Happy to help brush the dust off. Your writing was sorely missed
âšâž feet kicked up into a lap
hi there! thanks for this one ⌠took a little bit to wrap my head around an idea for it, but hopefully you enjoy it :) threw in a little Sam for your patience.
from the touch prompts list - âfeet kicked up onto a lap"
----
folded and unfolded (Kara and Lena)
----
The first thing to leave is the feeling in Lena's legs. The flesh beneath her thighs prickles with pins and needles then dulls to the unfamiliarity of borrowed limbs. Wood bites through the fabric of her dress, her body having tucked itself into a position neither she nor it was designed for. She pretends not to notice. It is a skill she always excelled at.Â
The funeral had been appropriate. Somber. Dignified. All the things expected when someone important dies. Lena had stood. Nodded. Accepted condolences with the exact amount of grace she now lacked.Â
She wonders briefly if Lillian would have scolded her for the spectacle she is surely making. Hair pulled loose. Shoes kicked off. Hem hiked up.
But she isn't here.Â
No one is.Â
The church stands empty now. An hour has passed. Maybe two since the organist zipped his bag, since the last mourner forgot her name at the exit.Â
She lets her head sink, chin to chest, old varnish and upholstery cleaner sting her sinuses. She tries counting the times she has sat in some semblance of this pose, each prior self bracketed by compulsion or loss or both.Â
She loses count.Â
But she didn't come here to pray. Her last indulgence in that drowned with her mother's body when she was four.
She only came for the emptiness.
For architecture built to contain this exact shape of grief without demanding she transform it into something more palatable.
Light bleeds through stained glass, casts colored shadows that stretch and distort across the floor and make visible the dust that floats in the air.Â
She watches it with detached curiosity. Some unconscious calculation of angles and minutes and hours.
She tilts her head back, lets it rest against the wood behind her. The ceiling arches high above, its pattern of beams a skeleton, preserved and sanctified by time and shared illusion.Â
She flexes her toes, feels the catch of a run in her stockings. Broken thread unraveling all the way up her calf.
The metaphor is too obvious to pursue.
She traces the grain of the wooden prayer bench with one finger, following the lines where time has worn the surface smooth. There are notches carved by wedding rings, by nervous children picking at it during endless sermons, by decades of other people's prayers and wants and loss. Her fingertip finds each small groove but feels no urge to add herself to the record it keeps.
The building shifts around her, pipes ticking as temperatures change.Â
The hinges announce visitors before footsteps do.Â
Lena doesn't lift her head. She knew Kara would come. Knew with the certainty that comes from understanding someone else's patterns as well as her own.
But there are two sets, not one. Lena catalogs the difference in their gaits. One deliberate. One hesitant.Â
They stop at different distances.Â
It's Sam who steps in front of her first, leans in with an economy of movement suggesting this is neither the first nor last time they will find themselves in such a position. Lena feels the press of lips against the top of her head. Soft. Gentle. Maternal in the way that comes naturally to her, despite everything in her own life that trained her otherwise.
"Did you eat?"Â The question cuts through the quiet so briskly it startles her.
Lena shakes her head.
Sam sighs. "I'll find you something."
She moves again and Lena hears the soft contact of her hand against Kara's shoulderâa transfer of care, of responsibility. Permission and instruction coded in the gesture.Â
By the time her footsteps have faded the church's emptiness has reconfigured itself again.Â
Kara shifts her weight slightly, the floorboard creaking beneath her feet. Lena knows she is cataloging the damage she seesâthe visible wear of her body, the usual composure stripped away. Calculating how she can help fix what has happened.
But Lena isn't sitting in the middle of a burning building. There is no fire to extinguish. No bleeding to stop. No immediate rescue required.
Her breath moves in and outâquick, then deliberately slow. She is always thinking with her whole body, her lungs telegraphing her decisions, her movements.Â
It remains a wonder how the lies between them lasted so long.
Kara chooses the floor. Rearranges herself. Limbs folding into a cross-legged posture, body shrinking to fit the leftover space. Undoing all the distance they've each set.Â
The light creates a spotlight on them both, blues and ambers highlight the curve of her cheek, pinks and greens the slope of their shoulders.
A tremor works its way through Lena's lower back. She shifts, knees parting, lets her legs unfold awkwardly from their cramped penance.
She's a mess. And Kara sees all of it without pretending not to. Â
She isn't sure if she hates her or loves her for it.Â
The movement is all memory. Habit still. Established before they learned to protect themselves from each other.
Kara pulls her feet across her lap. No hesitation. No question of whether touch is welcome anymore. Her hands warm through the thin fabric of her ruined stockings.Â
Lena's breathing shiftsânot relaxed exactly, but no longer held. The way it has been since the funeral. The careful control that kept her upright through practiced condolences and false eulogies begins to dissolve. Through her legs, she feels Kara's breathing, the rise and fall of ribs beneath black fabric.
The light continues its slow transit across the floor. Touching her legs. Kara's hands.Â
The pad of her thumb moves almost imperceptibly against the inside of Lena's ankle and the thin skin that covers the blood moving beneath.Â
"Grief is supposed to have stages." she starts. Stops. "There's supposed to be a process." Voice flat. Quiet.Â
Kara's head bends in concentration. "There's no right way to lose things."
"No." The word tastes like copper. Saltwater. The bitterness of memories that never quite leaves her throat. "There isn't."
Kara's breathing changesâdeeper, more deliberate. Listens with her whole body, the way she listens to heartbeats through walls, to trouble three cities away.
"I don't know how to help."
Not just with this. Not only this. Lena thinks. Knows.Â
"I'm not asking you to."Â
Kara's palm shifts on her ankle, fingers curving around the bone with unconscious precision.Â
Warm. Firm. Human in their limitations for once.Â
Something loosens in her chest. Not relief exactly, but the possibility of it.
It's the closest to honest they've been.
It's the closest to acceptance she's come.Â
Her eyes meet Kara's for the first time since she entered the church. Blue as the water she swore she wouldn't think about today.
But it doesn't feel like drowning.
"I brought flowers," Kara says suddenly. "Not for her. For you. I'm sorry if that was wrong."
She notices them on the floor next to her then. A small bouquet wrapped in brown paper. A little crinkled at the edges. The stems a little pinched at the ends.Â
"Thank you." The smile comes without permission. Small. Fleeting. Real.Â
The light moves again. Low enough now that it reaches no part of them. As if holiness is only ever a matter of proper lighting.
Slowly, she draws her legs toward her chest, dislodging them from Kara's lap.
Her muscles protest even this gentle demand after hours of stillness, sending out bright flares of discomfort up her calves, behind her knees.
Kara rises at the same time, uncrossing herself in one smooth motion. Her body unfolds with fluid grace that always seems slightly improbable.
Lena gathers her shoes, crams her feet back in, winces at the awkward fit now that leather has stiffened again.
Kara reaches for her coatâLena's own. Borrowed long enough ago she doesnât remember it. She holds it out like a peace offering. She shrugs into it, notices the slight alteration in its shape, the faint impression of Kara's body. Not damage. Just evidence.
The church transforms around them one last time. The building settles back into its original proportions,
The bench has become just furniture againâwood and fabric and brass fittings. Nothing sanctified, nothing haunted. All the penance it had to offer absorbed, metabolized, made into something else.
Outside, the cold air hits them sharp and full of sound. City noise rushing backâtraffic and voices and all the ordinary things.Â
Sam waits for them, a plate covered by aluminum foil balanced in her hands.
"Food," she says by way of greeting. "We're not negotiating."
She takes the plate. The weight of it sits absurdly comforting in her hands.
"Home?"
Sam asks, car keys already in hand.
"Yours?"
The question more for herself than anyone else.
Kara's hand finds hersâbrief contact, a sweep of skin across knuckles.
"Of course."
Lena slides into the back seat. The plate settles on her lap, heat seeping through the bottom. The radio plays. Sam drives. She watches Karaâs reflection disappear and reappear in the glass of the passanger window. It's a little too warm. The radio a little too loud. But she doesn't say anything. Just lets the soft fabric cradle her body.Â
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Locking herself in an escape room with Lena was not one of Samâs brightest ideas. In truth, it wasnât much of an idea at all. It was more a fingers crossed, eyes half-shut kind of hail mary. But considering how difficult it had been to get Lena to return a phone call lately, convincing her to take a night off to spend it in an escape room seemed nothing short of Herculean.
Which was exactly why when she had begged Lena to take a night off so that they could catch up she had neglected to say exactly what she had in mind. Only that she missed her and was willing to move around her schedule to suit Lena. That she was willing to move heaven and earth if need be although  that she hoped it wouldn't come to that because she had strained her back going for a spectacular (but ill-advised) save while playing soccer with Ruby. All true and all sprinkled with just the tiniest soupçon of guilt.Â
If Lena regretted her choice to meet, Sam couldnât tell. Not when she pulled Lena in for a hug and they exchanged the kind of pleasantries friends make when a little too much time has lapsed from their last meeting. But there was something about Lena's smile that made Sam all the more sure that something was wrong. The pointed way she had been avoiding the subject of Kara and the others was proof enough that something had happened. The way Lena seemed to draw in on herself whenever she thought Sam wasnât looking was just more proof.
They had had their pick of rooms and the woman at the front desk rattled them all off in a tone that suggested she would rather be anywhere else: A bank heist, escaping a cursed tomb, a locked-room mystery and a prison break. None of them particularly appealed to Sam but after careful consideration as if it was a hard choice to make, she chose the locked-room mystery, thinking that at the very least there would be someplace for them to sit.
The escape room was furnished in a way that Sam thought it could have been pulled from the pages of one of those cozy mystery books that she sometimes read on long flights. So similar that it bordered on affectation. There was even an easy chair (stained liberally with fake blood) in the middle of the faux sitting room. That was where Lena sat while Sam paced about the room pretending to search for clues.Â
âI donât think Iâd make a very good detective,â Sam said, lifting up an empty inkwell from a writing desk in the corner and turning it over. âSomeone is definitely going to get away with murder.â
âThe injustice,â Lena said, sounding almost amused. âBottom drawer. Thereâs a letter.â
Sam looked at her bemused. âYou deduced that?âÂ
âThereâs a cipher wheel hidden behind that painting and another clue under this chair.â She said it like an afterthought as if it hardly interested her enough to pass it along.Â
âLena,â Sam said, eyeing the passable replica of a William Powell Frith painting. âHave you been here before?â Before Lena could answer, Sam lifted up one corner of the painting and found a well-worn circle of yellowed parchment taped to the wall.Â
âWhy didn't you tell me before we came in?â
âI haven't been here before,â Lena said. She made a face. âNot exactly.â
âDid you slip the worker a fifty when I wasn't looking?â
âI'd at least have the decency to slip them a hundred.
âThen-â
Lena smiled faintly. âWhy an escape room? Because youâre not much of a detective. Especially when you actively avoid the very obvious clues placed around the room.â
Feeling too caught out to beat around the bush, Sam could only smile sheepishly. âYeah⌠I never saw the appeal of these places.â. âIâm worried about you. We havenât talked, really talked in a while and when we do touch base latelyââ
âSorry,â Lena murmured.
âI know how much you love people prying but I thought if we were trapped quite literally in a room together for a couple hours then I might be able to figure it out.â
âSam, thatâs very sweet but itâs complicated.â
âIsnât it always? You donât have to tell me what it is Lena. But if you ever want to, I'm here.â
Lena nodded. âI know, but I guess I still needed to hear that.â She took a breath.. âIf that wasnât bad enough, Iâve been having the worst day todayâŚâ
âYour friend dragged you to an escape room under false pretenses.â
âYeah,â Lena said drolly. âWhat were you thinking?Â
âIt wasn't a well-thought out plan.âÂ
Lena smiled weakly. âYou wondered how I knew where those clues were. I know because I've been stuck living the same day over and over again. I wake up and it's the same day all over again. I know how that must sound.â
âIt sounds terrible,â Sam said softly.
âCrazy. The word most people would use is crazy.â
âCrazier than my Reign problem? Or metahumans or aliens or all the other weird things that happen around here. And thatâs not even counting half the stuff you hear about in Gotham.â
âYou believe me,â Lena said incredulously. âJust like that?â
âAliens, magic, metahumans, who am I to suspend belief at time loops?â She shook her head. âItâs just not logical,â she joked. âI believe you.â
âYou are probably the only one that would right now. Maybe thatâs why I found when I woke up this time around.â Lena pulled out a crumpled note from her pocket.
Sam stepped close enough to read the blocky letters. âTry again,â she read aloud, confused.
âEvidently Iâm doing something wrong, I just donât know what. Iâm hoping I figure it out soon because the alternativeâŚâ
âWeâll just have to figure it out together,â Sam promised and clasped Lenaâs hand tight in hers.. âJust like last time. I promise.â
This was a fun one for @ekingston's flash fiction challenge because I'm still obsessed
Prompts: Canon Compliant: Locked In an Escape Room: Timeloop: A crumpled up note
hey guess what is todayâs addition to my ever-growing list of reasons to never share another multichapter work online again!
if youâre a fanfic author, you may want to do a search for a line from your fic and see what comes up. someone calling themselves LoveRosieSunshine changed the names of 1. my fic, 2. the chapters and 3. the characters and nothing else & then uploaded it to Wattpad without my permission.
if you enjoyed You & Me & Holiday Wine (the original of which is published only on ao3 here), please do me a favor and report the plagiarism to Wattpad. more screenshots & the link to their âversionâ of my fic (itâs literally a copy/paste) are under the cut, along with directions on how to report even if you donât have an account. if you do have an account, iâd appreciate it a lot if you could leave them and/or their readers a comment about the fact that this is the exact kind of bullshit that stops authors from sharing the stories these readers profess to love so much.
iâd be grateful if you guys could share this post with fandom friends, as well. iâm sure this person has never actually written a single story in their life, so if you have f/f work on ao3 youâll want to check if yours wasnât stolen, too.
Jennie Kim hates the winter holiday until her bestfriend 'forced' Jennie to come to her cabin in the mountains where she's promptly held hos
i know iâm asking a lot, but Wattpad will only allow me to file a DMCAâwhich requires me to share my full legal name and address with Wattpad as well as the plagiarist, which iâm obviously not comfortable doing. for fuckâs sake.
if you ever see any of my work on Wattpad, that is theft. i will never share my work there, and i would appreciate you letting me know if you find it reposted. apparently this one has been up for at least a year and i donât know what makes me want to throw my laptop harder, the comments saying âthatâs SO [character iâve never heard of]!â or the people recognizing it as a supercorp fic and then carrying on as if thatâs perfectly fine.
THANK YOU ALL! and thanks @gveret-fic & @saunteringvaguelydownwards for pointing out the story is currently down. i have no idea whether the thief (temporarily) took it offline themselves or if it was removed in response to reports, but the plagiarist profile is still online (and now listing â26 works, 25 publishedâ so iâm keeping an eye out and not turning off reblogs just yet.
Iâve gone through every single one of their works and found original sources for all but two, simply by pasting a sentence without character names into a search engine. and because i thrive on pettiness, iâve gone ahead and reported them all. if you have some time to kill, i encourage you to do the same! mind that this is obviously a wattpad-wide problem: iâm seeing supercorp treated by whatever fandom âpinkblackâ is as their own fun little sandbox to shit in, but there are traditionally published works up too. remember that this hurts small & indie authors, especially those who use kindle unlimited because Amazon contractually obligates their work to be Amazon exclusive!
authors, please do a search for sentences from your works to check whether your work hasnât been mangled like this too. i have a wattpad account now, so iâm here for you if you need my support!
thank you @amjustanobserver for putting a list together with links back to the original versions of the works LoveRosieSunshine has stolen!
i just replied to someone in the comments, but i figured Iâd share it more broadly, too: though all but a couple of the stories on LoveRosieSunshineâs account have been made inaccessible, they havenât actually been deletedâthe plagiaristâs listed story count is still 26 like before.
this person is 100% going to upload these files again at some point, which appears to be Wattpad âauthorsââs favorite pastime.
Wattpad in general, and f/f works in particular seem to have an absurdly high prevalence of plagiarism. itâs celebrated there, âauthorsâ and their followers happily welcoming back formerly banned accounts and eagerly awaiting the next stolen installment. if you can stomach it, the screenshots are under the cut.
just a cursory glance at the other works in the blackpink fandom showed me works that have been stolen from @i-am-robie (don't go slow 'cause you're gonna be someone, plagiarized here), @seabiscuits-us (A Foolish Wit, plagiarized here), @mooosicaldreamz (and when i'm feeling alone, you remind me of home, plagiarized here) and @hrwinter (Mrs. & Mrs. Danvers, plagiarized here).
iâve filed complaints about all of these works, but Wattpadâs official take is âoh oops we can see with our own eyes that the content infringes copyright but weâll only take action when works are on Amazon because unless thereâs a financial liability to our platform weâre really not investedâ, so i have very little hope they will feel compelled to do the right thing by just my report alone.
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âThis is going to be a thing now, isnât it? The two of you ganging up on me?â
âfrom Treats and Collars on ao3
This is part 2/2 of the artwork the wonderful @makicarn commissioned for @trashpandatoâs adorable fic. Thank you, again, it was an absolute joy working with you both!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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đ¤ multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss for Supercorp please đ
things are soft then heavy but it's soft at the end I promise...three times Kara wakes up next to Lena and one time she doesn't ... the post PZ fic I didn't know I was going to write until I started writing it
thanks so much for the ask!
----
Sunlight seeps in through the window.
Kara feels the warmth spread across her skin, watches the light spread across the sheets, follows it as it inches closer to Lena lying beside her.
She tries to cup the sun in her hands, tries to hold it back for a few minutes longer, letting the light dance across her fingers and fill her palms. It's a small, useless act of rebellion, but it feels important all the same.
Eventually, the light spills out, and Kara follows it, brushing a kiss against Lena's cheek as it too slowly warmed in the glow. She stirs at the touch, a breathy giggle escaping her lips as she woke up. Kara couldn't help but smile at the sound, her heart swelling with love for this woman. She kisses her again and again, leaving soft, playful marks across the plane of her body.
"Kara," she mumbled, voice thick with sleep and amusement, "what are you doing?"
The words hung in the air, delicate and languid, hidden behind the curtain of sunlight early morning.
Kara pulled back slightly, her gaze lingering on the curve of Lena's smile. "Waking you up," unrepentant joy infusing every word, fluttering kisses across her brow, the tip of her nose, the corners of her upturned mouth.
As Kara leaned in closer, she could feel the steady rhythm of Lena's heartbeat beneath her fingertips.
Lena's eyes finally fluttered open. "Is that so?" she asked, arching one elegant brow even as she fought to keep a straight face.
"Mhmm," Kara hummed against her skin, undeterred. "Is it working?"
"I don't know," a smile tugging insistently at her lips. "I might need more convincing."
For a moment, Lena simply looked at her, her gaze soft and full of affection. Then she reached up, fingers tangling in Kara's sleep-mussed hair.
"Good morning," she whispered in return, her mouth forming the shape of one more kiss.
----
Sunlight seeps in through the window.
Kara can feel the warmth of Lena's body pressed against hers, their bodies entwined under rumpled sheets. Lena shifts, and Kara lets her arms wind around her, keeping her close â safe. She presses closer, nuzzling her chin into the hollow behind her ear, lips finding the sensitive spot there. But then, to her surprise, Lena lets out a soft warning. "Careful darling, that tickles," voice still worn with sleep.
Kara grinned, "Oh, does it now?" she teased, fingers dancing along her ribs.
Lena squirms, her laughter growing louder as she becomes more tangled in the sheetsâin her arms.
Kara eventually relents, heart swelling at the sight of her smile.
"Good morning, beautiful," she murmurs, leaning down to capture Lena's lips in a proper kiss then.
Lena meets her, hand coming up to pull Kara even closer, trapping her hands between their bodies and turning them over until itâs Kara tangled instead... "Good morning, darling."
----
Sunlight seeps in through the window.
Kara blinks awake, the sun's warmth slowly making its way up from her toes through the rest of her. She turns her head to find Lena already awake, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she watches her.
She reaches out, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Lena closes her eyes and leans into the touch, covering Kara's hand with her own. When she opens her them again, Kara is struck by just how bright they are, even in the dim light. The colors subtly shifting between blue and green. Kara scoots closer, tangling their legs together.
"How long have you been watching me?" she asks
A while," Lena admits with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating between them.
"You float in your sleep," a teasing note in her voice, "It is a very interesting way to wake up."
"Only sometimes and only a little," Kara rebuts, her smile growing as she leans in for a kiss.
"Can we just stay here for a while?"
"You were the one trying to float away."
She huffs out a laugh; the sound muffled as Lena tugs her lip between her teeth. She lifts her head, meeting her gaze with a grin. "Well, I promise to stay if you do."
Lena's hand moves to rest on Kara's hip as if already keeping good on it's promise.
"Always."
----
Shadows seep across the room.
Her back aches, and her arms feel heavy.
She's cold despite the blankets wrapped around her body.
She reaches across the bed and expects the warmth of Lena's skin beneath her hands.
Finds not even the imprint of her body.
She pulls herself from underneath the sheets and swings her legs over the edge of the mattress.
Her own body comes back to her pieces.
So does everything else.
She shuffles to the door.
A light from the kitchen seeps across the floor.
She follows the long shadows it casts, feet still heavy, gravity still foreign.
She finds figure lay curled up on the couch, a blanket half on the floor, wrinkled clothes, and dark hair falling across a pale face.
Kara?" Lena's voice is uncertain, filled with worry. She sits up, the blanket sliding off her lap. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call Alex?"
Kara stares at her, mind struggling to decide what is real and what wasn't all over again.
"Alex, noâI." Kara shakes her head and pulls back a little. "No. I'mâyou weren't there when Iâ?"
Lena looks even more confused. "I didn't, um, I didn't know if you would wantâŚ" Her voice trails off, eyes darting between Kara and the apartment, fingers twisting around themselves â unsure in their own way.
Kara follows Lena's eyes and hands and tries to organize it all. The mornings, Lenaâit was justâshe had justâŚ
"Darling," Lena reaches out, touching Kara's hand, drawing her back. And as if it's a reflex Kara turns her palm up, lacing their fingers together tightly.
Kara struggles to find her voice. "I'm sorry," she finally whispers hoarsely.Â
Lena's brows knit together. "What on earth are you sorry for?"
Kara gestures helplessly around the room. For thinkingâŚfor imaginingâŚ" She trails off, words clogging her throat, lungs filling with the familiar scent of Lena's clothes, her hair, her skin, and the staleness of pain and loss and grief that clings to them both.
"I missed you," Kara confesses at last, at least.
Unable in the end to apologize for the hope she left buried somewhere in the universe that had brought her home.
Lena reaches up, gently cupping her cheek.
"I missed you tooâŚ"
She feels the weight of Lena's lips against the top of her head.
"God I missed you too."
And Kara thinks that maybe there's a chance some of that hope escaped with her too.
Youâre a demon. One day, youâre summoned into a living room, and an exhausted woman quickly rambles about needing to get to work and being unable to find a sitter before flying out the door. Now, you stand in your summoning circle, a toddler staring wide eyed at you.
A chef!AU, maybe? In any case, a story in which Kara and Lena meet through one of them preparing/serving/etc food for the other and build their relationship based on that.
(also on ao3.)
âIâm telling you, Alex. Itâs her.â
At three pm on a Tuesday their restaurant is characteristically dead, save for the one lone customer Kara is spying on from behind the kitchen doors. The woman is perched, a little perilously, on a barstool at the counter. Itâs the one thatâs closest to their register, the one with the wobbly leg that Alex keeps telling Kara to fix. One of her red-soled heels is dangling from an impatiently bouncing left foot.
âThis is the fourth time this week sheâs come in here,â Kara says. âYou donât think thatâs just a little bit suspicious?â
Alex shrugs, fully committed to her task of mincing onions. âMaybe sheâs just a big fan of Italian food.â
âNo way,â Kara says. âNo woman who looks like that would put something in her mouth that wasnât clearly marked gluten-free and vegan. Give me your phone.â
Alex rolls her eyes dramatically as she elbows it over. âTell me again how youâre totally over Siobhan.â
âOral sex isnât a moral issue!â Kara takes a decisive breath while she unlocks her sisterâs phone with practiced ease. âWhatever. Water under the bridge.â
âUh-huh.â
âA love for pasta also doesn't explain why I heard this woman answer a call yesterday with a different name than the one thatâs on her credit card,â Kara points out, before snapping a quick picture through the porthole window.
âOkay, now youâre being creepy,â Alex says.
âShut up,â Kara tells her. âIâm texting Winn.â
Kara eyes the woman at the counter while she waits for his reply. The subject of her suspicionâLena, sheâd called herself on the phone;Â Tess Mercer, it had said on her mastercardâtwists a soft-looking lock of dark hair around her finger as she studies their menu. The way the sunlight sets it ablaze almost makes Kara take a second picture, purely for its artistic merit.
Alex dabs at her onion-induced tears with the cuff of her sleeve. âLet it go, Kara,â she sighs.
âLet it go? Let itââ Kara whirls back to face her, throwing her hands up in frustration. âDo you want The Tower to end up like Winn and Jamesâ steakhouse? Or are you fine with getting swindled by thisâthisâŚÂ villain?â
âOf course not.â Alex looks at her like sheâs stupid. âBut even if this woman is your so-called âfood influencerâ, what do you suggest we do about it? Itâs not as if we can bully her into giving us a fair review.â
Kara squares her jaw and sets her fists firmly on her hips. âNo,â she declares, her tone grim. âBut we can teach her a little about journalistic integrity.â She blows at a lock of hair thatâs fallen in her face. âAnd also, possibly, credit card fraud.â
Alex narrows her eyes at her. âKara,â she warns, putting down her knife. Her voice is low and cautious, as if sheâs talking to the rowdy raccoon that moved into their dumpster three weeks ago instead of to her baby sister. âLetâs just take a breath and think about this for a mââ
Kara is already gone, the doors to the kitchen swinging closed behind her. Sliding into the cluttered space behind the counter, she crosses her arms and then drops her elbows on the bar, leaning what she belatedly realizes is probably a little too close to her adversary. Sheâs close enough to make out the individual downy hairs on her chin and the lines in her painted lips, which are still pursed thoughtfully in what Kara is sure would look like an attractive pout to someone who didnât know any better.
But Kara knows so much better.
âLet me guess,â she remembers to get out, much less biting than originally intended. âToday youâll be having the fifth entrĂŠe down the list.â
As soon as their eyes meet over the miniscule amount of space left between them, Kara knows leaning in was a fatal mistake. Her nemesis blinks up at her with wide, startled eyes that remind Kara of the glass pebbles she finds on the beach on her morning walks, not-quite-blue and not-quite-green, and for a moment Karaâs brain sputters out as if someone abruptly turned off the flames that kept it cooking.
But the woman recovers fast, like the scheming scoundrel that she is. She guiltily shutters her eyes behind thick, charcoal lashes, and Karaâs temper revives at the observation that her enemy isnât as good of an actress as she thinks she is.
âIâve actually been thinking of breaking my own rule,â she says, with a smile that lands somewhere between self-deprecating and apologetic. âI may give in and order the same thing you served me yesterday.â Kara goes hot all over with righteous indignation at the rich timbre of the womanâs voice, the almost flirtatious lilt it takes on when she adds, âI havenât been able to stop dreaming about it.â
Kara pulls back a little in an effort to escape that curious gaze, the enticing scent of the womanâs perfume. Itâs sweet enough to drown out even Alexâs mountain of onions. âI know what youâre doing,â she blusters.
Theâfrankly unfairly beautifulâsoulless grifter stares at her, stricken. âIâmâIâm sorry?â
âYou should be,â Kara says. âI know who you are.â And then, as if sheâs putting down the last card in a game of Uno, âLena.â
The woman goes very still for a moment, and then the corners of her lips tug down in a bitter semblance of a smile. âI see,â she says. Sheâs rigid, regal; sheâs royalty perched on a wobbly wooden stool. âAnd am I to assume thatâs enough for you to turn down my patronage?â
Karaâs resolve wobbles, too. She hadnât expected her adversaryâLena, she now knowsâto roll over so easily. âWell, yeah, obviously,â she flusters, her energy suddenly too large and lumbering in the face of Lenaâs deference. âWinn and James are family.â
âFamily.â Thereâs a flicker of wistfulness in Lenaâs voice, before confusion colors her features. âSo the cold shoulder,â she says. âItâs personal?â
Kara scoffs. The fraudster doesnât even remember the names of her latest victims. Typical. âIt was their steakhouse that you razed to the ground last month,â Kara reminds her.
Lena blinks at her. âThe establishment just up the road?â She raises a critical eyebrow. âIâm pretty sure they set themselves up for failure when they decided to name their restaurant Misteak.â
Kara huffs. Her air quotes are appropriately vicious when she says, âThey were doing just fine before your slanderous âreviewâ went viral.â
Lena does a remarkably convincing impression of someone who is genuinely flabbergasted. âI donât even know what that means.â
âLiar.â
Lenaâs shocked laughter is bright but brief. Itâs the first time Kara has heard her laugh. Itâs maddeningly attractive and deeply annoying.
âOkay,â Lena says. She folds her arms in front of her chest and leans back a little in her seat, unaware of its delicate disposition. A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. âTell me,â she says, her eyes narrowing. âWho do you think I am, exactly?â
Kara leans in close again, refusing to allow Lena to get the upper hand. Sheâd like to wipe that smirk from Lenaâs faceâmanually, if need beâpreferably, even, if it means sheâd get to smudge that infuriatingly immaculate lipstick with her thumbâ
âYou,â Kara charges, in an effort to drown out that unhelpful thought, âare a fraud. You call yourself a âmystery food criticâ on TikTok, but really youâre blackmailing businesses into buying a favorable review.â
âHey, um.â Alex has followed her out of the kitchen, holding her phone. âSo. Winn texted back, and he saysââ
But Lena laughs again, her guarded posture melting down to unmistakable relief. âIâm so sorry,â she says, her voice a high warble. âThat sounds awful. And also extremely illegal. Have you reported this person to the authorities? I can get you in touch with an excellent lawyer, if youâd like.â
Kara doesnât know if she feels more outraged or confused.
âŚOr possibly some secret third thing.
âSo youâre telling meââ Kara barks out a disbelieving laugh. âYouâre saying youâre not her.â
âThis, ehmâ Tic Tac person?â When Lenaâs dark lashes flutter, something in Karaâs chest flutters too. âNo.â
Impossible. âThen why have you been in here every day this week?â Kara interrogates, the full force of evidence sheâs collected behind it. âWhen neither one of us has seen you here even once, since we opened?â
Alex rolls her eyes. âI told you I wasnât sure whether Iâd seen her here before,â she points out. âAlso, Winn saysââ
âOh please,â Kara scoffs, her eyes fixed on Lena, who has propped her elbows on the counter again, closer now than sheâd been the last time their eyes met. âAs if you could forget a woman as beautiful asââ Karaâs gaze drops to Lenaâs mouth, unbidden, when Lena parts those rude, ruby lips. â...You.â
Alex stares.
Kara swallows.
Lena blinks; two times fast, and then again, after a beat, slow and sticky, her eyes darkening.
âSo you may as well come out with it,â Kara croaks out what little remains of her anger. âThereâs something you want more than our fettuccine.â
Lenaâs cheeks have turned a treacherously charming shade of pink. âI suppose youâre right about that one, at least,â she admits after a beat.
In Karaâs peripheral vision, Alex frantically slides her hand across her throat. Kara frowns at her, telegraphing a wordless what is your problem but finding no satisfactory answer in the crimson shade her sisterâs face has taken on.
âYeah, well,â she says, almost disappointed, fumbling to fill the space left by Lenaâs confession. âIâm telling you right now that itâs never going to happen.â
Alex clears her throat with startling force. âWinn wants to know,â she says, reading from her phone, âWhoâs the hot chick?â
When Kara returns her gaze to the woman on the other side of the counter, she gulps. Lena is somehow even closer than she was before. Sheâs also fully propping herself up now on the laminate surface between them, granting Kara a glimpse of freckled cleavage that in no possible universe could be interpreted as unintentional.
âSo,â Lena drawls. âWhat youâre saying is youâre not going to give me your number?â
Karaâs throat is suddenly very dry.
âHuh?â she manages, but only just barely.
âI was hoping,â Lena says slowly, that maddening smirk once again tugging up the corner of her mouth, âthat youâd maybe like toââ
Lena shifts in her seat, crossing her legs in what is bound to become a devastatingly seductive pose, but the barstool decides in exactly that moment that's itâs finally had enough. Lena yelps as it gives out beneath her with a dramatic snap, one of its rickety limps flying across the floor as if celebrating its first taste of freedom, and Karaâs never considered herself to be very quick, but here she is anyway, on the other side of the counter in what feels like less than a second, one hand gripping Lenaâs forearm, the other slipping smoothly around her waist.
ââfuck,â Lena gasps up at her. She feels good, in Karaâs hands, slight but pleasantly heavy, like the santoku knife Alex has forbidden Kara from touching ever again. âWell,â Lena says. âThatâs. Perhaps not the way I would have phrased it, especially in front of your friendââ
They both glance over at Alex, but sheâs disappeared, the swaying of the kitchen doors the only indication she was ever there.
âO-kay,â Kara says.
Lena grins. âOkay?â
Kara mentally rewinds the conversation and feels her ears burn at the realization of what she just agreed to. âI mean,â she amends. âWe could, maybe, grab something to eat first?â
Something devious sparks in Lenaâs terrifyingly gorgeous face. She glances down at Karaâs arms before blinking back up at her again and smirking. âI thought you already had.â
âHere they are. We have a few different lines of toys here, different sizes, and the squeakers themselves vary from brand to brand. Some of these are very loud.â
âfrom Treats and Collars on ao3
Thank you so much @makicarn for commissioning me to illustrate this scene from @trashpandatoâs ADORABLE fic! It has been an absolute pleasure working with/for you both!
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