocking. But she knows she’s lucky to at least be getting something to eat.

She hands her quarter over and the woman bags her muffin just as a timer goes off in the back room. “Here you go, dear. Have a nice day,” the woman says, handing the bag over to Maggie before going through the back doors. The timer shuts off a few seconds later.

And Maggie can’t help herself. There’s no one else in the store, so she seizes her chance. She swipes two of the cinnamon rolls from the front of the circular display, knowing they’re the least likely to be missed, and stuffs them in the bag with her muffin before quickly moving out the door.

Something in her brain tells her she should feel bad for stealing from such a nice shop owner, but it’s quickly squashed by the growling in her stomach.

That is, until Maggie realizes that someone’s seen her.

There’s a dog grooming place across from the bakery, one Maggie’s never really paid much attention to before. But now, she can’t help but notice it. Or rather, the eyes she feels on her.

There’s a woman standing on the inside of the glass doors, holding a rag in her hand and a spray bottle in the other. She’s staring directly at Maggie, and even from across the street, Maggie feels the penetrating stare, and somehow, she just knows the woman saw everything.

Maggie clenches the bag hard in her first, but the woman makes no move to confront her. Instead, she simply flips over the open sign on the door and goes back to cleaning the window, with one last look at Maggie.

There’s something about the look that makes Maggie think the woman’s seen into her soul. Shame floods her, but she takes off before the woman decides to change her mind.

She would like to say that she doesn’t enjoy the cinnamon rolls after that, but they still taste like heaven, and Maggie scarfs down every last crumb.

…

She’s walking on the boardwalk sometime later when someone barrels into her from out of nowhere, tackling her into a hug.

“Maggie! Oh my God, I’m so glad I found you!”

Maggie pulls back with some difficulty to see Lucy with a frantic look in her eyes. She seems reluctant to let go as she starts rambling rapid-fire.

“I didn’t know that Alex was bringing you food every day! But she literally just got back phone privileges this morning and she called me worried sick about you, so I went to look for you at the beach earlier, but you weren’t there and then I got worried, because if I had known, I would have been bringing you food all week but I–”

“Whoa, Lucy, hang on, slow down,” Maggie interjects, her head spinning with trying to keep up. “What happened to Alex? Is she okay?”

Lucy takes a deep breath, giving Maggie one more tight squeeze before taking a step back. “Right, sorry. You don’t know. Alex got into a fight at school on Monday. She got a week’s worth of in-school suspension, and her mom grounded her. She has to take the bus to school and wasn’t allowed to use the phone or anything.”

Maggie’s heart skips a beat at the news and now she feels like the frantic one. “She got into a fight? With who? Did she get hurt?”

Lucy grimaces. “It– it was Logan. They have gym class together. From what I’ve heard, he started it, but the gym teacher had to pull Alex off of him, so she got in the most trouble. I heard she got a black eye, but I haven’t seen her. Logan’s nose is broken. He’s been a baby about it the entire week. He only got written up.”

Maggie’s eyes widen in shock, but she can’t think of anything to say beyond, “Oh geez.”

“Yeah.” Lucy kicks at the wood with her flip flop, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I should have known he wasn’t going to leave her alone after Friday.”

Lucy’s face is hidden by her hair, but Maggie can hear the guilt in her voice. “Hey, it’s not your fault. I don’t want to like, insult your ex or anything, but he seems like a total douchebag.”

That makes Lucy laugh a little. “He totally is, isn’t he? God.” She’s quiet for a beat, but then claps her hands suddenly, startling a seagull that had landed nearby. “Anyway, that’s only one of many reasons I wanted to find you. Wanna get food? ‘Cause I’m buying.”

Maggie’s stomach growls just at the mention of food. She wraps an arm around her abdomen like that’s going to keep it quiet and smiles sheepishly at Lucy. “Please?”

Lucy grabs her arm, pulling her in the direction of the nearest pizza shop. “C’mon. I’ll show you the other things I got for you after we eat.”

…

Lucy orders a whole pizza and a basket of fries, and then proceeds to eat only a slice and a handful, leaving the rest for Maggie. And Maggie wants to say that she doesn’t wolf the entire meal in less than ten minutes, but then she’d be lying. She doesn’t even wait for the pizza to cool, just lets the roof of her mouth burn as she inhales slice after slice. Then she attacks the fries, and they’re greasy and salty and utterly delicious, and one of the best things Maggie’s ever tasted, although that just may be the hunger talking.

When she’s done, Maggie feels full for the first time in days and she smiles contently at Lucy. “That was so much better than garbage pizza.” Seeing Lucy’s look of confusion, she adds, “You really don’t want to know.”

Lucy’s face scrunches in disgust. “Noted. But wait ‘til you see what else I brought you,” she says, pulling at her surprisingly stuffed backpack. She digs out some clothes and drops them in Maggie’s lap before zipping the backpack shut again, not letting Maggie see what else is in there.

Maggie holds up the pair of jeans, gauging them to be about her size. The t-shirt is a dark gray with ARMY scrawled across the chest.

“Figured if Alex gets to give you one of her shirts; I get to give you one of mine. But I’m still gonna call you Sunshine no matter what you’re wearing.”

Maggie laughs. She gets a little fluttery feeling in her chest whenever Lucy uses the nickname for her. “Well thank you.”

Lucy shakes her head, getting off the stool by the counter they’re sitting at and holding out a hand for Maggie. “Wait until you see the big surprise. This was just the beginning.”

Lucy leads her back to the cave, where she crawls inside, telling Maggie to wait on the beach.

But Maggie can’t help but start to panic when Lucy pulls her sleeping bag and all her stuff outside. “Wait, Lucy, what are you– ”

“It’s okay. Just give me a few minutes; I promise I’m not going to mess anything up. Don’t look or you’ll ruin the surprise.”

Maggie reluctantly turns around and watches the waves crashing on the shore, still feeling nervous. She knows it’s ridiculous, but she’s gotten attached to her little make-shift home and the collection of barebone items she’s obtained and the thought of anyone messing with them makes her want to cry, even if she trusts Lucy.

There’s a lot of scrambling and what sounds to be Lucy struggling with something and muttering to herself for the following ten minutes, telling Maggie not to look every time she asks if she needs help. Eventually, Lucy comes back out and plops onto her back next to Maggie, wiping sweat off her forehead.

“Okay, I’ll let you set your stuff up how you like, but it’s all ready for you now.”

“What is?”

Lucy nudges her with an elbow. “Go look.”

Maggie looks doubtful, but she does as Lucy says and goes into her cave. But instead of the normal space she’s used to seeing, she’s met with tan fabric, a zipper running down the middle.

“What the–”

Lucy pushes past her, impatient, and pulls the zipper the down, and then Maggie’s looking at the inside of a one-person tent, with her sleeping bag and a new little camping pillow set up inside.

“Ta-da,” Lucy says, sounding proud.

Maggie goes inside, looking at it in awe. “Lucy… This is… How did you…?”

Lucy follows her in, still grinning, but her voice soft in the way she has when she’s trying to reassure Maggie. “It’s one of my dad’s old tents. He’s got like five and he doesn’t use any of them. He’ll never notice one’s gone. And I just checked; you can’t see it from outside.”

Maggie feels like she could cry, and she hugs Lucy tightly. “Thank you. This is like the best thing ever. You’re like the best thing ever.”

And maybe she’s getting emotional, but she swears she sees Lucy’s ears turn red in the same way Alex’s do sometimes, but Lucy untucks her hair from behind them before she can get a good look.

“It’s nothing,” Lucy says. “Seriously. Sorry I didn’t think about it sooner. And if it kind of stinks. It tried to pick the best-smelling one.”

Maggie inhales deeply, getting a hint of must. “Nah, it’s perfect. Smells like perfection.”

That makes Lucy laugh, and she leans back on her hands. “Well, I don’t know when Alex will be ungrounded, but we could meet up again tomorrow to get food. And I could bring you some stuff before school this week if Alex can’t. Or even if she can, I’ll bring extra.”

“That would be great. I’m just glad to know what happened. I was a little afraid she was avoiding me or something.”

Lucy’s head tilts. “Why?”

Maggie shrugs. “She was kind of quiet last Saturday. And then, you know, I didn’t see her all week, and I started thinking maybe she was mad at me.”

“That definitely wasn’t it. You didn’t do anything,” Lucy says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to speak for her, but I know she’s not mad at you, Maggie.”

Maggie’s glad to hear that. She feels a little weight lifting off her shoulders, now that she knows the truth.

Lucy hugs her again. “So, I need to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunshine.”

Yep, the fluttery feeling is back. “See you then.”

…

March 18th

It’s the cats that get Maggie’s attention.

She’s making her way back to the beach around dusk when she sees them, five or six street cats all running down the same alley. This isn’t the first time Maggie’s seen strays hanging around, but she’s never seen that many around each other without there being a fight, so she follows, curious.

There’s even more when she gets behind the building. Maggie counts at least twenty, but it’s hard to be sure when they’re all moving around. But it seems they’re moving with a purpose, as they all gather in front of a specific door. They start meowing all at once, and some of the closest ones start clawing at the metal.

Maggie’s so engrossed in watching them and wondering what they’re doing that she almost misses the door swing open from the inside. She barely has time to duck behind the nearby dumpster. She really doesn’t want to have to explain to somebody what she’s doing back there.

“Okay, okay, I’m here, settle down,” a voice says. Maggie’s heart pounds until she realizes the words aren’t for her. She peeks around the edge to take a look.

She recognizes the woman she sees. It’s the woman from the dog groomers’, the one who had seen her steal from the bakery. Now Maggie is even more intent on hiding, really not wanting the woman to see her and remember.

It makes sense that she’s behind the dog groomers’ when she thinks about it, especially if the foul smell coming from the dumpster is any indication.

Meanwhile, the cats have all gone still as soon as the woman speaks, sitting up and staring at her, tails flicking. The woman starts placing the dishes she’s carrying in front of them, and Maggie sees they’re full of food. The cats don’t move even when all the dishes are down, and Maggie watches in awe.

“Enjoy,” the woman says, and all the cats nearly pounce on the bowls after being given permission. While they’re eating, the woman goes back through the door and comes back out with two larger bowls, filled with water.

Some of the cats leave as soon as they’ve had their fill. Some of the others move a little ways away and start grooming themselves. The rest gather around the woman, twirling around her ankles and rubbing up against her legs. She pays special attention to these ones, stooping down to pet them.

“I’m all out of catnip,” she tells them. “I should be getting more soon, along with the flea repellant.”

Her voice is kind and it’s obvious she cares about these strays, who most of the other people in Midvale consider a nuisance.

Out of nowhere, the woman looks toward the dumpster and Maggie ducks back around, holding her breath.

“It seems you guys aren’t the only ones here who are hungry tonight.” And Maggie kicks herself because she must have been spotted, but then the woman adds, “Time for me to get my own dinner. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

And then there’s the sound of metal bowls being stacked and a door closing, and the cats start dispersing in different directions. Two of them come over to where Maggie’s still crouched, butting their heads against her knees.

“Hi,” she whispers, holding out a hand for them to sniff. One of them – a calico with a notched ear – bats at her fingers playfully. She pets them both, until she notices that it’s really starting to get dark now. “I better go,” she tells them, standing up after double-checking that the coast is clear.

The calico follows her, meowing.

“Maybe I can come visit you again tomorrow,” Maggie says. “Seems like this is a pretty regular thing for you guys. I just can’t let anyone see me, okay?”

The cat gives her a final meow and then scampers off, and Maggie heads home for the night.

…

She’s incredibly glad for the tent that night. Because not too long after she falls asleep, she’s woken up by a huge crack of thunder. And shortly after that, there’s another, and another, and then the sky opens up to a torrential downpour.

She’s lucky. It’s the first real rain she’s had since coming to Midvale. There had only been a few short drizzles before this.

But now, she’s nice and dry in her tent, and the thunderstorm doesn’t last very long. The rain continues throughout the night, but she’s lulled to sleep by the sound of it hitting the boards above her.

When she wakes up the next morning, the sand around her tent is soaked, but the combination of the bottom tarp layer and the tent had kept her space completely dry.

“I owe Lucy,” she says out loud. “Big time.”

When she changes into clean clothes that morning, she can’t help but smile as she puts on the shirt Lucy had given her. And that makes her amend her thought from a few days ago.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to stop thinking about Lucy either.

…


BAZ

I look up at the clock on the wall. There's still twenty minutes left. And I've already finished the test. I scan over my answers, not changing anything before I sneak a look at Snow. He's still on the first page, and he's gotten most of the questions wrong. He's chewing on the bottom of his pen as he narrows his eyes at the paper. You can't threaten a test, Snow, I want to tell him. I know for sure he doesn't even care about Chemistry. We once had an argument about why we had to take Chemistry, or any of the other Normal subjects we have to take at Watford.

"Just because we have magic, doesn't mean we don't need an education, Snow," I rolled my eyes.

"Yes it does!" he'd argued. "We have magic. We don't need anything else."

"Careful Snow, you're starting to sound like the Old Families."

He just scowled.

I mean, he doesn't need to care. I highly doubt the Mage remembers what isomers are. I don't know why Snow's getting himself into such a fuss about it.

I watch as he runs a hand through his bronze curls, tussling it around. He looks anxious. He looks scared. He looks like he's going to faint. Its unnerving. I shuffle around on my seat, looking around the classroom. Everyone else is still working (except Bunce, who's staring at Snow with a worried look on her face), staring down at their papers as the sound of scratching pencils fill the room. Well that and Snow's deep breathing. He does that when he's nervous. I used to think it was infuriating. Now it's just something I've accepted as a part of Snow.

I look up just as Professor Chilblains scans the class. Then she sits back down at her desk and starts to mark some other tests, frowning. I rest my head on my hands, already dreading the next half an hour with nothing to do but be overly aware of every move I make next to Snow.

He sighs through gritted teeth when ink spills from his pen. What an idiot. He looks up at me, and I’m expecting him to scowl, but he just frowns slightly, his eyes wandering to my completed paper before he looks at his not completed paper. Then he leans back in his chair and drops his pen onto the table. He’s giving up. He’s quitting.

He tips his head back and throws a forced smile when he makes eye contact with Bunce. She arches an eyebrow. He shakes his head.

I shake my own head as I turn away from them. It’s so weird how they can talk without speaking. If I didn’t know them, I might think it’s magic, but it’s not. It’s just... friendship. I shudder. It’s weird as fuck, that’s what it is.

I sneak a glance at Snow as he and Bunce do their weird telepathy. He's disgarded his blazer once more, just like he does everyday. If anyone else chose to not wear their blazer everyday, they'd get detention, but because it's Simon Snow, the Mage's fucking Heir, the pride of Watford, he can do whatever he pleases. And no one even cares.

Snow turns back around and sighs. I can hear him gritting his teeth. This is un-fucking-bearable. I bite my lip looking down at Snow. He’s pouting and he’s folded his arms. He looks like a fucking child. I roll my eyes and tell myself to face away, to just sit still and don’t do anything. But I don’t listen. I don't even listen to my-fucking-self anymore. Snow has really messed up my priorities.

I shoot a glance at Professor Chilblains, and when I see that she’s not looking, I slowly pull Snow’s paper over to me. He frowns and slams his hands on top of it, thudding against the wooden desk. Professor Chilblains looks up at us, but Snow doesn’t notice becuase (he’s so fucking dense) he’s staring at me. I kick him under the desk and he turns to the professor, blinking before he shrugs apologetically. I just school my face into a cast of boredom.

She narrows her eyes at us before she goes back to marking. I clench my jaw and widen my eyes at Snow when he looks up at me again. He frowns, suspicious, but lets me slide his paper over to me. I look down at it for a moment, and realise that what I’m doing is really fucking stupid, but I’m already practically doing it, so I start fixing it. I scribble out most of his mistakes and write the correct answers before I hand it back to him. He grabs it out of my hands, scowling as his blue eyes read what I've done, before they widen. He freezes before he turns to me, his head cocked.

He's still got the massive gash down his face, I'm surprised no one's cast Early to Bed and Early to Rise on him yet. Maybe it's a magic injury - they're harder to heal. I bet I could do it. There's a spell; Healing of the Heart, that I've been reading about, that I bet I could do. It only works if you're seriously in love with the person you want to heal. In love as in, would rather die than lose them love. I think most of the spells in the World of Mages were created by angsty teenagers.

"What are you doing?" Snow asks me. I think he tries to hiss it but it comes out confused and meek. I just shrug, and turn back to the front. I'm deadly aware of Snow staring at me for the rest of the period but I just keep still, holding my breath.

When the bell rings, I stand up quickly and storm out of the class, ignoring Snow calling my name. What the fuck did I just do?

*

I walk through the corridors, letting my feet take me wherever. I don't care where I go right now, just as long as I get away from Snow. To be honest, Australia would be the most preferable place to be right about now. Well, maybe not. Flammable and all that. I sigh as I turn the corner and realise that I've ended up at the library. I look up at the massive, wooden doors and sigh, running a hand through my hair. I push the door open slowly and slip into the room. There’s only a of students here. There’s a clump of first-year students around one table, all of them muttering spells that shut their books or untie their shoes. There’s a couple of people on their own, just studying, all of different ages.

There’s a group of three girls in my year sitting at a table right next to where I’m currently hovering. I don’t know their names. They grin up at me and they look like they’re gonna try and talk to me. Fuck that. I nod at them before I walk right to the back of the library, leaving them scowling behind me.

As soon as I sit down at the empty table tucked away behind the shelves, and let myself breathe, I hear Snow’s fucking booming voice. Is this some sort of sick punishment? Was I a really shit person in my last life? I thought the vampire thing was punishment enough, but no. Of fucking course not. I had to have Snow thrown into my life aswell.

Myabe he's just here to study. Or maybe he’s just meeting Bunce.

“Have you seen Baz?”

Or maybe not.

Fuck my shitting fucking life.

“Yeah, he’s back there, I think.”

“Oh, thanks, Rose.”

I hold my breath as Snow turns the corner and our eyes meet. Then he frowns; his round nose crinkling and his brows furrowing. I narrow my eyes as he sits directly across from me. I don’t speak. If he wants to fucking talk then he can talk. We sit in silence for a moment, Snow obviously trying his very hardest to not talk. He clenches his jaw and grits his teeth before he finally gives in.

“What are you doing?”

I know he’s asking about the test and why I did, but I don’t even really know why I did it myself, so there’s no way I’m making this easy for him. Also, I’m an asshole and delight in pissing him off.

“Studying,” I shrug. He frowns.

"Where's your book then?" he asks, folding his arms. It's my turn to frown. I don't say anything just lean back in my own chair.

"Why'd you help me?"

"Because you were going to fail. Miserably," I shrug. Liar. I'm such a fucking liar. I helped you Snow, because I'm in love with you and your stupid, fucking face.

Snow pouts and has the gall to look sheepish, as if he even should. "I don't understand Chemistry. It's stupid." He scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly.

A thought pops into my head and I instantly want to slam it out. But I don't. "What are you doing on Friday, ten o'clock?"

He arches an eyebrow before he runs a hand through that fucking hair. That hair keeps me up at night. "Nothing. Why?" he adds, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Be here. Bring your Chemistry stuff," I tell him. Crowley, I'm breaking all my rules today. He shakes his head.

"I'm not doing anything with you, Baz," he hisses, using my name like a curse. I try to not flinch.

"Fine. Fail Chemistry. S'not my fault," I say as I stand up. Even though it was't ever my fault, but I'll feel guilty if I at least don't try and help him. He stands up as well, his eyes locking onto mine. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he bites the inside of his cheek. He licks his lips and I try to not let my legs wobble.

"Ten o'clock," he says before he walks out, his back stiff.

Well. That just happened.


As soon as Wukong arrived down to the jungle he bolted towards the trees, dashing from branch to branch fast enough to feel the wind against his fur. It felt good, like he was filling a primal urge or a sort of instinct. Either way, his crazy jumping along the vines and trees didn’t last long for he encountered the upper hand of a crystal clear waterfall.

With a smile from ear to ear Monkey King sum summoned his loyal cloud and took a dive into its freshwater. In that moment, when he felt the water hit his fur and soak his purple robe, Wukong disconnected from everything.

His bubbly laughter filled up the air as he splashed and played with the water, droplets of this liquid across his fur and shining bright under the sun rays.

He had missed this, the way things used to be, the way his life was before his Journey to the West…when Macaque was by his side as a companion, a friend, and a lover. He wouldn't change anything, he knows why things had to be done but that didn't mean he didn't miss it or wonder what could have been.

He climbed some nearby rocks to rest a bit and glanced at his belly, at three months of his pregnancy he could notice the smallest of bumps that softened his abdomen.

He noticed that since he discovered he was pregnant the times where he touched his belly were a bit rare like it was some sort of intimate act, only done when he was very comfortable or alone, and he knew why, it made him soft, vulnerable.

Perhaps, now that he was alone he could and so he did, and just as he did it he left out an almost inaudible chirp, and that surprised him. It felt very weird, never in a million years would he have imagined growing a baby inside of him. He wondered how they would be, how they would look.

Like him?

Or like…

"Macaque." he breathed his name out, the curve of his mouth now upside down. Now his soaked robe instead of fresh it felt cold, even with the warm golden sun rays that basked him.

He missed him so much, it wasn't even ironic anymore, it felt like a part of him was missing. It was so crazy how fine the line was between love and hate, but he knew those were his emotions going all crazy, he couldn't risk it. He wasn't sure Macaque knew about the magic pregnancy shenanigans, because there was always that possibility, but also another where he didn't know. A part of him hoped for the best, to think the best of him.

He remembered the night he shared with him in the festival, how soft his dark fur felt, his soulful eyes, his deep voice, how even if they were sworn enemies he still treated him gently when needed and roughly when asked all over his pleasure spots that he seemed to remember even after hundreds of years.

Wukong blushed hard at that memory. Indeed, Macaque was a very attractive creature, even after all this time, he still had a very delicious, intoxicating musky scent, one that could turn him on in an instant just thinking about it, and it did. The mere thought set a hot thrill down his spine.

The monkey then scanned the area, no one but him was there. Perhaps he shouldn’t but then he thought again about Macaque’s earthy scent and the idea of stopping seemed to be out of the question. It wouldn't hurt to have some me time right? He had been too busy since the Mid Autumn Festival to pleasure himself since then.

-----NSFW WARNING

Wukong grabbed onto the memory of that night he had shared with Macaque as he adjusted himself on the soft warm river rock, his wet cloak now pressing against his skin.

He took his own tail and pressed on its base firmly just like Macaque had done, starting to get into the mood.

"Cute. You always had a sensitive tail peaches."

Wukong let out a sigh as he continued shyly playing with his tail, feeling his below throb with need in a pool of warmth. He imagined the hot steamy breath from Macaque's voice whispering in his ears how good he took him in, how much of a mess he was.

The monkey whimpered, then used his other hand to grasp onto his needy member already wet with precum as he continued stimulating his tail, damn his hormones must be really messing him up.

"Like this peaches?"

“Yes.”, Wukong let out a low moan as he slid up and down, quickly setting a pace. He used his thumb to circle the tip of his member as he felt his cheeks getting warmer and warmer by the minute. It felt so fucking good to think about him, about his lean muscles, his thick cock inside of him, the aggressive thrusts that made him begg, submit to him.

The Monkey King let a deep breath out between whimpers as he felt himself getting close. His cloak has loosened up and a couple of sweat drops slid down his bare chest as it rose up and down in quick breaths. The heat building up from inside him was driving him crazy as he increased the pace, moaning along with the slick wet noises under the sound of the waterfall.

He wanted him.

Macaque. Macaque. Macaque. Macaque.

"Heaven's you are so hot Sun Wukong."

"Macaque." Wukong whimpered as he threw back his head, going completely stiff for a moment as he felt the release of his hot seed. His muscles spasmed and left a light tremble in his legs as he caught his breath in the afterglow.

------END OF NSFW WARNING

That's when it hit him like bricks, heck, he just pleased himself with the thought of his enemy, of the night he betrayed his own principles and slept with Macaque. He felt shameful.

"What? Didn't like it peaches? Cause I can see a pool of your seed telling me otherwise."

"AUGH JUST GET OUT OF MY HEAD FUCKING BASTARD!" the monkey let out as he splashed cold water at his face, multiple times, in hopes to snap out of it, to erase that ridiculous blush from his cheeks.

Monkey King facepalmed in defeat, knowing by the strong beat of his heart and the sea of thoughts invading his mind that he was indeed fucked.

"Fuck." he cursed at his dumb heart.

"Who'd known that that mighty Monkey King had such an extensive vocabulary?"

Okay, that was it.

"You are gonna be the end of me dumbass."


todo bb it's gonna be okay

Touya: be there soon, sorry

Shouto reads the message for the twelfth time in the past two minutes, then glances up at the door again.

The coffee shop is empty aside from him and the one employee who dares to take the early shift, but it doesn’t stop Shouto from glancing around the space anyway. Not that he expects his father to show up, but he’s already found Shouto, he can’t find Touya as well.

Dabi. He wonders how he’d come up with that name, and if he would prefer that Shouto use it as well. But he’d added his own number to Shouto’s phone, and put his name as ‘Touya’, so that must be alright?

He glances at the clock again, at the second hand ticking away - he’s only a few minutes late, supposing he arrives soon, but Shouto’s anxiety ticks up along with the clock. Every minute he doesn’t show, Shouto wonders if he plans on coming at all.

The bell over the door startles him, and he glances back over to find Touya walking in. His hair is wet, like he just got out of the shower, and his clothes look rumpled and disheveled. He must’ve only just woken up - Shouto had suggested they meet later, but Touya had said he’d be nearby and wouldn’t mind getting up early.

He doesn’t look too different, Shouto thinks as he walks over - his hair’s a different color, of course, and the scars almost blend into the rest of his skin now, but Shouto had still known his brother the moment he’d seen him at the house.

Touya sits without a word, but he’s tense, and Shouto’s never been the best at breaking the ice.

“You’re late, did something happen?” Touya glances up, brows lifted high on his forehead, and Shouto wonders if he’s overstepped. Just because they’re related doesn’t mean he’s entitled to Touya’s life - but he’s curious anyway. It’d taken a lot of willpower not to ask Touya where he’s been upon first seeing him last night.

Touya blinks at him, and his lip quirks up in what Shouto knows to be the Todoroki family version of a smile.

“Got distracted,” Touya says, “sorry I didn’t respond right away.” Shouto had sent a few texts, mostly just to be sure Touya was awake and that they were still on for coffee. That Touya hadn’t skipped town again, without any notice to Shouto.

“Hawks?” Shouto asks - they’d been together the whole night, Touya wrapped in Hawks’ arms. He’d looked happy - distant, but happy. He laughs now, loudly enough that the sound echoes around the empty space.

“You always were so observant, little brother.” Touya shakes his head. “Yes, I was with Hawks.” Shouto chooses to avoid commenting on the sudden flush on his cheeks, the way he ducks his head, the joke he made to deflect. “And you’re with the green-haired kid?” Dabi quirks a brow at him, and it’s Shouto’s turn for a wave of warmth to rush through him.

“Midoriya Izuku,” Shouto says, and he’s sort of wishing Izuku were here, even just as moral support. He doesn’t know that Shouto’s here, that Touya is here. He’ll tell him later, once the dust has settled.

“Pretty bubbly kid,” Touya comments, and Shouto blows out a breath.

“Have you met Hawks?” he asks in return, which earns him another laugh. Touya’s grin stays around this time, and he levels his gaze on Shouto.

“So,” he says, and he leans forward to prop his elbows up on the table. “What happened?” Shouto can hear the big brother tone leaking in, and he can feel that wave of spite he’d held onto for so many years rise up to the surface. But it’s so distant, this time, so insignificant in comparison to the deep peace he’s felt for so many days, the warmth he feels at being able to see his brother again. So he lets that spite fall away. The curiosity doesn’t, though.

“Father wasn’t much of a fan of the people I brought home.” Shouto shrugs. “Clearly, you escaped before he could pass that judgment on you.” He’s not sure if he’s being too cryptic, or too accusatory - Touya blinks for a few seconds, like he might not be sure either, then he sits back with a sigh and a wry grin on his lips.

“Not that there was anyone for me to bring home,” he quips back, and Shouto watches his hand tug at the sleeve of his jacket. He may have run away long before Shouto, but it’s clear he’s still trying to escape their father’s wrath. All those years Shouto spent angry at Touya for leaving, he’d forgotten that Touya was just as much a victim as Shouto. He sees that now, in the soft lighting of the coffee shop he’s come to think of as a second home. They were never enemies, just allies that took different paths.

He’s glad their paths have crossed again.

---------

Dabi leaves after an hour, under the guise of having things to do, but Shouto can see the exhaustion in his expression. For once, Shouto’s in agreement - in spite of the coffee, he can feel sleep tugging at him. Or maybe it’s just the allure of the bed Izuku’s still probably fast asleep in. Maybe that’s what tugs at Dabi as well - Hawks in his bed, waiting for his return.

He doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks Dabi seems happy. For some reason, he’d avoided saying as much at the party, but there’s something like a spark in Dabi’s eyes, and maybe he’s in the same boat as Shouto: not quite as happy as he hopes to someday be, but on his way there.

The brisk air greets Shouto when he steps outside, and he’s grateful for the way it wakes him. In spite of the burst of energy, he takes his time walking home - he doesn’t want to know where Dabi went, or where he lives. Best not to risk that, not with their father’s recent and unexpected visit still looming over his head. It’s safer for them both if he doesn’t know.

So he meanders, walks up and down side streets and inhales the steam from the peppermint coffee he ordered to go. He’s missed his family, of course, but his sister and other brother had thrown in their lot with his father - or, rather, they’d thrown in the towel, watching with worried but distant eyes and closed mouths as his father kicked Shouto out. He wonders what Dabi would’ve done.

Dabi had been the black sheep from the start, though. Shouto would like to believe he’d have fought back.

But that piece of his life is a chapter he wants to turn the page on, so he does. He’d rather move forward than focus on the past, and he gets the feeling Dabi would like to do the same.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me calling you Touya still?” Dabi shrugs, but Shouto can see the way his eyes flick to the table at the name. He doesn’t have to say it aloud, but he’s no longer Touya. He hasn’t been Touya in a while, Shouto thinks.

“It’s no big deal, it’s the name you know me as.” His explanation lacks any kind of conviction, though. Shouto tilts his head.

“I don’t think you’re Touya anymore,” Shouto says, “and that’s okay.” Dabi’s gaze lifts from his coffee, but he glances back down the moment Shouto meets his eyes. “I like Dabi,” he says. “Both the name and the person.”

No, Dabi hasn’t been Touya since the day he left - maybe even longer than that, but it’s not his place to pry. He would rather they both move forward.

After what feels like hardly a minute but must’ve been at least twenty, Shouto finds himself back at the gate of the house he’s called home for the past several months. He wonders if Dabi has a place to call home, or if he’s been drifting. Shouto had worried, sometimes, about how easy it was for his brother to disconnect from reality, from the world around him. While Shouto had always been desperate for an explanation, digging into their world until his fingers bled, Dabi had been detached, disinterested.

But he hadn’t seemed that way this morning. Maybe he’s finally found something to ground him.

The handle feels icy under Shouto’s hand, and he lets it center him. He wants to talk to Izuku about this, but he needs a clear head first.

-------

“That’s so crazy to think you somehow ended up in the same town as your brother,” Izuku says, eyes wide. He hadn’t been asleep, just laying in bed and messing around on his phone. Shouto wonders if he’d been waiting for him to return. The idea makes him want to smile. “Maybe it’s fate or something?”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Shouto says - although a part of him wishes he did, or wishes he believed in anything, really. Izuku’s hand closes around his, though, and he gives Shouto a smile.

Perhaps he believes in Izuku, and in people like him.

“In any event,” Shouto continues, “I think I’d like to spend more time with him, once all this business with my father blows over.” He’s still at risk, Shouto thinks - his father hadn’t found Dabi, not for years, and Shouto won’t be the reason he does now. He can protect him.

“Have you talked to Iida yet?” Izuku’s voice stays gentle, but the question doesn’t pain Shouto the way it might’ve done a week ago. He nods.

“He’s already filed the paperwork.” Iida had been clear and concise in walking through the steps for a restraining order and what that meant for both him and his father, and Shouto had signed the papers without hesitation.

Izuku nods, then squeezes Shouto’s hand.

“Would Dabi want the same? I’m sure Iida would be glad to help,” he suggests, and Shouto blinks at him. It feels like an easy fix to his current problem, but would it only cause more distress? Shouto’s already expecting some backlash from his own restraining order, but would it put Dabi at risk for their father to know where he is, or to deduce that he’s with Shouto?

Izuku must read some kind of look on his face, because he squeezes Shouto’s hand again.

“A conversation for another time, maybe just bring it up as an option.” Shouto nods, but his head swims with the potential benefits and drawbacks. He doesn’t move when Izuku crawls from the bed, mumbling something about a shower.

Shouto’s phone weighs heavily in his pocket, and he takes it out and lets it sink into the blankets on the mattress instead.

It’s not a terrible idea, if the law can uphold its end of the bargain - both Shouto and Dabi would be safe, they could live without constantly checking over their shoulders. But it puts them both at risk of their father’s anger, should he decide he’s above the law.

No - he has a family now, a real family, and they wouldn’t let his father get to him. They’ve already proven that, and it doesn’t do him any good to doubt them now. He unlocks his phone and opens his messages with Dabi - which still say ‘Touya’, so he changes that before typing out his message.

Shouto: i’m getting a restraining order against our father, would you like one?

Like he’s asking about an ice cream or a cup of coffee, I’m heading out to pick it up, would you like one as well? He’s a little surprised by how quickly a response comes in.

Dabi: never occurred to me but what the hell, can’t hurt, right?

Shouto has the urge to explain that it very much could hurt, but then, perhaps that’s a conversation better had in person. It has very little to do with how nice it’d been seeing his brother this morning, nor how much he’d like to see him again sooner rather than later.

Shouto: iida is helping with it, he can probably get yours too. I’ll talk to him, it seemed pretty straightforward. You can probably stop by any time.

Dabi doesn’t respond immediately to that one, so Shouto takes a deep breath before standing from the bed. He should’ve probably mentioned this to Iida before agreeing on his behalf, but he trusts Izuku’s instincts that Iida would likely help. And he trusts his friends.

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

pika pika

Denki holds his breath, doing his best not to make a single sound.

“Dabi is...your brother?” Iida’s voice sounds muffled behind the half-closed door, but Denki’s absolutely certain he heard correctly.

Dabi? Dabi, that guy is Todoroki’s brother? He can’t even begin to unpack all that because he’s got a full load of laundry half-falling from his hands and he needs to get out of here before they notice he’s been standing outside for the past few minutes.

He does his best tip-toeing past the door and into the hall, then rushes to load the washer and get it started. With any luck, they won’t have realized he’d walked past them after collecting the dirty clothes from Mic and Aizawa’s room, or maybe they won’t hear the machine starting at all.

His feet move of their own volition, flinging him full force into the lounge - he needs to talk to Hitoshi right now.

“You gotta- uh,” Denki pauses as he slides into the lounge to find Bakugou frowning up at him from where he’s sitting across from Hitoshi. “Shinsou,” Denki widens his eyes, hoping to convey the seriousness of this situation - and the gossip - via brainwaves alone.

“Kaminari,” Hitoshi says back, frowning at the formality. “What’s up?” He sets his laptop aside, and Denki glances over to find Bakugou quirking a brow. He looks back at Hitoshi and jerks his head toward the staircase.

“I was hoping you could, uh, help me with that project, you know the one?” he emphasizes, lifting his brows a bit higher - hopefully Hitoshi will get the message, and-

“Oh my god, if you’re gonna go fuck, just go, jesus christ.” Bakugou’s voice cuts through Denki’s thoughts like a knife, and he sputters out a laugh. Actually, that probably would’ve been a faster way to get Hitoshi alone, he can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself.

He turns to find Hitoshi’s mouth wide and his face bright red, and Denki takes the excuse to grab his hand and drag him from the sofa and up the stairs. He leads them to Hitoshi’s room, does a quick check of the hall, then shuts the door.

“What was that?” Hitoshi asks, and Denki turns around to find his head in his hands.

“Oh, what, like they don’t already know?” Denki laughs - he’s never understood the stigma around sex, like it’s some secret they can’t be open about. Besides, they’re certainly not the first or last to hook up in the house.

“Yeah, way to get me in the mood.” Hitoshi flops back on the bed, and his hands find the top button of his shirt. Denki sits on the edge of the mattress and grabs his hand.

“No no no no, that was just a ruse,” he explains, shaking Hitoshi’s arm. “I have gossip.” Normally, Mina would be the first to hear about this, but he needs to make sure it’s not already known. Because if Hitoshi knows, it’s known, and Mina almost definitely knows it. And then she’ll never let Denki live it down for not knowing.

Hitoshi blows out a breath at the ceiling, then waves a hand to indicate Denki regale him.

“Dabi, that guy with Hawks last night?”

“You mean the guy who was also with that creep last week?” Hitoshi’s lip turns down in a scowl - Denki’s starting to get the feeling he doesn’t know. Besides, he’s usually only this hostile toward new people. If he’d known Dabi before, or known about him, he’d probably be more likely to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“That guy,” Denki glosses over the negative there. “Did you know he’s Todoroki’s brother?” So far, most of the things Denki’s told Hitoshi have earned him a small laugh, then a placating ‘yes, I knew that’, but this one makes his eyes widen.

“His brother, really?” Hitoshi’s gaze tracks to the sheets beneath them, and he frowns. “Todoroki didn’t tell us, did Aizawa or Mic know?” Denki’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he shrugs - they could’ve, for all he knows. Usually Hitoshi’s the one who gets all his information from them.

“If Iida’s involved, though,” Denki deduces, “Aizawa or Mic must’ve known.” Nothing goes through him that doesn’t also make its way up to either of them.

“If not, they’ll know soon,” Hitoshi adds, finishing Denki’s train of thought.

“So, y’think Mina knows yet?” Hitoshi rolls his eyes.

------

“He’s what?” Mina practically shouts, and Denki shushes her before glancing around - fortunately, they’re up on the third floor, and there’s not really much reason for Todoroki to be up here, probably. He glares at Mina anyway, not that she seems to really care much about her volume. “Oh my god, how- how did you find out?”

“I was passing the library and he was in there with Iida, and I-”

“Oh my god, you eavesdropped?” she says, as if she hasn’t done that herself on many occasions. She crosses her arms at him, but he just rolls his eyes.

“He said it himself,” Denki continues, intent on explaining the whole conversation.

“Who said what now?” Momo’s voice startles Denki, and he whirls around to find her climbing the stairs, a bookbag slung over her shoulder. She sets it down with a thump, then raises her brows at Denki.

“Dabi is Todoroki’s brother!” Mina interjects before Denki can say anything, and he blows out a breath - he really should’ve known this was how it’d go if he told Mina first. He should’ve started with everyone else…

“He’s- oh, I could see that,” Momo nods, leaving her bag in the middle of the hall and making her way to the room. Denki stares at her, jaw on the floor.

“You’re not even a little surprised?” he asks. She just flops onto the bed.

“I am, really!” He can hear the placating tone she takes, like he’s some little kid she has to humor. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“She’s just tired,” Mina adds, a bright grin on her lips, and she shoos Denki from the room. “We’ll talk about it later!” He frowns, but lets himself be pushed from the room - besides, with Mina occupied, he gets to be the one to tell everyone the gossip.

After a quick glance upstairs, he determines Tokoyami probably already knows. Tsu and Uraraka’s room is empty, the door swung open like they’d left in a rush. Or maybe were just too lazy to close it.

At the very least, though, Denki’s sure Eijirou will play into his excitement and surprise over this discovery.

------

“Huh,” Eijirou tilts his head, looking up to the ceiling. “Guess that makes sense, why they’d leave so quick after the party. And Todoroki had been quick to go to sleep.” Okay, so his surprise isn’t as enthusiastic as Denki had hoped, but it’s better than Bakugou’s quirked brow before he’d gone back to whatever he was doing on his laptop. He doesn’t even glance up at Kirishima’s deductions.

“D’you think he knew?” Eijirou asks, and Denki frowns.

“That he had a brother?” He supposes it’s possible he hadn’t known, but then how would the subject have come up in conversation? He doesn’t even recall seeing them talking, but he had been a bit-

“No, you dumbass,” Eijirou elbows Bakugou, but he doesn’t look particularly chastised for the insult, “that his brother would be there.” It seems Bakugou’s taken over the role of reading Eijirou’s mind, which is probably for the best because Denki had never been great at it. Besides, he’s got enough on his plate with Hitoshi anyway.

“He had to have known, right? Or did he definitely not know, and that’s why they left?” Denki’s brain twists at Eijirou’s words, all the possibilities overlapping each other and demanding his consideration.

“I dunno,” Denki admits, “maybe it’s something totally different? I mean, Todoroki didn’t even mention a brother until now.”

“But did Midoriya know?” Bakugou chimes in, and Denki’s brow lifts - he hadn’t expected him to be one for gossip, but he’s glad for the extra input.

“He must’ve, Todoroki only really talks to him, he’s probably mentioned his brother, right?” Eijirou turns to Bakugou, who just shrugs.

“You could ask him.” Todoroki’s voice startles Denki, and he grabs the nearest pillow to duck behind. He hadn’t even thought to check the hall, but Eijirou left his door open and now Todoroki’s standing in the doorway, face as emotionless as ever as he glances at each of them.

Bakugou has the common sense to look back at his laptop and pretend he hadn’t been participating, but Denki can see Eijirou’s face turn red out of the corner of his eye.

“Dabi is my brother,” Todoroki confirms, though Denki had heard it before. “Both he and I suffered at the hands of my father, which is why I was discussing with Iida whether he could assist with an additional restraining order for him.” Denki sinks back into his chair, hoping it’ll suck him in - clearly, Todoroki had figured out what happened, that he’d overheard their conversation.

Nobody speaks, and Denki suspects they’re all a little uncomfortable at being caught gossiping, but Eijirou clears his throat.

“If we can help, let us know,” he says, and his voice sounds far more confident than he suspects Eijirou’s actually feeling. Denki nods, and Bakugou makes some sound that might be interpreted as an agreement.

Todoroki stands still in the doorway, so still that Denki has half a mind to go check that he’s actually there and not some statue, until he finally blinks and nods.

“I appreciate it,” he says, and Denki exhales when he finally turns and leaves the room. Not that he’s scary or anything, but he has such a cool determination about him that Denki would hate to end up on his bad side.

“Probably shouldn’t be gossiping,” Bakugou comments. Denki has half a mind to add that he had been participating, but Eijirou rolls his eyes and gives Denki a tiny shake of his head.

“Well...better be going,” he says after a few more moments of silence, then he makes his way out the door.

Where he proceeds to run almost directly into Todoroki, who’s staring down at his phone with a frown.

“Whoa- hey there,” Denki says, narrowly avoiding collision. Todoroki seems entirely unaffected, but he does glance up after a moment.

“Will Aizawa and Mic mind if Dabi comes over now?” he asks, and Denki’s surprised to find a small crease between his brows. “I haven’t had the chance to discuss with them yet, but-”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Denki waves a hand. For all his teasing, for all the gossip, he can’t even begin to imagine how Todoroki must’ve felt, how he must be feeling. Family can really stir up emotions, and he’s pretty sure Todoroki’s never felt more than two or three of those in his life before now.

“He said he’s bringing Hawks, will that be okay?” Todoroki’s tone borders on worried, and that’s enough to shift Denki into full caretaker mode.

“It’s totally fine, everyone loves Hawks! You should go let Iida know Dabi’s coming so he can get everything ready.” He waves a hand toward the stairs, and Todoroki’s eyes glaze for a moment before he nods and heads down to the lounge.


A month before …

Scott stood in the preserve, waiting in a space between two nearly limbless, decaying trees. He felt powerful with his red eyes: the sign of his being a true alpha. A true alpha, in his mind, meant he was so honorable that he did not have to kill to get those red eyes. He could persevere through pure will power and doing the moral thing. He often thought, if that way of becoming an alpha was not honorable, then what was?

He then heard the chaos coming his way. Jackson and Theo were running down a group of coyotes, herding them toward Scott. Many of the coyotes tried to change course, but Jackson and Theo made sure to chase aggressively at them. The wolves in human skin set a panicked pace while not allowing the coyotes to get past them in their nearly crazed method of pursuit. Growling and drawing blood when they could, Theo and Jackson kept the group of coyotes running to Scott.

Deaton had warned Scott that there was a victim among the coyotes—a girl trapped in her shift. Upon finding this out, Scott assumed it was a sign that he had to rescue the girl. He believed it would cement his being a true alpha, which he thought equaled moral superiority.

As he saw the group of coyotes barreling through the trees towards him, Scott took a deep breath and let loose his alpha roar.

When his roar hit the coyotes, most just kept running to escape as best as they could; however, one skidded to a stop as she began to shift. She dropped to her knees as she finished shifting to her human form. The girl held her hands up, studying her wiggling digits. She seemed to be trying to process what just happened.

The coyote turned girl had a lithe build, tanned skin, and long, mousey brown hair. She seemed to have no issue with being completely bare in front of three guys, but rather she continued to focus on her human hands. It seemed she may not have been human for a very long time.

Scott, smiling, approached her without any real caution.

He stepped within her arm span but faltered when she turned to him and growled. Scott was not expecting that reaction; he was the hero after all.

The she-coyote kept her predatory eyes on Scott. She didn’t rush to stand or flee. She seemed to be adjusting to her human body, but it was hard to say for sure.

Scott slowly took a pouch from the back pocket of his pants. He knelt to her level as he took a necklace out of the pouch. The piece of jewelry was simply a small but full pouch on a string. Scott then said, “I know you may be confused, but I have something that will help you: this necklace. I need to put it on you, but then everything will be okay.”

While Scott knelt to her level, holding her attention, Theo and Jackson approached her from behind.

Scott moved like he was going to try to put the necklace on her.

The she-coyote immediately threw herself back from the approaching predator, but Jackson and Theo were close enough to latch onto her, holding her still just barely. There would no doubt be bruises on her when all was said and done.

Scott moved fast, attaching the necklace onto her as Jackson and Theo were struggling to maintain a hold of her with her fast, wild movements.

The moment the necklace was latched on her, she stopped struggling. She looked to Scott with expressionless eyes and said, “Thank you so much for saving me, Alpha. I’m sorry I did not realize you were helping me.”

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

Two weeks Later …

Three murdered. Their bodies in the morgue.

Stiles swallowed hard—he could do this. It’s not like he hasn’t been in the morgue before with it white medical walls for dealing with the dead and taupe offices for addressing the living. He shook out his hands and checked through the door window to see if the room he sought was empty. It looked clear, so as quietly as he could, he slid the door open and stepped in. Inside, he checked his phone, but Lydia had not messaged, which was as much of a go-ahead as he could get.

He walked around, looking for files on the murders. Struggling to find what he was looking for—cause of death and names of the murder victims—Stiles decided that he would take a faster option. He may not like it, but he had no way of knowing how long Lydia would be able to keep the front desk attendant busy with hair twirling flirtations.

Stiles walked out of the room and crept to a different, colder room. He checked for anyone in there first. Seeing no one, Stiles slipped into the room and walked straight to the wall with the drawers of body storage.

He knew there were only three murdered people here. With a steadying breath, Stiles mentally reminded himself that he didn’t need any of the wolves for help with this. It wasn’t like they were hounding to support him or notice anything different with him, Forcing himself forward, Stiles started pulling the drawers out, checking for the ones that had bodies. Most were empty. One had an older person who showed no signs of anything but old age. He soon came upon what he was looking for: murder victims.

One at a time, he rolled them out of their drawers all the way. He took notes in his phone as he worked one body at a time.

The first body was a woman. She had light blonde hair, a face full of laugh lines, and she was petite. Stiles noted the she did not have many calluses on her hands, but quite a bit on the bottom of her feet. Stiles took a lot of notes about her appearance, working around his horror at what had happened to her.

After a closed eyes moment with himself, he pulled more of the sheet off the body, seeing a glimpse of what was likely a very painful death: she had deep claw marks all over her body. Her chest was ripped open. Stiles noted to himself there seemed to be some blade cuts as well. It was a complete mess even with the blood cleaned off the corpse. After he noted all he could about the woman, Stiles slid her drawer shut.

He then turned away from body storage to the counter in the room. He looked around further, realizing that under the counter were filing cabinets possibly for active files. Growling quietly at himself, Stiles searched the counter itself for more information on the bodies. Nothing.

Despite the counter being devoid of anything helpful, Stiles knelt down and started looking through the file cabinets. It was harder without names, but he was looking rather for numbers—numbers that matched the toe tag on the woman’s big toe.

Stiles hoped it would work. It did, with way more sorting than he’d hoped would be required. This problem was taking him too long. Grabbing the file when he found it, he did not bother reading it. Instead, he took a picture of each page in the file before putting it back.

Just then, he got a vibration from his phone, signaling a text. He opened his phone back up, reading the text:

Lydia: Done yet?

Stiles: Close

Lydia: Hurry

Stiles: K

Stile then returned to the wall of body drawers. He hunted quickly, noting on his phone the toe tag numbers of the two other bodies obviously murdered in similar fashions to the initial murdered body. He then put them away and went to the file cabinets. He rushed through to find the needed files. He took pictures of all the pages in the files. He then put everything back the way it was.

After stuffing his phone in his pocket, Stiles slipped out of the room. He then slipped out of a back door of the morgue that assistants used to sneak out for smoke breaks. Thankfully, none of them were there to see him leave as he texted:

Stiles: Out

Lydia: finally

Stiles smiled, knowing she really didn’t like having to flirt just to get what she wanted as much as she used to. He then moved to head home—he’d need to make his father dinner soon—however, he also stopped by a bakery to get Lydia her favorite lemon squares on the way home.

Just as he drove his blue Jeep into the driveway, Stiles felt another text. Once he had the Jeep parked and off, Stiles took his phone from his pocket to see who texted him. Looking, he realized that it was not a text but a voice message, from his Dad.

Stiles frowned at having missed the call, but he listened to the message before getting out of the Jeep. It seemed his Dad had to pick up a second shift due to the murders.

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

Later that evening …

In a pink blouse and skinny faded jeans, Lydia was sitting on Stiles’ bed looking through a tome Stiles had gotten a hold of a while back, having long since kicked off her yellow heels. His resourcefulness could be quite shocking if one were to underestimate him. Lydia worked not to. Too many surprises could cause wrinkles, she thought with a smile.

Having noticed her smile, Stiles asked, “Find anything helpful?”

She looked over to where Stiles was sitting in his computer chair, wearing loose jeans and a baggy graphic t-shirt depicting the maze from Labyrinth, looking through some print outs they had gotten from Alison. With a shrug, Lydia said, “Not really. The Latin to English translation is a bit inconsistent, so it takes a bit to understand. I wish a version in the original Latin was just lying around for us to use.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, seemingly knowing she just wished that there was a true playbook on being a Banshee rather than just bits and pieces here and there. He then offered: “Want to take a break and grab something to eat? I even suspect there may be some company interested.”

Lydia smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. She asked, “Want Alison to bring her Dad too?”

Stiles shook his head with a grin, “Naw, was hoping our favorite serial killer would join us.”

She sighed, saying, “I know there is something going on with him that’s helping you, but I just… what he did to me? To bring him back… I just. It’s hard to move past that.”

Stiles got up, setting the papers he was holding aside. After moving to her, Stiles hugged Lydia close, saying, “I know, I know… but he, of everyone, knows the most about what you are. You don’t have to like him, be nice to him, or anything like that. And if you don’t want to question him or take that avenue to learn more about yourself, then we won’t. I won’t force this on you.”

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

Across town …

Scott was sitting behind the school, leaning against the side of the tan building and waiting. He had been out of lacrosse practice for a few minutes. One of his fellow players—Adrian—was really struggling with being a bench warmer. It seemed he had joined the team to grow in social status. It was seriously not working.

It was a little rougher being in lacrosse with Stiles having quit the team, but he at least had Jackson. However, with Issac also on the team, Scott was itching for having more support to make sure the other pack didn’t get any ideas of trying to get to him through the team.

Scott suggested to Adrian to meet him behind the school after practice, figure they could both be helped if Adrian agreed to the bite.

While waiting for Adrian, Scott texted Alison: Hey, wanna meet up to grab a bite to eat?

Scott then noticed Adrian heading his way. He struggled to wait, so he started walking toward Adrian.

Adrian was wearing a tight black t-shirt and slightly baggy tan khaki pants. With his backpack hanging on one shoulder, he said, “Hey Scott, what’s you want to talk about?”

“Well, I wanted to offer you a way to be stronger and faster… it could cause you to no longer be a bench warmer,” Scott replied.

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

The next afternoon…

After school and lacrosse practice, Scott had walked to Alison’s house. He would have had a ride, but Stiles was no where to be found to recruit into his getting Alison back plan. In regular fit jeans, gray sneakers, and a red t-shirt, Scott walked right up to the Argent’s front door like it was the most right and natural thing to do. He knocked on their door, imagining Alison leaping out at him with a hug or a kiss desperate for him, wanting him back now that he was a true alpha.

Instead of Scott’s assumed outcome, Chris Argent, Alison’s dad, answered the door. Wearing dark colored jeans, a white t-shirt, a buttoned up dark green shirt, boots, 5 o’clock shadow, and his signature frown, Chris looked as no nonsense as ever when he saw Scott at his door. His silence spoke volumes Scott was clearly not listening to.

Scott piped up, saying, “Hey, is Alison home?”

Chris sighed, and then said, “No.”

“Oh,” Scott said. “Well, can I wait for her to get home inside?”

“No,” Chris said as he stepped out of his home, shutting the door behind himself, his body language loud and clear on the subject.

Scott did not notice, instead asking, “Well, do you at least know when she’s going to be home?”

“No,” Chris responded, seemingly expecting Scott to get the message.

Scott frowned a bit. He then asked, “Do you know where she is? I could go and meet up with her… I know she wants to catch up on things.”

“No,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott finally stopped, glaring at Chris as he left. Scott refused to let Chris keep Alison from him. They were meant to be together. Nothing could come between them. He knew that if only he could talk to Alison everything would be fixed and they’d get back together.

Once Scott had left, Chris went back into his house.

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

Present …

Scott and Theo left to look for Peter, knowing the rest of their pack was doing the same, having started from a different part of preserve. He smiled to himself, knowing that his powerful, better pack would find the deranged wolf that was Peter before Derek and his even made it halfway to wherever Peter was.

Hoping that things would align for Peter to be put down, Scott was all smiles as they moved around through the darkness to find Peter. Perhaps as a true alpha it was his duty to put down the unjust? Maybe it would cause Alison to even see him as a hero, as boyfriend material again.

A snippet of “Rockstar” by Nickleback blared from Scott’s phone to notify him of a text. He paused in his walking to check his text notification.

Adrian: Malia hears people fighting deeper in the preserve. Want us to investigate?

Theo moved to where Scott had stopped. He looked over Scott’s shoulder at the text, asking, “Do we need to head their way?”

Scott shrugged, saying, “Probably. I don’t want it to be Peter and we miss out on catching him before he kills someone. He’s incredibly dangerous.”

Scott: Yes


Rita is a stunning woman. That is something that everyone who knows her agrees upon. How could anyone not agree? She is 5 feet 8 inches tall, a blue-eyed blonde with long straight hair reaching down to her waist. She has the figure of a college cheerleader. It seems incredible that a woman with such a narrow waist could have such magnificent tits, a full 36C and as firm as a teenager’s. Her shapely ass and legs draw admiring stares from every red-blooded man who ever sees them. She did some modeling in her early twenties, and her bikini-clad picture appeared in a popular magazine. Many men have kept that picture of Rita, without their wife’s knowledge, and they have the picture carefully hidden, to be brought out by the men at very private moments, usually in the bathroom. Rita is a real head-turner as she strides elegantly down the main street of this mid-Western town, dressed for success as always, her magnificent ass swaying seductively.

Rita is married to Derek, and has been for about two years. Derek is the envy of every man who knows him and his wife. He is a very ordinary guy, nothing special to look at, and his buddies often wonder what it is about him that enabled him to land a hot-looking babe like Rita. Some guys wondered if Derek was hung like a stallion, but those who played softball with him, and had seen him undressed in the locker room, said that his cock was nothing special, and might even be a bit on the small side. Whatever it was that had attracted Rita to Derek, it was still present as Rita was strictly a one-guy woman.

Most of the guys had tried to make a move on Rita at sometime or another, usually at one of the large barbecues or corn-roasts held in the town. The beer and rye whiskey always flows freely at these events, and some guy or another, with more than a few shots of liquor in his belly, was always ready to try to sweet-talk Rita into a little frolic behind the nearest barn. But no one, ever, had gotten anything from these feeble attempts, anything other than the cold shoulder. As soon as Rita figured that the babbling fool in front of her was nothing but a would-be Romeo, she turned as cold as ice, and her blue eyes would blaze with fury. She would hiss threats about taking up the discussion with the fool’s wife or girlfriend, and that was usually enough to cool the hottest guy’s ardor. Very few guys had the nerve to try it twice. Rita earned the nickname “The Ice Queen” from her multitude of unsuccessful suitors. Guys could only fantasize about what Rita would be like in bed … and most of them did.

Leading the parade when it comes to Rita’s admirers, and would-be seducers, is Al Ross. Al is one of Derek’s oldest buddies, and has actually known Rita for longer than Derek has. He even dated Rita once but, despite his best efforts, got nothing more than a light peck on the cheek at the end of the night. She had left him with a massive erection that night, and he had had to jerk off as soon as he got home to give himself relief. Once Rita met Derek, it was all over for everybody else, including Al, but she was still his favorite fantasy. Al jerked himself off regularly, and Rita was always in his thoughts when he did so, imagining himself ramming into her elegant, naked body, spread-eagled on an imaginary bed, her long blonde hair spread out across the pillow. Al was always thinking of ways to try to get Rita into bed with him, so far with absolutely zero success.

Al would have jerked himself off even harder if he knew more about Rita, because Rita had a secret, a secret that even her husband didn’t know about.

Rita, the Ice Queen, was a borderline nymphomaniac!

Rita was obsessed with sex. She fucked her husband at least once every day, more often if she was feeling particularly aggressive. During the day, when Derek was at work and she was alone in the house, she would undress, lie down on top of the bed, and ferociously masturbate until she had multiple orgasms and had drained herself completely of sexual energy. But the energy would always quickly return and soon she would be looking for further release. Masturbating two or three times a day was not uncommon for her. Rita, too, had a fantasy, and when she masturbated it was always the same one. Rita would fantasy, as her fingers plunged in and out of her dripping cunt, that she was being gang-banged by every one of Derek’s friends. In her mind, her thrusting fingers became a succession of stiff cocks, as a long line of naked men, their erections jutting out in front of them, shuffled slowly toward her bed, waiting for their turn to lie down between her wide-spread legs.

The idea of a participating in a gang-bang fascinated and aroused Rita. She was certain that she would love to have, say, 10 guys take turns fucking her, filling her cunt with their cocks, then their cum. She was so certain that she would enjoy a gang-bang, that she was terrified about allowing even one other man to fuck her. She felt sure that, once she started, she would not be able to say “No” to anyone, and the floodgates would open. All those guys who had tried to get her into bed would never know how tempted she had been. If any of them had really persisted, she would probably have agreed to fuck him. But fear over her own reaction had always won over temptation, and she had scared them all off, every time.

Opportunity doesn’t knock on a person’s door every day, and when it knocked on Al Ross’s door, he decided to grab it with both hands. Certain circumstances had arisen, and Al felt that he was finally going to have a good chance of fucking Rita. As he drove towards Rita’s house one day, shortly after lunch, he smiled with anticipation and was so confident of success that he announced loudly to no one in particular, “Today, Rita, you are going to get fucked by yours truly.”

At the same time, Rita was just getting ready to go upstairs to her bedroom. She was feeling especially horny today and was really looking forward to a wonderful release through masturbation. Her menstrual period had finished just the previous evening, so she had not had sex and had not masturbated for about a week. As she thought about the exquisite pleasures she was about to enjoy, her heart beat faster and her cunt became wet with anticipation.

Then the doorbell rang. “Shit!” thought Rita, “Your timing is lousy, whoever you are.” She walked quickly to the door, anxious to get rid of the caller as quickly as possible. She had a date with her fingers in the bedroom, and she didn’t want to keep herself waiting! She opened the door, and there stood Al Ross, smiling pleasantly.

“Hi Rita” he announced cheerfully. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a visit. Have I come at a bad time?”

Your timing is the shits, thought Rita, but said aloud “Hi Al. Come in, it’s good to see you.”

As Al settled into a chair, Rita went into the kitchen and came back with a beer for him and a glass of wine for herself. They raised their glasses to each other in a silent toast, and both took a long sip of their drink. Al placed his glass on the table in front of him, and looked directly into Rita’s eyes. It was a warm day and she was wearing only tight shorts and a halter-top. She looked stunning. Al drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to come right to the point, Rita. I’ve loved you for a long time, I think you know that, and I want to know what it would take for you and I to become lovers?”

“Oh Al,” sighed Rita, “not that again. You’ve talked to me about this before, and my answer now is the same as always. The answer is ‘No’. I’m not interested in having sex with you, or anyone else except my husband. I’d throw you out of the house right now, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve been a good friend for a long time.” God, if you only knew what I really want to say, thought Rita. Of all Derek’s friends, Al Ross was the one she liked the most, and he was always the first man to penetrate her during her fantasy gang-bang. She had wanted him to fuck her at the end of their date, over three years ago, but she didn’t have know how to make the first move without appearing like a slut. With pounding heart, she realized that in her high state of sexual arousal today, she desperately wanted him to fuck her now, but the old fear about losing control of herself made her hesitate.

Al was ready with his answer. He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. In the envelope was a thick wad of bills. “There’s $5,000 here, and I want you to have it. If you let me make love to you, the money is yours, and I promise that I will never tell anyone about us for as long as I live.” Al reached over and gently placed his hands on her knees. The touch of his hands sent a small charge through Rita’s body. “Please say ‘Yes’ Rita, you’ll make me the happiest man alive.”

Rita looked down at the money silently. She picked up the envelope and felt the nice heft to the wad. The bills were all brand new fifties, and she assumed that there were 100 of them. The extra money would be nice, and it would come in very handy. It was also a good excuse for her to say yes to Al, without revealing her real emotions. The truth was, she wanted to fuck him, and she needed to fuck him, in the worst way. Her pussy was getting wetter from the mere discussion about sex. Fingers are great, she concluded, but there is nothing to compare to a stiff cock. And she desperately needed a stiff cock right now. Her pussy twitched. She reached her decision.

She stood up and held out her hand to Al. “All right Al, I agree. But if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll tear out your heart with my bare hands.”

“Great!” Al said in delight as he stood beside her and took her offered hand. “I’ve given you my word, and I’ll keep it.”

Upstairs in the bedroom, Rita and Al hastily pulled off each other’s clothes, and Rita stretched out on the bed like a cat. Her blonde hair spread out on the pillow, just as Al had often fantasized. In her nakedness, she was breathtakingly beautiful and for a second Al thought he was going to cum right then. Her tight breasts pointed straight up, and the nipples were already erect. She spread her legs invitingly, just a few inches. When Al saw the moisture glistening in the hair at the top of her legs he realized that Rita was highly aroused and he lay down on the bed beside her.

Rita lowered her eyes and gazed at his stiff cock.

“Let’s make the first fuck a quickie, then we can take our time for the rest of the afternoon,” she whispered.

“Great idea, baby.” Al growled, and put both hands on the inside of her thighs and pushed them wide apart. He swung himself over her slender body, and positioned himself with his cock pointing directly at her wet pussy. She reached down between her legs with both hands and pulled her pussy lips apart, revealing a wide-open, dripping entrance to her cunt. He pushed his hips forward quickly, and his entire cock slid into her warmth without the slightest resistance.

A long hiss escaped through Rita’s clenched teeth as she felt his hardness plunge deep into her body. She removed her hands from her pussy, and clamped them onto Al’s buttocks. She dug her long fingernails hard into his flesh and pulled him toward her. Al gasped with pain, but thrust his hips against the spread-eagled woman, driving his cock as deep into her body as possible. Neither of them could contain their arousal any longer, and Rita’s cunt muscles tightened as the orgasm that had been building for the past half-hour exploded through her. Al’s fantasies had come true. The most beautiful woman he had ever met was writhing and gasping in orgasmic pleasure under him, with his cock buried in her glorious body, and an orgasm roared over him as well. His throbbing cock squirted thick gobs of cum inside Rita’s receptive hole. The two gasping lovers thrust their bodies against each other furiously.

It was two or three minutes before they recovered enough to even speak.

“Well, Al Ross,” said Rita, with a sly smile, “you’re full of surprises. I reckon that was certainly worth $1,000. Only four more thousand to go, huh?”

Guilt crept into Al’s mind. “Look, Rita, I’m sorry about the money. I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“No mistake, lover. A deal’s a deal, and I’m going make sure you get your money’s worth.” Rita playfully pushed Al over onto his back. “Now, more action and less talk.”

As Al lay back on the bed, the sheets already damp from Rita’s sweating body, the blonde woman turned herself around so that her feet were near Al’s head. She then swung her legs over top of the prostrate man and put herself into the classic ‘69’ position, her thighs straddling his face. He could feel her long blonde hair cascading over his naked thighs. She took his limp cock in her hand and looked back at him briefly.

“Let’s see if your tongue can do what your cock just did. I want you to make me cum again.” It sounded more like an order than a request. Her pale, round buttocks were only inches away from his face. He could plainly see her tight butt-hole, nestled between the cheeks, a slight trace of blonde hair surrounding it. Even closer to his mouth was her open pussy, red and puffy from the fierce fucking, dripping with her own juices and Al’s cum. The blonde hair surrounding the pussy was thick and wiry, wet with sweat.

Al pulled a pillow up under his head to stop his neck from getting sore, and just as he gave Rita’s pussy a first tentative lick, he felt his cock engulfed in the wet warmth of her mouth. In response, he licked her clit, and sucked the little nub into his mouth, pulling on it with his lips. She grunted and pushed her ass back against his face, burying his nose between her cheeks. He sucked harder on the clit and pushed his tongue into the sopping cunt. He brought both his arms from his side, and wrapped them around her hips. He pulled her pussy even harder against his face, at the same time bringing one of his hands around to let the fingers probe between her butt cheeks. The index finger probed her tight, puckered hole, and he felt Rita’s body twitch. Her hips did small circles on his face, and her ass pushed back gently against his finger. He brought the finger down quickly, and slipped it past his mouth and into her wet cunt. He felt her twitch again. He withdrew the now moistened finger, and returned it to the entrance to her butt. She clearly could feel what he was doing, and pushed back a little harder. He knew what she wanted, so he probed gently with his moist fingertip, and it slipped easily past her sphincter muscle, and into her ass.

Rita grunted again and began moving her hips in a riding motion. With amazement, Al realized that she was on the verge of another orgasm already. He worked his lips and tongue against her cunt and pussy as hard as he could, and pushed the finger into her butt up to the first knuckle. With his free hand, he reached between their bodies, found one of her breasts, and rolled the nipple hard between his thumb and finger. She gave a muffled croak and began crushing her pussy against his face, riding it hard, so that Al could scarcely breathe. Simultaneously, she sucked fiercely on his cock, which had once again stiffened. Fluid gushed from her body, onto his face and into his mouth, a mixture of her own juices and his. Another orgasm powered over him, making him buck his hips hard upwards, shoving his cock into Rita’s mouth. She sucked the cum from his body, swallowing it greedily.

After their writhing bodies had become still, Rita rolled off Al and lay beside him, her head on his shoulder, her hand stroking his chest. It had been the best sex, and the most powerful orgasms, she had ever experienced, and she was feeling very loving and tender toward her old boyfriend.

“Wow!” she finally muttered quietly. “If I had known you had this kind of talent, I might have married you instead of Derek.”

“Thanks, but Derek’s a good man, and it’s all water under the bridge now,” replied Al. “Besides, I think if I tried this too often I’d die of a heart attack. You’re pretty talented yourself.”

She reached down and took his limp cock into her hand. She began to stroke it gently.

“Your cock felt really good when it was inside me. You’re only the second man I’ve ever fucked, and it was exciting to have a different cock inside me for a change. I’ve sometimes wondered what my old boyfriend, Al Ross, would be like in bed, what it would feel like to have him fuck me. Now I don’t have to wonder any more … you feel great. Speaking of which, we’re wasting time. I want your cock inside me again, and it feels like it’s rising to the occasion.”

Sure enough, my cock was stiffening again. The combination of her hands and her conversation had worked magic. Al was beginning to feel physically drained, but his cock was telling him that it was ready for yet another round. Rita reached into a bedside drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricating gel. She then positioned herself on her knees and elbows, her firm and curvy ass pointing invitingly upwards. Al wondered what had happened to “The Ice Queen”. There was nothing frigid about Rita … she was hot enough to bake bread!

Rita turned her head around to look at him, and waved the tube of gel in her hand.

“You might be needing this,” she smiled and winked.

Al got onto his knees behind Rita and spread her legs apart. Her ass and pussy were wide open and completely vulnerable. Moisture was still oozing slowly from her well-fucked hole. Miraculously, his cock had stiffened up yet again. He was amazed at himself, and assumed that he was getting additional inspiration from this beautiful woman, who was beginning to seem sexually insatiable. His cock slid easily into her again, and he began to fuck her rhythmically as she arched her back, tightening the grip of her cunt on his cock. Her body moved back and forward, keeping time with his thrusts. He knew that this was going to be a long fuck, as he felt that he would be unable to come again. He had already deposited two steaming loads of cum into Rita, and the last time, he felt like she had sucked him dry.

Al settled into an easy fucking routine. His glistening cock slid in and out, in and out, in and out as the minutes ticked by. The only sound in the room was the slap, slap, slap of his thighs on her buttocks. To change the pace, he hunched his body over the sweating woman, and reached under her with both hands. With his right hand he found her clit, and begun to pull on it gently. His left hand found her breast, and he pulled hard on the nipple. Rita broke the long silence.

“Fuck me, Al. Fuck me hard.” She began to push back against him more urgently. Al was still not ready to cum, but he knew that the “Ice Queen” was on the brink once more. He increased the pressure on the clit and the nipple, pulling and twisting so hard he felt sure that he was hurting her. Rita pushed herself up off her elbows, onto her hands. She let out a strange cry, half sob half grunt, and rammed her ass hard back against Al’s thighs, and another climax surged through her arching body. She pounded against Al for a minute or so, then grabbed the tube of gel, flipping it back towards Al.

“Fuck me in the ass, quick!’ she gasped between lunges. Breaking his rhythm slightly, Al picked up the gel and squirted a generous amount onto Rita’s tight, puckered butt-hole. He hadn’t come yet, so his cock was still stiff as he pulled it from Rita’s sopping cunt. He pulled her hips down slightly to improve the angle, put the tip of his cock right against the greased-up hole, and pushed forward firmly. His cock slid in two or three inches as another hiss escaped through the woman’s clenched teeth.

“Deeper. Fuck me deeper,” she gasped and she pushed herself back against him. Al pushed forward as hard as he could and the remaining part of his cock disappeared into the stretched open hole, gel oozing out around his shaft. Their bodies were almost motionless as he reached under her again and began to rub her clit furiously. With his left hand he grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair, and pulled her head backwards, just as he began his fucking rhythm once more. Her ass was the tightest sensation he had ever felt, and he quickly came inside her, as she bucked and whimpered in a glorious mixture of ecstasy and pain, which drove her to her biggest orgasm yet. Tears ran down her cheeks and splashed onto the bed sheets as she and her lover rocked against each other, both overcome with desire.

The exhausted lovers lay for a long time afterwards, too shattered to move or to speak. Eventually they both quietly got dressed, and Al prepared to leave.

“Rita, I need to explain about the money,” he began. Rita put a finger to his lips, shushing him.

“It’s been a wonderful afternoon, let’s not spoil it by talking about money. We’ll get together again soon. But I’m warning you, I expect you to be as good in bed next time as you were today.” She felt satisfied and complete, something she had never felt before. Today’s sex had been the best she had ever experienced. She knew that the two men in her life, Derek and now Al, would keep her sexually satisfied, and her fears of becoming sexually uncontrollable were gone forever. She felt good.

Rita busied herself removing all traces of Al’s visit. She hid the envelope of money, put fresh sheets on the bed, and opened the windows to allow fresh air to blow away the heavy smell of sweat, sex, and cum. Finally she had a shower, and was looking fresh and radiant when Derek arrived home from work.

After the usual greetings, Derek settled back into his favorite chair with a glass of Scotch. He looked around the room.

“Did Al Ross drop in to see you today, Honey?” he asked. Rita was stunned at the question, and felt her face flush a little.

“W-who? Al Ross, did you say?” she stammered.

“Yeah, Al Ross, for Pete’s sake. What’s the matter with you? Did he drop in to see you today?” asked Derek again, a little impatiently.

“No, he didn’t. Why would he? I haven’t seen Al for months.” Rita was panic-stricken.

“That son-of-a-bitch.” muttered Derek in exasperation. “Before we were married, I lent him some money. I’ve been bugging him to pay me back. He told me that he would drop in this afternoon and give you the $5000 he owes me.”