#From the very cursory glance I took around it seems like it's initiated by seeing a Sim - not necessarily meeting them - with 2+ attraction

[sysig]

Oh heck yeah

So y’know how how every Sim made as an adult starts out with the generic “Mystery Sim” as their teenage love?

(Which I mean. Is fine. Personally I’d prefer nothing but it’s not bad as such lol)

Well I finally dug around in the SimPE memory tab to see what I could mess with without - hopefully - breaking anything this time, and well :3

Hehe ♪

And as further proof that that wasn’t just him getting rejected after I put them on the lot (though “Very First Kiss” is only a teen option and I made them both as adults) -

I modified his very first memory to be meeting Dex!

I also gave him this very rare memory of being attracted to Dex for funsies hehe ♥

[aquietlifesblog]

Hungry Eyes: Fire and Ice (Dio X Vanilla Ice + Dio X Reader mentioned)

There was very little he could do in this state but he hoped, no, he expected to find an ally in you, the one Lord Dio cherished.

OR

Vanilla Ice survives his battle against that traitor Polnareff and meets you for the very first time.

Read on AO3

Note: This chapter contains implied sexual content and canon-typical violence. This is a side story of 'Hungry Eyes.'

Main Story | Masterlist |

Vanilla Ice loved Dio, and Dio liked Vanilla Ice. 

He was the favorite by any measure: the most trusted, the most loyal, the one Lord Dio confided in. He guarded Dio's door when he was away, rid him of his nightly dalliances, listened to his endless lectures, and spent many, many nights in his master's bed. Dio rarely took repeated lovers, so Vanilla Ice considered himself special in that regard as well. He took great pride in his service and never questioned his standing with his Lord—not until the night he mentioned you.

"Say, Ice, there's something I would like to show you." It was late. Vanilla Ice was lying in bed beside his master, breaths heavy and skin flushed, still high off the pleasure from their lovemaking. Ice longed to remain that way, snuggling up beside his lover as the world settled into the night. But instead, he was made to watch his Master rise. Unlike Dio, who didn't bother to adjust his open trousers, Vanilla Ice was fully naked. He felt no shame as he stood, having revealed himself to Dio time and time again. He simply gathered his clothing from the floor as he crept across the room. 

It was cold, and the burning scent of incense made his eyes water, but Vanilla Ice didn't mind; he loved his master's proclivities. 

Dio set a camera on his writing desk and tapped it and the deep purple vines of his other stand sprouted all around him.

A moment passed, then another, and the camera released a grainy photograph.

Dio gave the photo a once over, a brief, cursory glance, before passing it over to Vanilla Ice. Their fingers touched, Ice's heart fluttered, and he looked away in modesty. Instead, of looking at Dio and the beautifully smug expression that graced his features, Ice decided to focus on the photograph.

It was a picture of a woman, of you, dressed in red and sitting near an open window. It was dark, he could barely discern the outline of your features but he knew he'd never once laid eyes upon you. You weren't another minion who came and went as they pleased, nor were you one of his known targets; you were a stranger to Vanilla Ice, a threat. 

"What do you think? Be honest, Ice." 

"There isn't much to look at," he answered, and he meant that quite literally. Still, Dio laughed despite this, a throaty chuckle that made Ice's heart swell. He made his master laugh.  

"This woman is quite beautiful in person I assure you, a true vision to behold. But she vexes me," Dio went on to tell him. "She seems to enjoy denying me, defiant at nearly every turn." This new knowledge enraged Vanilla Ice more than anything else. Who were you to trouble his Lord Dio? He wanted to kill you, snap your neck, erase you from this world for your grievous offense. 

"I do love the fire in your eyes, Vanilla Ice," Dio placed the flat of his hand upon his servant's shoulder. "Do you believe I, DIO, should kill her? This nuisance of a woman?"

"I will be glad to take the task upon myself, Lord DIO. You should not be troubled." 

"Your initiative is appreciated, but there is no need. This woman is not my enemy. On the contrary, she is an important ally." Vanilla Ice did well to control his features, but he was still confused. Why would Lord Dio trouble himself with such an ornery girl? 

"I've known her for many years," he continued, releasing Ice from his hold. "And though I do not doubt her loyalty, she plagues me nonetheless. There is an imbalance in our relationship, you see; I have begun to care about her feelings ."

'Were you a Stand user?' He wondered. Did you place Lord Dio under a wicked spell? Curse him with such needless concerns? Or was it something different, something even worse? 

"Does that upset you? The thought that I may care for another?" His voice took on a soothing tone, but his smirk belied something sinister, a dark intent. But that was typical for his Master. 

"No. I would never be so selfish as to demand the whole of your attention." Would a priest ask his god to love him and him alone? No. Vanilla Ice understood his place; he was happy to accept his Lord Dio as he was. 

"Ah, my sweet Vanilla Ice," Dio grinned, though his wicked gaze grew hungry as he dragged a finger down his servant's chest, caressing his body as a lover would, "your selfless nature is commendable. Such traits are of interest to me…" Vanilla Ice leaned into his master's touch, into his praise.

"Thank you, Lord DIO."

'Perhaps it was a simple test,' Vanilla Ice thought. Perhaps Dio wondered if his love for him was finite and was pleased to see it had no limit.

"You will keep my secret now won't you, Ice? Yes? Then let us return to bed." 

Dio placed the photo in a box within his drawer and coaxed his Vanillia Ice back to bed with a renewed sense of excitement.

He seemed to have something in mind for him.

*

Dio never spoke of you directly after that, but Ice learned about you secondhand: He discovered you were a vampire, and that you had a powerful stand. Despite this, Lord Dio never expected you to battle. Instead, you were tasked to locate a powerful artifact on his behalf. Unlike the priest, who he hoped one day to break in half, he never brought you to Egypt, not even once, so the picture of you was all he knew. 

So later, when finding you became a top priority, he knew he was in for an arduous task. He only knew you lived in England, but the coordinates were still unknown to him. Worse, he could barely function on his own.

He had no choice but to wait. 

The trouble began when the Joestar party made their way into the mansion.

Vanilla Ice knelt outside his master's door, forced to tell him of D’Arby’s defeat at the hands of Jotaro Kujo, Joseph Joestar, and Noriaki Kakyoin.

"Come...you may enter."

Despite the situation, Dio seemed to be at peace. There he was, calmly lounging in the bed, an old book resting in his hands. His tranquillity calmed Vanilla Ice, who took a knee in the presence of his Lord. He took note of an empty vase not an arm length away. That wasn't there before. 

“D’Arby swore his loyalty to me, DIO, but it seems he was not prepared to die for me, that is why he was not able to win in the end.” A cool draft drifted in from somewhere, pushing dust and the strong scent of incense around. “Ice…look at the wound on my neck.” He did as he was told, watching Dio move his beautiful hair aside to reveal the scar that looped around his neck. “It’s likely that if I drink the blood of one more person, this body will fall completely under my control and this wound will heal. Ice, will you offer me, DIO, your blood?” 

“Yes, with pleasure.” Vanilla Ice raised his hands, willing Cream,  his ghostly stand, to appear behind him. Ice took hold of the vase and leaned forward. He refused to make a mess for Lord Dio to clean.

He gave the silent order for Cream to decapitate him. There was no hesitation, no indication of remorse. In fact, in the brief moment of life that followed, Vanilla Ice was truly happy.

Finally, he thought, he was of use to his Lord Dio. 

The life he lived flashed before his eyes; his loneliness, his rejection, the scornful gaze of the family who regarded him as nothing but a simple-minded boy.

Before he knew what a Stand was, he believed that Cream was just a specter, a demon meant to torment him. He tried so hard to move on with his life, to avoid feeling, and invoking his demon’s all-consuming rage. He wandered like a vagabond, unable to settle in a single place. In his travels, he would sometimes gain the attention of others—men, women, and those who found themselves between. And though he refused most of their advances, Vanilla Ice was a curious man, one who hoped to indulge in his attractions. They were meaningless, passionless nights which often left him feeling worse. 

And in that depression, he tried his best to settle with a nice person he met. He was afraid of long-term commitment but his partner was a traveler, the same as he. And for the first time, Vanilla Ice found someone he thought could make him truly happy.

But about a year into that relationship, something changed. His partner became distant, colder, and less affectionate. Another three months passed before Vanilla Ice realized why: his partner was unfaithful.

Despair built inside him like a rushing river, one with no dam to block it. He called upon the power of his demon and erased those wretched lovers from the world. They could stay together in the void. 

Vanilla Ice considered running, sending his demon on a rampage, destroying everything in his path—but what would be the point of it? He was miserable, hollow,  as empty as the void his demon seemed to carry. So he confessed to his murderous crime. 

He was prepared to embrace death by the executioner's chair. 

But then Dio appeared before him. 

"I came here seeking sinners," he spoke, his voice deep and sultry. "And so I have found you."

He was an angel from above, a divine being sent to bring him from the darkness; he took Vanilla Ice from his cell and promised him a better life, a fruitful life, a purpose.

So Vanilla Ice lived for his Lord Dio—and he gladly died for him as well.

His head hit the ground with a sickening thump and the world fell away to nothing.

But then something happened.  In those brief moments of lifelessness, he knew he heard the voice of his master, and felt his touch upon his skin. The words he spoke were forgotten, like a dream upon waking, but he wasn't at all bothered because a miracle had just occurred.

He was alive; his dedication to his Lord was rewarded.

“Lord Dio.” Vanilla Ice touched his neck and found no scar there, no indication that he sacrificed his life. Yet when he turned his attention to the vase, he saw it filled with blood. 

“I could never take the blood of a man of your caliber.” Lord Dio reached down and caressed his face. Dio said something about 'changes' and 'effects' but Ice wasn't quite sure he understood what was happening. Dio must have noticed because he leaned forward, took Ice's face between his hands, and smirked. 

“You are now like me, Vanilla Ice, so be wary of the sun. I will leave them all to you.” Happy, could not describe the feeling that took hold of him. There were no words to describe the bliss he felt, knowing he could remain at his master's side for all eternity.

It was a wonderful reward. He offered Dio his blood, and in exchange received eternal life.

He vowed he would not fail his Master and promised to live up to his expectations. He forgot to use the door as he left but killed Muhammad Avdol with ease.

Next, he killed that filthy dog. 

But that traitor, Polnareff, somehow evaded him; the bastard refused to die. And worse, he lured Ice into a trap. 

“You’re like Dio now!” Polnareff yelled, “A filthy, soulless vampire!” Ice wanted nothing more than to rip Polnareff's throat out. How dare he insult Lord Dio in such a way? But Polnareff was a clever wretch and his Silver Chariot moved to cut the walls and smashed the windows, flooding the entire room with light.

Vanilla Ice, unused to his body, reached into the sunlight and his arm burned away. 

You are now like me. Dio's voice echoed through his mind, the realization of what that meant sounded an alarm much louder than Polnareff's goading.  He could not go into the sun. So, he turned his body, lunging at Polnareff from beyond the reach of the light, blinded by his violent rage.

But silver chariot was faster than him. It used its sword to cut another wall and light burst in from the hole he made.

His right leg was the first to go, then four of his left fingers.

"You bastard!" He yelled as Polnareff mocked him, watching his body burn and crumble to pieces. It hurt, it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before. He wanted to cry out but that would be useless. Instead, Ice needed to do something. He needed to live, needed to remain at his Master's side.

So his soul acted on its own.

Cream, without command, consumed him quickly, pulling Vanilla Ice away from that accursed sunlight. 

It took all he had to maintain Cream's power, to float high into the air so Polnareff would not see him. But his right arm and leg were missing, as were several of his fingers and part of his left thigh. He was in so much pain he thought he would die. But instead, he fell unconscious, safely nestled within Cream's void. 

*

When he woke, Vanilla Ice was hungry—but the thought of food made his stomach churn. 

He peeked out into the world and saw that it was night. And though his body still pained him, he wanted to search for Dio and beg for his forgiveness. Had he not fallen into such a terrible trap, he thought, had he not been too weak to defeat Polnareff of all people, he could have fought the Joestars at his master's side.

He searched and searched but his Lord Dio was gone, and the pain he felt was nothing in the face of his all-consuming grief. Without Dio, his life meant nothing, he was nothing. Vanilla Ice wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die alongside his Master... but Dio gave him the gift of immortal life. And since Dio did not make mistakes, he wouldn't dare waste it.

So, deep into the night, with the sounds of the city far in the distance, Vanilla Ice dragged himself across the floor and entered Dio's bedroom.

There was very little he could do in that pathetic state, but he hoped—no, he expected—to find an ally in you, the one Lord Dio cherished.

He reached for the drawer and took your photo from the box, ignoring the other contents. If you truly loved Dio you would come to Egypt and confirm his death with your own eyes.

And when you did he would be there to meet you, and you would avenge Lord Dio together. 

You arrived in Cairo three days later. It was night, but you remained reasonably covered, unwilling to reveal your identity to anyone lurking about. Your spies lead you to Dio's mansion but most everything was already gone. 

And yet you felt something. The pull was different from what always seemed to drag you and Dio together, but it seemed to be the same force, the same law of gravity. And so you followed it, moving from room to room, from floor to floor, searching for something just barely out of reach. 

"Enough," you finally demanded. "I've grown tired of this; if there is something you want from me then show yourself." Your voice echoed through the empty halls, but you sensed the presence of another right above you. So you furrowed your brows and turned your head slowly.

It was there you met his steely gaze, the bright red eyes of an apex predator: wild, sharp, and hungry. He stared down at you from the mouth of a horrifying stand, a true grim reaper, but you stood firm against him. 

"Vanilla Ice?" you recalled the name Dio once told you, the one whose stand could disappear from the world, the one whose body was never recovered. 

He said your name in turn.

***

When you finally saw the whole of him you understood why he wanted to hide. 

"Your limbs won't regenerate, no matter how much blood you consume," you told him. "We'll have to get you new ones."  He didn't ask for your assistance, but you gave it to him anyway. 

"...Lord DIO grafted his head unto the body of Jonathan Joestar. Would it work the same for me?"

"Your Lord Dio once grafted the head of a man to the body of a dog. I think I can handle a few limbs." You waved away his concerns. 

"Lord DIO is truly astounding, there is no one else like him," he ignored your comments, unimpressed by your haughty decree. You rolled your eyes.

You wanted Vanilla Ice to like his new body so three nights passed before you found someone of comparable size and musculature. And though it wouldn't matter in the end, you wanted the man to be handsome as well. 

Luckily, when you found what he thought to be the perfect man,  bringing him home was easy.

"...and you simply must meet my friend, Vanilla Ice." You pitched your voice high and smiled at him flirtatiously.

"Vanilla Ice?" He purposefully lowered his voice, practically growling his name. "If she's anywhere near as sexy as you, I know we'll have fun together... " You opened the door and lead him inside. He pulled his gaze away from you and looked around to find 'her.' Instead, he was met with the sight of an old dusty floor and walls covered with a tarp.

It was clear something terrible happened here, but he only just seemed to notice. His footsteps slowed to a halt beside your own.

"Where is she?" 

You made an upward gesture, and the man made the mistake of following your lead. He couldn't see the Stand, which you later learned was named Cream, but he could see Vanilla Ice's piercing gaze above him.

The man's expression morphed into one of utmost terror and he tried to run, but you called forth your stand, Déjà vu, and kept him rooted in place. 

"What do you think of this one, Ice?" 

After a moment or two of contemplation, Vanilla Ice gave a solitary nod.

"You won't be needing this," you told him, slipping off his golden ring. You examined its make and texture as Ice took care of the dirty business.  You frowned; the ring was cheap. 

Cream was a surprisingly adorable stand, once you moved passed the shock of his appearance; it placed the necessary limbs before you like an offering, and the action brought to mind your followers back home.

Every so often they thought to bring you something: their precious jewelry, their family fortune, their life savings, their children (though you never accepted them), and, of course, the blood that flowed through their bodies. They gave you these offerings while laying prostrate at your feet, begging and crying, so grateful for you. It was pathetic really, and so utterly boring.

But Vanilla Ice wasn't begging. To him, you were a simple means to an end: someone to help avenge Dio.

It was a little bit amusing, perhaps even a little exciting. Could you make him submit to you? You wondered. 

"I've never actually done this before," you confessed, pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind—you would rather him be your friend. "You'll be a little patient with me, won't you?"

He was. And so you grafted the severed limbs to his body.

"Now," you stood with an exaggerated groan in your voice, acting as though you performed a complex surgery. "Why don't you come with me?" You extended your hand toward him, offering a way forward. "You must be hungry." 

[fitrahgolden]

Something That Digs At Us: 1 - The potential of you and me

"Hey." Anthony was making his way out of his flat as Kate was working on the code for the second deadbolt on her door across the hall, Newton sniffing around the jamb. Her chest started to hurt as she turned around. Or had it already been hurting? Shit, shit, shit.

"Hey."

"Getting in for the day?"

"Yeah, I, um… yeah."

"I'm glad I caught you. I'm sorry things didn't work out last night. Are you feeling better?"

"Oh." Kate looked down at her shoes. "Yeah. Well–I mean, it comes and goes. You know…"

Anthony nodded, albeit a little dubiously. "Sure. I wanted to say that I hope we can try again. If you want."

Of course, I want. That isn't the problem. "Yes. We should. I would like that."

His relieved smile made her want to close the distance between them but also retreat into her flat at the same time. "Really? Oh, good." He took a cursory glance at his pocket watch." Listen, I've got to go, we're taking Simon out for drinks, but can I call you later?"

"Yes. Oh! Wait, nevermind, you said you had to go." Kate turned back towards her door.

"No, no." Anthony gently touched her shoulder, encouraging her to turn around. "What is it?"

Fuck, now it's gonna be a capital T Thing. She reached into her bag with the hand that wasn't holding Newton’s lead. "It's really not a big deal. Um, you'd mentioned needing a new sketchbook. I made this at work."

She handed over a canvas bound book. Anthony took it, handling it reverently. He ran his thumb over the bottom corner. "A. E. B." His foiled initials were punctuated by a little leaf. He looked up at Kate, mouth slightly agape. "You made this for me?"

"Yeah. On company time and with company resources." She suddenly pointed at him in a mock threat. "Don't tell anyone."

"Oh, I won't."

"Good, I'm planning on seeing how much I can get away with making for the wedding without anyone noticing."

"Devious, indeed. Thank you so much for this, Kate. Really."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like it." She gave him a tight smile. 

"I love it." He studied her for a moment. "Are you OK? You seem, I don't know, nervous?"

"Ha!" It was loud, but she could never help that. Anthony understandably looked confused. "Sorry. It's just that I'm always nervous."

"Always?"

"Yeah. Um. About everything, not just you, so don't feel special." You're very special. Anthony nodded and smiled. There was a lull, so Kate pointed down the hall. "You have to go, right?"

"Shit, yes. Thanks." He chuckled as he gently slid the sketchbook into his bag. "I'll see you later, Kate."

"OK. Tell Simon I'll see him tomorrow."

"Will do."

She watched Anthony's back retreating down the hall. For too long, apparently, because before he went outside, he turned back around. Because he never heard your door open. Kate's eyes widened and she gave him a weak wave before finally opening her door and rushing in.

Newton sat in the halfway, waiting for Kate to take off his lead, before dutifully padding into her flat ahead of her. Kate caught up and she scooped him into her arms, holding him tight. After several mindful breaths, she turned to engage the four locks on her door and put in the code for her alarm system. She took off her shoes and put them on the rack before hanging up her bag and keys. All the while, she held Newton to her chest and he'd tucked his head into her hair.

She finally released him so she could get him his dinner.

"After you eat, can we please take a nap?"

Newton's content sigh was his answer.

"You're right, what am I on about? A nap. It's an early bedtime, is what it is."

By the time she had showered, Newton was waiting for her on the bathroom rug.

"Almost ready."

She went over to her medicine cabinet and unlocked her pill box. After popping two Xanax in her mouth and washing them down with a couple of gulps of water from the sink, she stooped down to pick Newton up and made her way to her bedroom. She put him down and he hopped up the set of steps onto the bed and sat, waiting. Kate plugged her phone in and set it on the side table. Shit, he was gonna call and I'm going to be asleep.

Hi, hope your evening is going well. Go easy on Simon. You know he loves your sister. I’m texting because I wanted to say, in case you were going to call, I'm going to sleep. I know it's really early. Sorry. Maybe we can talk tomorrow. I do want to try again. Third time’s the charm, and all that. Good night.

By the time she could feel herself drifting off, Newton planted on her chest, all attempts to not rethink the text had failed, That was way too much. You should have just said, "Really tired. Call you tomorrow." Or, "Don't worry about calling. I'll see you later." No, that would have sounded angry. Maybe…

—

Newton was nudging Kate’s cheek with his nose when she woke up. She turned to see her phone vibrating on her. She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes before answering. “Good morning,” she sighed.

“Did I wake you?” Simon’s voice was far too cheery.

“It sounds like you know you did.”

“We’re having breakfast and your mother said she thought you were coming.”

Kate squinted at the time on her watch. “Fuck!”

“Kate, it’s O–”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Simon. I overslept. I didn’t hear my fucking alarms. I took a Xanax. Two, act–”

“Kate, it’s fine. And you don’t have to rush over.”

“No, I want to come.”

“OK, just… Don’t feel bad.”

“I have to go. I’ll be there soon.”

—

“Hey, sorry! Please tell me there is food left.”

Newton led the way as Kate walked down the hall. He stepped to the side as Kaveri approached.

“Simon is trying his best, but I think if you elbow him out of the way, you’ll have a chance."

"I'm the guest of honour!" Simon shouted from the kitchen.

Kaveri ignored him and grabbed Kate's face, kissing her on the forehead. "Hello, Chellam.”

“I’m sorry, Amma. I didn’t forget. I slept too hard.”

“Don’t mind it. Let’s get you something to eat. Mary and Ed are here.”

"What about Agatha and Daphne?"

"Mum whisked my fiancée–of approximately eighteen hours–away as soon as we got here. I asked no questions."

"Smart." Kate poured some chai into a mug and made her way to the kitchen table. "Poor Daphne, though."

"Eh, she should know what she's marrying into."

“Yeah, it gives her plenty of time to run. Mummy. Bon.” Kate gave them both a kiss before settling next to Edwina and Newton took his place on Kate’s feet. Simon slid in on the other side of her, setting a plate in front of her. Kate cut her eyes at him. “You made me a plate? And it looks like nothing is half eaten.”

“Before you thank me–”

“I would literally never.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

“Of course. Nandri, Amma.”

“Love you, Chellam”

“What about me?” Mary, Simon, and Edwina all said in unison.

—

“Anthony had some questions for me last night."

After she ate, Simon pulled Kate into the living room to give them some privacy.

"I'm sure you got a stern talking to about all the ways he would make you wish for death if you hurt Daphne."

"Well, yes. That's literally what he did. The man loves drama. But he also wanted to talk about you."

Kate gathered Newton up to her chest. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

“No, it was good. I mean, assuming you’re interested, it was good.”

“I am. I’m guessing he told you I freaked out?”

“No. He doesn’t know you ‘freaked out.’ He was worried you don’t actually want to go out with him. It was actually quite sweet, bless him.”

Kate groaned. “I do want to go out with him. What did he say?”

“He asked if you were OK and if he should ask you again or wait for you to reinitiate. And he asked what kind of date you would like.”

Kate sighed. “He wanted to go to the cinema.”

“Ah.”

“I just didn’t want to have Newton in my lap the whole time. And I kind of… spiralled from there.”

Simon nodded with understanding. “Does he know Newton isn’t a pet?”

“Probably. He’s seen the vest, I’m sure. He’s never asked about it, though.”

Simon looked away, a nebulous expression on his face. “I mean, he asked me about it.”

“What did–”

“And, I told him you’d talk about it if you want to. That was that. He wasn’t a dick about it.”

“Have you ever considered that?”

“What?”

“Not being a dick?”

“Once. Wasn’t for me.”

"Yeah, I can't imagine it was a good fit."

Simon shifted a bit more toward Kate on the couch. "I actually wanted to talk about something else as well."

Kate started stroking Newton’s fur. "Oh, dear. What is it?"

Simon placed a hand on her shoulder. "I would like you to stand up for me during the wedding ceremony."

"Oh." Kate smiled. It was small but genuine. "I assumed you would want Anthony."

"He was gonna be my second choice," Simon laughed. "But Daphne told me he'd be standing with her approximately twelve seconds after she put the ring on her finger. Ben walking her down the aisle, Anthony standing at her side, Greg and Hy with the rings and flowers. Done and dusted. Mum and Violet will hardly have anything to plan."

After a few moments, Kate said, "It's nice that she was already thinking about it, Si."

"Yeah. It is." Simon tried to bite down his grin. "So," he rubbed Kate's shoulder. "Do you want to? Best Woman? Best Lady?"

"We can work on the label, but yes. I would love to support you, if you can believe it."

Simon breathed a sigh of relief before asking, "If you don't think you can–"

"I can. I want to. You know Newton will have to be up there, though, right?"

"Of course. You'll have to come with us to pick out suits so he can match."

—

Kate stood in front of Anthony's door for entirely too long. Definitely long enough to feel like a lunatic. Long enough to feel like a creep because she could hear him moving around, listening to music. Knock on the fucking door or leave, Jesus.

"Fuck it."

She knocked and waited. Is he ignoring the knock or did he not hear it? He didn't say, "Coming," or anything. She knocked again a bit louder. That was too loud, surely. Like, ‘home invasion’ levels of loudness. Just turn around–

The door swung open and the bastard looked gorgeous, damn him, in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a pencil tucked behind his ear. He was a bit breathless as he greeted her. "Hey, sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. I'm the one bothering you."

"Not at all." He backed up against his door and gestured inside. "Would you like to come in?"

Kate looked past him then down at her dog. "Um, Newton will have to come in."

Anthony smiled and nodded. "He's welcomed as well."

Kate shrugged. "OK. Newton."

She pointed into Anthony's flat and Newton walked in, followed by Kate.

Kate looked around briefly, lingering curiously at the flowers and other flora hanging upside down, drying in front of a window, before she found Anthony's eyes. He was looking at her with a lopsided grin as he leaned against the wall. "I won't stay long. I just wanted to say I'm free tomorrow night. If you want to do something. I could have just texted, I guess."

Anthony stood up straighter and adjusted his glasses. "No, I'm glad you came over. Yes, tomorrow night works. I, um, I'll need to– No, I can make that happen."

"If it's any trouble, that's fine. We can try another night."

"No, this works, I promise. I just needed to think through what I have planned for us."

"Ooh, plans."

"Yes, plans." He said, tapping his fingers together mischievously. "Oh, Newton can come if you need him to."

Kate looked down at Newton, who was resting on her feet. "Yeah, I may. I won't really know until it’s time to go. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, yeah. No problem."

They looked at each other for a couple of moments before Anthony blinked a few times and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, do you want to sit down? Can I get you anything?"

"No. Thank you, but no. I really did just want to ask you about tomorrow. Since you're the one with these mysterious plans, when should I be ready?"

"Uh… Let's say six?"

"OK. I'll see you at six, then."

"Great. I'll see you then." Kate walked back across the hall. And once her door was closed, she slid down onto the floor. Newton hopped into her lap. She stroked his fur as she thought, This is a good thing. It's a good thing.

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Breakfast Blues. (Shigaraki x f!Reader, NSFWish)

Tomura could tell something was off as soon as he entered the kitchen. Your smile felt a little too forced, your eyes a little too hopeful as you plated a bowl of rice and eggs for him, hesitating for a moment to speak. It put him in a sour mood. He didn't like having to pry answers from you.

He usually managed to swipe his breakfast away and go back to his room for privacy, but you were making this increasingly difficult for him lately. It started with inane attempts to get him into conversations with you, which really was a stupid idea, given the fact that he never mustered more than a few grunts in the morning. His growling stomach initially helped fighting you off, but you seemed to have a backbone today.

Gripping the dishes in hand, you offered him a meek smile and asked, "Would you like to eat together?"

His eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Why?" his voice croaked out, scratchy and unpleasant from disuse.

"I just thought it would be nice. You're busy a lot, so ... "

"So?" Your confidence faltered under his scrutinizing stare. Something about your dying smile made him even more irritated, or perhaps confused. And he did not like feeling confused. "I'm hungry, woman."

Sensing his displeasure, you wordlessly handed over the breakfast and looked away. Under different circumstances, Tomura liked teasing you in this state. So secretive and cute, your lips set in a stubborn pout and your chin cast downwards for him to inevitably grip and force your attention back to him.

But he was so damn hungry and he had a game loaded on his computer for his return.

Tomura turned to leave, having decided he waited enough for your comeback. It was only the glaring absence of your shuffling feet and the tinkering of cookware that made him pause for a split second at the threshold. Just a quick glance to satiate his curiosity.

You stood exactly where he left you, still looking away, hands wringing together without anything else to hold. Defeated and hurt. The sting of negative emotions welled up inside him so suddenly that he immediately took off, wishing he had a free hand to scratch his neck.

-

No amount of homecooked breakfast or countless wins could erase his lingering discontent. Tomura tried to ignore that strange encounter with you, burying his thoughts in strategies and shit-talking as he let the time slip away. But try as he might, he just couldn't shake it off. Throwing aside his game console, Tomura leered at the clock and slumped in his chair, annoyed at the realization that you hadn't visited him this whole time.

You were nowhere to be found in the apartment. A cursory glance at his phone showed him a single text from you. I'm going out with Toga. Be back later.

You didn't even send him a heart emoji.

It was a stupid thing to set him off. Everything about today was stupid. You were stupid, he was stupid, his damn neediness was stupid, even the breakfast bowls he brought to the sink were stupid. What kind of world was this, where he, Shigaraki Tomura, successor of Japan's most dangerous criminal, brought his dishes to the kitchen and moped about a goddamn heart emoji.

He needed a drink.

-

It was a testament to his bad mood that Tomura chose to walk all the way to the bar instead of asking Kurogiri to warp him there. His eyes scanned the streets in a vain attempt to track you down among the crowd, but you were nowhere to be found and he was growing anxious by the minute.

Tomura kicked the door open and hopped the counter to pilfer the expensive liquor stash. His taste gravitated towards the most expensive rum in the collection. He could certainly chase his sorrows away with cheap swill or rubbing alcohol, but if he was going to torture his body tonight, then he would do so with style. It was all worthless in the end, anyway.

He sat by himself for who knows how long. It was utterly pathetic and he knew he had better things to do, yet every time he tried to pull himself away from the counter, his head spun uncomfortably and the amber liquid beckoned him towards a numbing buzz. His phone lay abandoned on the counter, having been checked several times for a text or a phone call from you.

You hadn't even called to find out where he was. He had half a mind to wonder if you would walk through the door to surprise him, but there were only so many times he could glance at the door before the urge to disintegrate it took hold. He grabbed the rum bottle instead, messily pouring more liquor into his glass as he ignored the distortion of the air in front of him. He was in no state of mind to stare straight into Kurogiri's spinning portal. The very thought of it made him slam the bottle down and hold onto it for dear life to compose himself.

Kurogiri appeared behind the bar, quietly assessing the state of his charge. He pulled out a rag to mop up spilled liquor and eyed Tomura's heavy movements as he let go of the rum and took the glass in a white-knuckled grip.

"You are alone."

Tomura grunted, taking a swig to avoid conversation. His guardian was smart enough to immediately pick up his mood. It was both annoying and reassuring to see those golden eyes narrow in astute observation.

"It is rare for your lover to be absent."

"..."

A moment of silence. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, but you seem to be more upset than usual."

Tomura snorted. "Yeah, no shit." He stared at the rum glass in frustration, glaring at the alcohol as though it had personally offended him. His fingertips curled around the rim as he lifted the glass and swirled the liquid around, irate at the stretching silence. It was bad enough he had to deal with your petulant absence. Now he had to endure Kurogiri's calm patience, too.

His fingers gripped the glass tighter as he contemplated satisfying his urge to decay, to give him some form of release from the frustration currently plaguing him. The blaring noise of his video games would be a welcome respite from this silence. Instead, he was forced to nurse a headache while Kurogiri made him feel like a child.

All because of you. You had a hold on him even when you were gone. Perhaps even more poignant because you were gone.

"It's fucking dumb," Tomura grumbled. And it was. The situation was so unbelievably ridiculous that he clammed up again, unable to voice his problems lest he fly into a rage over the mental image of your sorrowful eyes and quivering bottom lip.

"What happened?"

"I don't even know. She's been acting weird the past week and it all blew over this morning." His leg jittered restlessly against the footrest. He crossed his leg over his thigh to regain some semblance of control, letting out a sharp sigh as he scratched his neck. "I just wanted some damn breakfast. That's all. And that woman stood there looking like I broke up with her just because I didn't want to eat with her."

"Were you doing something important?"

Oh, he did not like that question. He did not like it one bit.

"I was in the middle of gaming," Tomura growled through clenched teeth. "Don't even try to bitch at me about it."

"That was not my intention. I know how important your lifestyle is to you." Tomura stared at him, feeling his anger somehow slip through the cracks and fizzle away. Kurogiri took the whiskey bottle beside him and poured more into the emptying glass. "Has this happened before?"

"No. Sometimes she tried to keep me there longer with dumb small-talk, but she's never flat out asked. And the damn look on her face when I - " Tomura cut himself off with a frustrated growl. Your defeated expression haunted him once more. He downed the liquor in one go and reveled in the horrible burn tearing his throat apart. "What the hell does she want from me?" he forced out, staring hard into the distance as a sudden sense of shame stabbed him like a knife.

"If I may speculate ... " Kurogiri paused, waiting for his rebuke. When none came, an answer followed. "You are often preoccupied throughout the day. Perhaps she simply misses you and craves your attention."

Tomura opened his mouth and promptly closed it. A bout of dizziness hit him. Was it the alcohol or the crashing realization of how obvious the answer had been?

The logic of Kurogiri's statement was so absurdly simple that it had to be true. Because you really were just so simple. Uncomplicated in your motives, always wearing your heart on your sleeve, and always so flagrantly loving and patient with him. Tomura looked away from Kurogiri, hating how well his guardian knew not only him, but you, too.

A little flame of happiness kindled deep inside him, threatening to chase away the darkness of his bitter emotions. You hadn't been difficult on purpose this morning. You just wanted to spend time with him.

His bleary gaze settled on the monitor resting at the other end of the bar. How would his mentor react to this situation?

The silence coming from the monitor felt altogether different from what he experienced so far. It was uncomfortable and imposing, filling his ears with white noise and clouding his thoughts. Tomura stared at his reflection in the black screen and frowned, hyper-aware of the way his eyes had softened while he thought about you, the way he looked so boyish and tired.

Look at what she is turning you into, the screen seemed to say.

"Shigaraki Tomura." He tore his gaze away from his reflection and met Kurogiri's expressionless face. "Is it a weakness to enjoy feeling wanted?"

His brows furrowed in thought.

-

Tomura made up with you in the most typical fashion. That is to say, he cornered you at home and snuffed out any further talk by devouring your lips with incessant kisses, taking you right on the living room couch and stalking after you to your bedroom for more. It was a love language he knew best, letting you feel his feverish desire with every deep thrust, the firm iron grip of his hands on your soft hips and thighs, his groans and whispered demands for more of you, more of your tight heat and your gentle fingers outlining his scars, touching his rough lips, nails digging into his back as you mewl for more of him.

You were hellfire. There was no liquor strong enough in the world to burn him half as much as his need to tell you he loved you. The words clawed and tore at his chest, inflamed his throat until he choked on them, forcing him to spit out twisted versions of the truth. Cowardly, pathetic half-truths about how you belonged to him, how you were his and his alone.

And you still smiled at him for it. You took all that he gave you and asked for so little in return.

Is it a weakness to enjoy feeling wanted?

The question plagued him throughout the night as your arms held him close, his head pillowed on your chest while he listened to your soft breathing and felt the beat of your heart whispering an answer he could not decipher.

-

Tomura awoke to your absence. It was not a rare occurrence. The split-second paranoia washing over him was not rare, either. He ran from that feeling many times before, immediately sick at the thought of how lonely he felt without you. It was pathetic. He should not feel this way about anyone. He should feel empty, as though you were just a moment of entertainment, an experience to be had and a level to beat in the game of life.

But you were well past that point now. Whether or not he could say it aloud, Tomura was in love. So if you wanted to have breakfast together, then you had better prepare yourself for his morning attitude.

He caught you a little early this time. You were in the middle of stirring an omelette when he crept up behind you, jolting in surprise as he pressed himself to your back and wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Good morning," you greeted him, giving him a peck on the cheek. A light smile played on your lips. "I'm almost done."

Tomura purred a noncommittal response and curled his fingers around your jaw, angling your head back to capture your mouth in a lazy kiss. Your pleased sigh broke off into a stilted noise as he dipped his tongue inside and made sure you felt every slow lick and suck to your lips. His arm tightened in response to you melting against him, mentally debating whether he should let you finish cooking or to find the nearest surface to defile.

A sizzling pop from the frying pan caught your attention. You kissed him hard and returned to your duty, using your spatula to roll the omelette into shape. Your tongue peaked out from your reddened lips as you made a face of mild disgust. "You didn't brush, nasty."

"Didn't stop you though," Tomura countered, grinning at your wry expression.

You spooned the cooked food onto a nearby plate and cracked another egg into the pan. He waited for your invitation, good mood dampening by the second as you settled into your routine without another word. It was an expected reaction, to be fair. He hurt you yesterday and now he was paying for it.

Your questioning glance put him on alert. "Do you need something else?"

He wracked his brain for a response. Something that could keep him here longer without raising further suspicion. "Orange juice."

"It's in the fridge. Can you pour me some, too?"

Tomura forced himself to detach from you, taking his time to complete the task as he watched your progress from the corner of his eye. Cups placed on the table. Orange juice poured at a strategically slow rate. By the time he finished, your breakfast had been plated and you left it unattended to hurriedly put the forgotten box of eggs back into the fridge. Tomura used this distraction to take both plates to the table, setting yours across from him as he plopped down onto the chair and began to eat.

You caught on as soon as the fridge door closed. Tomura could feel your stare on him while he downed the orange juice. He glanced at you nonchalantly, eyebrow raised as though you were the one behaving abnormally.

"You're joining me?" you asked, a hint of hope coloring your voice as you sat down.

"Clearly."

You smiled so sweetly that he felt his heart stammer and restart. "Wow. Can I get you to eat some fruits while we're at it?"

"Don't push your luck," he grumbled, and that was the end of that.

Tomura silently listened to your happy chatter and the clanging of silverware on plates, wondering how the hell he found himself in domestic bliss. Sunlight streamed through the nearby window and illuminated your entire being, heightening your inner glow. You looked beautiful and peaceful. It calmed him far more than you could ever know.

Did he feel weak as he basked in your attention? Did he feel weak, knowing that you wanted him beside you even for the most mundane things?

The answer was undeniable.

He felt strong.

Different from the power trip he thrived on when he succeeded in yet another level.

Different from the sadistic glee he felt when the nomu followed his command.

Different from the sense of duty plaguing his mind when his teammates looked to him for direction.

This inner sense of peace steadied his mind and cleared his thoughts. How could it be weakness when he would tear the world apart for you?

The soft tap of your foot on his knee drew his attention to you. "This was nice," you softly said. "Next time I'll leave a trail of takoyaki outside your room so you can join me for lunch."

He huffed a dry laugh. "Make me botamochis and you got yourself a deal."

"You'll eat sweets made from red beans but not a single fruit ... " You innocently popped another strawberry into your mouth. "Not even these strawberries ... "

"Get over here and give me a taste then," he growled, settling back in his chair with a clear invitation of his own.

You accepted without delay.

[writtenonreceipts]

A prompt for feysand maybe - a good old "please pretend to be my boyfriend because this guy is creeping me out" hehe if you ever feel like it<3

Oh trust me, writing is my distraction from the real world and I need the distraction.  

Thanks for the prompt! I love them

#

With the way that the night was going, Rhysand was certain he’d made a mistake in joining his brothers for a drink that night after work.  It was the final game of the NBA championships and the teams competing for the title were the best in the league.  Meaning the bar was utterly packed.

“Hell,” Cassian muttered as he sat back down at the table with a couple of beers in hand.  He passed one to Rhys and left one for Azriel who was currently dancing with a girl named Emerie from his work. “We need a new bar.”

“I told you we should’ve gone to Rita’s,” Rhys said, taking his beer.  Not only was Rita’s closer to their apartment but they actually knew Rita who always treated them well.

“Wanted to try something new,” Cassian grumbled.  

Rhysand could read his brother’s posture, the way he kept glancing around the busy bar.  He was looking for someone.  Rolling his eyes, Rhys sipped his drink.  Cassian had probably flirted with some girl who had mentioned this place in passing and now was hoping to find the same girl here.

He would tease Cassian for it later he decided.

Instead, he watched as another foul was called on screen.  What was most amusing about the entire scenario was that the player who’d committed the foul was trying to argue the call even though it had been an obvious violation.  The opposing player sunk the penalty shots with ease.

When a commercial came up, Rhys glanced toward the door hoping by some miracle Mor or Amren would be able to show up.  But both had dates.  

Amid the chaos of the game and customers, Rhysand almost missed the young woman who entered.  Her light brown hair hung in loose curls past her shoulders.  The dress she wore was a dark blue that clung to her body in all the right places.  Her light skin had a health glow and even from a distance Rhys could see the bright blue flecks of her eyes.

Feyre Archeron.  

Rhysand only knew her from sparse conversations where they worked.  She mostly called him a prick and spoiled rich boy.  At least she used to until she learned that he was the CEO’s son.  Then she got very good at avoiding him entirely.

He was almost tempted to get up and greet her, test the boundaries she would set.  Feyre’s sharp wit and quick tongue were always enjoyable.  Not to mention Rhysand always found he was fascinated by the grit she exuded at work being one of the only women in the office.

And then she was immediately swooped upon by a man in a green button up.

Rhysand turned back to his beer.  

“You’re just gonna sit back?” Cassian asked.  He wore a smirk and waggled his eyebrows.

“Shut-up,” Rhys muttered.

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you,” Cassian said. “Especially when it’s Tamlin Doyle.”

Rhy’s hand clenched around his beer.  He’d been hoping he hadn’t seen properly.

“She hates me,” Rhysand reminded his brother.

“Oh really?” Cassian’s grin turned feral but Rhysand didn’t have the time to question him on what was going on when a hand trailed around his shoulder and a lithe body dropped into his lap without warning and without fanfare.

Instinctively Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.  His heart hammered into overtime when he realized who it was exactly.

Feyre, in all her glory, was leaning into him until all he could smell was her warm vanilla scent and all he could feel was her breath as it caressed his neck when she leaned into him.

“Please pretend to be my boyfriend, the guy at the bar is creeping me out.” Her mouth brushed against his ear, his cheek.

Rhysand leaned back, shock clearly written on his face.  But Feyre looked so panicked that he would turn her down that he couldn’t help when he pressed a kiss to the crown of her forehead.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said, certainly loud enough that Tamlin would hear.

“Traffic was hell,” she replied swiftly, “not to mention someone made me stay late from work to finish up his reports.”

“I would never do that,” Rhysand said appalled, but something in him was absolutely gleeful at the gleam in Feyre’s eyes.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Yeah you would.”

Feyre threw her head back and laughed. Rhysand had almost forgotten his brother was here.  He wanted to glare at him, but Feyre seemed delighted at seeing him that the words choked off.

“Cassian, how I’ve missed you,” Feyre crooned.  She dropped a small look over Rhysand’s shoulder before pressing a feather light kiss to his cheek.  Tamlin was still watching. “Where have you been?”

“Private security,” Cassian said.  There was no mistaking how much Cassian seemed to be enjoying the personal misery that Rhysand was facing as he grinned at Feyre. “Been travelling.”

“Shame, there’s nothing good to look at the office anymore,” Feyre said as she swiped Rhysand’s beer from the table and took a long sip.  

Rhysand rolled his eyes and rested as hand on the curve of  Feyre’s waist.  She cast him a side look with a quirked brow.  Appearing as innocent as possible, Rhys shrugged and cast a look to where Tamlin Doyle was still leaned against the bar watching them.

“Really, Rhys?” Cassian cast him a suggestive look and a well aimed kick under the table. “Stopped walking around shirtless in the office?”

“If I remember, you’re the one who dumped that water on me,” Rhysand said.

A prank war had been taken a step too far initiating a slight strip tease in the office.  Rhy’s father had not been amused.  And far too many of the women in the office had been present at the incident which made for too many cursory glances and invitations out for drinks.

And Rhysand really had eyes for only one person in the office and she pretended that he didn’t exist.

Feyre chuckled in his lap, leaning into his chest.  Her long hair brushed against his neck as she moved.  The motion only reminded Rhysand of her lean curves, the tight fit of her dress that was increasingly riding up her thighs and drawing his attention.

It was far too easy to imagine running his hands over her skin, testing her limits to see what would set her aflame.  But all too soon, Feyre let out a long sigh and pulled away from Rhysand.

Reluctantly, Rhysand pulled his gaze from Feyre to look around the bar and he found that Tamlin had disappeared.

“Thanks for the cover boys,” Feyre said as she stood.  She cast both Rhys and Cassian a smile. “Until next time.”

Rhysand watched as Feyre crossed the bar to where another young woman waited.  There was an obvious familial resemblance between the two.  The second woman had her hair pulled back into a neat bun, the angles of her face much sharper than Feyre’s and the blue of her eyes was hard as steel.

“That’s her,” Cassian hissed from across the table. “The one who told me about this place.”

But Rhysand barely heard him as he watched Feyre leave.  Part of him wanted to chase after her and somehow get her to stay.   He knew however, what her response would be.  He could only watch as she disappeared around a corner.  Monday was going to be hell.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “Dude.  You’re screwed.”

Rhys flipped his brother off.

#

thanks for reading, love ya’ll

tags:

@tottenhamboys20 @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowoww @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan  @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @harrymoncheri @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @my-fan-side @sjmships @emikadreams

[queen-scribbles]

Handholding #39 (museum) for Ryn/Red? seems right up their alley :)

39. holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition

Oh, it absolutely does, here we GO. This is set in canon between chapters 5 and 6, but there's no spoilers or anything for either. Just fluff.

--------

Even with the Order growing like it was, days off were still a treat. Days off that coincided with Red's day off felt like a luxury or gift straight from the hand of the One-God. And the fact he'd jumped straight to "oh, we have to spend at least part of it together, then," when they realized the overlap made Xaeryn smile so wide her face hurt.

She was the one to suggest the museum, after they'd spent the morning reading so long their eyes crossed, and one particularly ancient tome made Red sneeze five times in a row. He agreed with alacrity that suggested he'd been thinking something similar and the two of them carefully reshelved their stacks of books before heading out into the streets of Haven.

"So, where do we start when we get there?" Xaeryn asked as they headed toward the museum at a deliberate mosey.

Red rubbed the back of his neck and flashed a small sheepish smile. "Is it a cop-out to say I don't care because I hope we have time to see everything?"

She laughed and looped her arm through his. "Alright, I'll pick, even if I am hoping the same thing. Let's start in the west gallery and work around to finish in the east."

"Sounds good to me," he amiably.

The museum was rather empty when they arrived; most people opting to spend the first nice day after a week-long heat wave outdoors. Still, their iladrin drew suspicious initial looks from even those few. The Shepherd medallion hanging prominently around Xaeryn's neck kept it from being anything more, as did the fact she was recognizable to most, but the knee-jerk distrust still made her roll her eyes.

"How long d'you think you'll make it before someone asks you to sign something?" Red murmured, amusement heavy in his voice.

Xaeryn rolled her eyes again, with a smile this time, and scanned the hall. "I don't see any children, who're usually the one to start that, so I'll likely escape unbothered." Hopefully. She hated the notoriety she'd achieved. The other patrons would steal glances and whisper gossip about the Hero of Haven, but if the One-God loved her at all no one would try to talk to her.

"Act like a tourist, that'll probably help," Red joked, and she laughed. "I'm serious, Ryn."

"No, I know. It's a good idea." She arched a brow at him. "Shall we test if it actually works?"

"Might as well," he said, laughing a he ran one hand through his hair.

Xaeryn bit back a smile and reached over to smooth a couple particularly wild spikes of hair left in the motion's wake. "Doing research on our day off, Liefred?"

Red grinned boyishly at her teasing tone. "It's fun. And it was your idea, Xaer."

She couldn't argue with either of those excellent points(which was absolutely unrelated to the things his smile was doing to her), so she simply nodded in concession and headed for a nearby pair of statues.

They started in the same place, but gradually drifted apart as they made their way further into the museum and their attention was caught by different things. Xaeryn lost track of Red altogether somewhere around the Relics of the Early Church exhibit, which he skimmed through with only a cursory glance and she spent nearly half an hour perusing every last placard and artifact there. It was fine; they'd reconnect eventually. (It wasn't like this was a date or anything, right?)

Xaeryn was engrossed in studying the fading and weathered map central to the Eastward Explorers exhibit when a hand settled on her wrist and she started to jerk back.

"Just me," Red assured her, and she stopped halfway through the motion. "Sorry, I forgot- Xaer, you have to see this!"

Knowing now it was him, she let him grab her hand and drag her down the hall toward another exhibit. An actual giggle escaped her when she saw what had him so worked up.

"All the artifacts and treasures in here, trust you to get excited over a book," she teased.

"Like you're any different," Red grinned back, not batting an eye.

Xaeryn laughed. "Touché."

They drew to a halt by the display pedestal and Red gestured enthusiastically toward the hefty tome laid open atop it. "Look."

She obliged, and it only took a few seconds' focus on the visible pages for her brows to furrow, then arch. "Sun above..." She could see why he was so excited; from what she could read this tome appeared to precede the one she'd given him for his birthday. At the very least it was something of a companion volume. "That's definitely worth getting excited over," she murmured.

Red made a noise of distracted agreement as he stared at the tome. "What do you think the odds are they'd lend that to the Shepherds if we asked?"

"Low," she said, hating his disappointment but unwilling to lie. "At least, not without a good reason." She squeezed his hand, still wrapped around hers. "And 'just curious' unfortunately is not enough in scenarios like this."

"That's what I figured," he sighed around a wry laugh, still staring at the pages. "But think about what might be in there, Ryn."

"I know." Xaeryn studied the display, mind already spinning. "This looks like a new exhibit. Maybe once it's been here a month or two, we can come with a reason to borrow it for a few days and just resign ourselves to not seeing you for those few days."

Red laughed. "Blade wouldn't want us to lie."

"I don't want us to lie," she said, leaning in so their arms pressed together. You're terrible at it, anyway. "That's why I said come with a reason, not make one up." She tugged on his hand. "Come on, there's still lots to see, and we're burning daylight."

Red looked like he wanted to press the previous conversation further, but let it go as he followed her from the room. Their hands stayed joined the rest of the way through the museum.

And the walk home.

"Nice to have a day I don't have to fight Endarkened," Xaeryn commented as they reached Ashtown.

"Careful, we're not back yet, it could still happen," Red teased.

She shot him a flat look for even speaking the possibility into existence. "Any demons show up to ruin my day with you, I will send them screaming back to Hael before you can say 'Solhadur Academy'."

"I believe you," he chuckled, leaning over to brush a kiss against her temple, only briefly hesitating before his lips met her skin. "And I'm flattered."

"You should be," Xaeryn teased, returning the kiss with one on his cheek. "I had a good time today, Red."

Red smiled and squeezed her hand. "Me, too, Xaer."

They walked into the Shepherd compound--back to reality--together. It had been, Xaeryn thought contented, a very good use of a day off.

[delicioussshame]

Sugar daddy AU: new chapter. That’s it, that’s the fic.

The world has never stopped spinning for Shen Yuan before, so why would it now?

He’s sure Luo Binghe is thrilled with his current situation. If he really wanted to create a perfect bubble where he would be the center of Shen Yuan’s universe, he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He’s been all Shen Yuan has been able to think about. The moral conundrum of considering whether you’re attracted to your former student, and if so, whether you can and should accept his affection, has been dominating his every moment. Each time he thinks that yes, he could see himself allowing this, allowing Luo Binghe the more he has so visibly been craving, he falters. In a way, it seems like a culmination of all his failures; a failed career he’s a disgrace to and a return to values he’d sworn to leave behind with his family.

But maybe, just maybe, Binghe would be worth it. Shen Yuan thinks if anyone could make those concerns seem ridiculous with only the power of their presence by his side, it would be Luo Binghe.

All his hesitations don’t stop his heart from freezing in his chest where the school sends an email regarding his teaching plan for the upcoming term.

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to ride the wave of anxiety that returning to the beat of regular employment brings. He hasn’t looked forward to returning to class for years, but after those sweet weeks spent doing nothing but relaxing? Facing coworkers that were at best indifferent, at worst downright abusive for the sake of disinterested students is such an unappealing prospect that it almost gives him nausea.

He’s been too spoiled. Shen Yuan normally spends the summer working part-time jobs to make ends meet. This year, Luo Binghe had swiped all those worries away. One of the first things he’d done was tell Shen Yuan that he’d be paying his rent for now, like he would be providing for all his other needs. Shen Yuan had protested, but he’d known it was pointless. How was he supposed to stop Luo Binghe from sending money to his landlord?

Without those preoccupations, Shen Yuan had permitted himself freedom from work in general. He had spared not a thought to that most unpleasant matter. His romantic life, if it could be called that, had demanded all his attention.

Now, enough was enough. This had been fun, but Shen Yuan had a job to do. No matter how much he dreads it, he has to review his lesson plan.

Such is life.

_________________

It takes Luo Binghe only one cursory look at Shen Yuan to notice something went very, very wrong. His dear teacher is tense, hunched over his desk, hand on his forehead as if he’s trying to hold a headache at bay. Shen Yuan hasn’t appeared this stressed since he set foot inside Luo Binghe’s home. He radiates distress like he did that day, when Luo Binghe went to visit him and found him on the verge of collapse.

Back then, all he wanted was to stop that collapse.

That conviction has never faltered.

Gently, Luo Binghe taps Shen Yuan’s shoulder. “Laoshi?”

Shen Yuan doesn’t turn. “Binghe, not now. I’m busy.”

Luo Binghe glances at the document he’s worked on, and swears inwardly. Is all it took to reverse all the progress they made a reminder of that dreaded job?

Shen Yuan isn’t going back, and that’s final. “Why is Laoshi wasting his valuable time on this? Doesn’t he trust his Binghe?”

Shen Yuan turns toward him, annoyance visible on his face. “What does trust have to do with this?”

He stays firm. “I told Laoshi all I wanted was for him to be happy and healthy. I promised I would do anything for this to happen. His job doesn’t make him happy. Why would he return to it? He still has a few days to send his notice in time. He can leave the school behind and stay with me instead.”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “Binghe, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I see no reason why Laoshi should go back when he doesn’t need to work.”

“I do need to work. I can’t rely on Binghe’s good will for the rest of my life. Sooner or later, he’ll get tired of paying for an old man and will look to buy a younger, sweeter companion.”

There is so much wrong with this sentence Luo Binghe is struck silent. Shen Yuan knows better than this. He’s just in too fool a mood to act like it.

He regains control of himself. “First, Laoshi must never talk of himself like he’s a passing fancy I feel like throwing money at. It’s insulting both to yourself and to my love for you. Second, he can rely on me however he wants to. If he’s not secure with his current position, that can be dealt with. I will happily pay whatever lawyer he chooses to draft any arrangement he deems agreeable. I can transfer him a set amount of money each week that he can manage at his discretion. I can also give him a lump sum, significant enough that if something were to happen, he could live by himself, though he’s already my will’s sole beneficiary. Work is unnecessary.”

At this, Shen Yuan shakes. “I’m sorry? Did you just say that in the event of your death, you’re leaving me everything? Me?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t know why Shen Yuan is so surprised. “Who else? Laoshi knows I have no family. I have no plan to die before Laoshi, but if it were to happen, that’s no reason not to keep my promise.” It won’t, of course. Luo Binghe won’t allow it.

“Are you serious? That’s something you do for a spouse, not a dumb childhood crush.”

He genuinely thought they were over this. “Laoshi isn’t a crush. He’s someone I’ve been in love with for since I was a teenager. Didn’t I say I wanted him by my side at all times? I planned consequently.” If Shen Yuan wants children, modifications will be made to the will, but this won’t be happening anytime soon. For now, Luo Binghe wants him all to himself.

“I… We’re not even a couple yet! Binghe is being reckless! If he’s this open, what’s stopping me from fleecing him for all he’s got and leaving him destitute!”

Luo Binghe laughs, encouraged by the “yet”. “Laoshi would never. He’s too good a man to do such a thing.”

“I could! Binghe thinks he knows me so well, but the truth is he doesn’t. He’s got this image of me as a saint, as a person without flaws nor desires, but he’s wrong. Every day, I take advantage of Binghe’s kindness.”

Shen Yuan is the one who doesn’t know himself. “Taking what’s freely offered is not taking advantage.”

“It is when no sane person would make the offer!”

“Does Laoshi think me insane, then?”

“Well, no. I know Binghe is very smart.”

“Then why not trust I know what I’m doing?”

“Because you don’t!”

This is going nowhere. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m making Laoshi happy by keeping him from a job that is killing him.” He sighs. “If Laoshi absolutely feels like he needs to earn his own income, I will support him until he finds a decent job, or will pay for his continued education so that he can find something better, but I would much, much prefer he doesn’t bother. It’s stress he doesn’t need, for no reason. I just cannot accept his return to a school that has only one good point: him. It’s not good for him. As I said earlier, whatever he needs as collateral to feel safe, I’m willing to provide, as long as he does what’s best for himself.”

Shen Yuan looks speechless.

Luo Binghe doesn’t flinch.

“Every time I think Binghe must be fooling himself, or fooling me, he goes and does something like this, something that no one else would do, as if to prove his honesty. He makes me feel like an idiot.”

“That must be novel. I imagine someone as wonderful as Laoshi doesn’t feel that way often.”

“Just most days of my life.”

“Then his life must change. Laoshi should only feel good.” Which is something Luo Binghe would gladly help with, no matter when and where.

He takes Shen Yuan’s hand in his; presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “Please. Don’t go.”

Silence rests heavy on his shoulders for a while, until Shen Yuan breaks. “I’ll consider it.”

Luo Binghe embraces him and decides to wait.

_________________

The notice is sent two days later.

_________________

One moment Luo Binghe is preparing to go to bed, the next Shen Yuan, still damp from the shower, sits on his lap and kisses him.

It takes Luo Binghe negative one second to respond in kind, to open his mouth and to kiss back, his arms snaking around Shen Yuan’s waist to pull him closer and keep him there. Laoshi is the one who initiated! Luo Binghe can’t allow him to take it back.

Not that it seems like he will. Shen Yuan doesn’t struggle at all as Luo Binghe deepens the kiss, as his hands find the buttons of Shen Yuan’s sleeping shirt and open a trail he follows with his mouth. His laoshi’s breath fastens as Luo Binghe acquaints himself with his chest, fingers dancing over his ribs and down the gentle curve of his back.

Such good behavior has to be rewarded.

He does lift his eyes to Shen Yuan’s before removing his pants.

His beloved doesn’t say a word as he turns his gaze away demurely, but the caress in Luo Binghe’s hair speaks volumes, as does the seductive way he opens his thighs. If Shen Yuan has finally accepted his advances, how could Luo Binghe refuse him?

There are so many things Luo Binghe dreamed of doing to his Laoshi. He wants to spend hours worshipping him, keeping him in a state of unforgiving arousal until he begs for release. He wants to prepare him carefully and take him gently, painlessly, until all of Shen Yuan’s stress has left him and he’s barely conscious. He wants to fuck him until he screams. He wants to ride him languorously, for hours on end, until his body has taken the shape of Shen Yuan and no one else’s. He wants to be tied to the bed and used until he’s crying for mercy, and then be denied that mercy. He wants to go to work wearing the mark of Shen Yuan’s teeth high on his neck proudly, knowing his laoshi is wearing the exact same mark at home. He wants to fill him up with a remote-controlled toy and bring him to ecstasy during those interminable board meetings that would at least have a purpose, for once.

But for now, all he wants is to get to know all of Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan startles when Luo Binghe presses a kiss to his rapidly filling length, but he doesn’t protest. Good for him, because Luo Binghe isn’t sure he could have stopped. Not when he finally gets to find out how he tastes, how he sounds, how beautiful he looks when he flushes from pleasure.

He moans around him when Shen Yuan’s fingers twist into his hair. Shen Yuan could fuck his throat anytime, if he wanted to. Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind choking for him.

Maybe he could overcome that reflex with practice.

He would love to try.

It takes little time for Shen Yuan to groan and try to pull him off, which is a futile endeavor. Like Luo Binghe is going to waste any gift of Shen Yuan.

He greedily swallows it all down when Shen Yuan bites back his student’s name and digs his nails into Luo Binghe’s scalp.

Luo Binghe has never been this hard. “Laoshi, Shen Yuan, please.” He’d take anything. He’d rut against his leg if Shen Yuan would allow him to. “Please.”

Shen Yuan is bright red when his beautiful hand wraps around Luo Binghe’s cock, pulling and stroking in an awkward, unexperienced hold that Luo Binghe knows he’ll never get enough of. Just the sight of those white fingers on his feverish skin is enough to enthrall him. How is he going to last when they grow skilled? He’ll embarrass himself like the teenager he isn’t anymore! Even now, it takes all he has to last a few minutes.

He thought no sight could be fairer than Shen Yuan in pleasure, but the view of his fingers and chest covered in Luo Binghe’s come is so overwhelming Luo Binghe wishes his love was the type to allow for recording. If it were his face despoiled so… Luo Binghe would probably not soften at all.

Hopefully Shen Yuan will let him.

Another time. While Luo Binghe himself could easily keep on going for the rest of the night and the day after, what has happened tonight was probably a lot to ask of shy, proper Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe tries to soothe his exaltation, instead exploding in praises and endearments for his visibly embarrassed lover.

Luo Binghe ignores his attempts at distancing himself, instead holding him in his arm until Shen Yuan quiets and closes his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

_________________

Well, that happened.

It wasn’t… It was fine.

Okay, it was more than fine. One can only lie to themselves for so long. Luo Binghe is devastatingly handsome and convinced he loves Shen Yuan, for some reason. He’s not immune to that much charm!

He was kind. Shen Yuan had been as mentally prepared as he could be to find himself pushed on his back and taken, but Luo Binghe had waited.

Shen Yuan fully expects it will happen sooner or later. He’ll deal then. It will be hard on him, because quite honestly, he’s not sure anyone on Earth is built the right way to accommodate Luo Binghe, but he’ll do it. Binghe deserves it.

If he’s that serious about providing for Shen Yuan, he should get his money’s worth. Shen Yuan couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

[potts89]

By @potts89 for @hold-our-destiny, written for the fourth @friendly-neighborhood-exchange.

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Summary:

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?” “What do you mean what did you do?” “You’re giving me the look.” He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why. “Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?” “See him for what?”

It started out as a run-of-the-mill, after school patrol... until Peter was reminded of a different alley, from a different time, but a very much familiar scenario.

Read it here (full fic under the cut) and on AO3.

“You’ve got the board meeting at four o’clock today, and Morgan’s ballet recital is at ten tomorrow morning and we’re supposed to meet Jim for lunch afterwards.”

Pepper went through Tony’s schedule as she waltzed into his workshop that afternoon, the measured clicking of her heels somewhat making him nostalgic for those days back when she was still his personal assistant and she would always harangue him about his meetings. He smiled distractedly at the thought that his wife and CEO, even after over a decade and a half, still refused to delegate his schedule to someone else. Not that he was complaining (because, really, he much preferred it this way), because Pepper, Tony knew, happened to be very hands-on after all. That and the fact that she probably knew that, except for Morgan, no one else could pry Tony away from whatever new project he was currently obsessing on. So it made sense that if Pepper wanted him to actually adhere to his schedule, she really should take the reins herself.

Tony threw a cursory glance at his monitor just to check the time, because Pepper was standing in front of him with her arms crossed in front of her chest, impatiently waiting for him to say or do something.

He noted that he still had about an hour to wash up, get dressed, and take the elevators to the conference room which was just twenty floors down, so unless he forgot their wedding anniversary (which, to his credit, had never happened), Pepper shouldn’t be giving him that ‘Drop whatever it is you’re doing right now,’ look.

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?”

“What do you mean what did you do?”

“You’re giving me the look.”

He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why.

“Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?”

“See him for what?”

Ever since he got the kid back, Tony had been consciously trying to keep some distance. Sure, not a day went by that he didn’t worry about Peter – the anxiety over something happening, again, that could take the kid away from him, again, never truly completely disappeared – but he didn’t want to suffocate the boy either. So as much as Tony wanted to be a helicopter doting (pseudo-) parent, he kept his distance. He no longer required daily patrol reports, he disabled the Baby Monitor Protocol (at Peter’s request and much to his disapproval, although they did reach a compromise that Karen would automatically ping FRIDAY should Peter be fatally injured (they had a long discussion on what Tony actually meant with fatal afterwards)), and he didn’t mess with Peter’s patrolling unless the kid specifically asked for his help and advice.

The adjustments were difficult, but Tony knew that he wouldn’t be around to hold the boy’s hand forever so he endured the changes. Plus, Peter seemed to appreciate this new sense of responsibility and independence, and Tony could only imagine that this was probably what it would feel like when the kid would finally leave for college at MIT.

God, he could feel the separation anxiety already.

“Michelle called…” Pepper trailed off and Tony would later on realize that he really should’ve noted the worry in his wife’s tone. “Something happened during his patrol.”

That surely caught Tony’s attention. He quickly glanced up at Pepper while the screwdriver he had been working with clattered to the floor.

“Is he—”

“He’s not hurt… physically.”

“Right, of course. FRIDAY would’ve alerted me if that’s the case.” He breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived when he finally actually noticed the frown creasing Pepper’s features. “Wait, Michelle called? Where’s the kid?”

“He was on patrol. He tried to stop a mugging incident but by the time he got at the scene, a young boy’s father was already shot and—”

“He’s been blaming himself for it,” Tony finished for her and he knew just exactly what’s going on in Peter’s head right now.

Pepper reached for the rug that was lying on his worktable before walking up to him and giving it to him to wipe the grease off of his hands. “Michelle has been trying to convince him otherwise. Now I’m telling you this because Peter knows that Michelle’s the one person who will comfort him no matter what—”

“Which means he won’t believe it when she says it wasn’t his fault.”

Pepper nodded while Tony sighed tiredly, hating the fact that Peter seemed to have picked up on his own tendency for self-reproach. He handed the rug back to Pepper who seemed pleased that her husband appeared to be finally on the same page as she.

“Pep, honey, how important is today’s board meeting?” he asked, even if he knew that Pepper wouldn’t keep him anyway.

“Well, R&D is presenting that tech that you wanted the patent on.”

“Tell them I’ll have to reschedule.”

She smiled at him, a knowing smile that he had gotten so familiar with and so thankful for over the years. “I already did.”

He really did marry the perfect woman, didn’t he?

“You’re the best,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her and it did amuse him to note that she didn’t make a comment on how the grease would most likely get on her own clothes. He kissed her, deeply though hurriedly. “I love you.”

“Go and be a good dad. I love you, too.”

---- --- ----

“I thought we already agreed that you’d disable the tracker in my suit,” Peter muttered without glancing, long before Tony could even announce his arrival thanks to that thing he really didn’t like to call ‘Peter tingle.’

He had been sitting there alone all afternoon, deep in a quiet, one-way conversation with the headstone in front on him which bore the name of the uncle that pretty much raised him as his own. The same uncle who, up to this day, Peter still felt guilty and responsible for.

To say that Peter was having a terrible day was definitely an understatement. It started out like any normal afternoon – he nailed that physics test, he listened (enraptured) while MJ discussed the women’s suffrage in great detail over lunch, and he swung by Stark Tower to drop a new toy for Morgan sometime after class – there was nothing out of the ordinary, at least until a few minutes into his patrol.

He was swinging by some of his usual hunts in the city when his hyper-keen senses caught the scream of a young boy just a few blocks away. Peter rushed to the scene without second thought, but what he initially anticipated as a run-of-the-mill mugging incident in one of New York’s quiet alleys turned out to strike too close to home.

Peter just stood there, unmoving, rooted to the spot as the bandit fled the scene of the crime leaving behind a young boy quite possibly no older than nine, a man in his mid-forties lying on the pavement and possibly bleeding to death, and Peter who seemed to have been transported back to a different alley, from a different time, but in a very much familiar scenario.

Peter felt numb, so much so that for a while there, he completely believed that he was watching a younger version of himself, helplessly crouching over the bleeding man, while the police and ambulance sirens sounded nearer and nearer and nearer…

“What happened here?” one of the EMTs shouted but Peter was too stunned and completely trapped in his own head that he was practically the most useless person on the site. “Spider-Man?” the EMT prodded but Peter was too out of it (or maybe, too into it) that he barely registered the question at all.

Everything was a blur afterwards. He barely recalled the EMTs loading the victim and the young boy into the ambulance, he was quite unaware of the many people looking his way wondering why Spider-Man was standing there, motionless in an alley. He barely recalled clutching his phone to his ear and hearing MJ’s confused and worried voice as he muttered “It’s my fault,” over and over and over again.

He couldn’t even exactly remember how he managed to end up in this place, or how long he had been sitting there on the ground apologizing to the indifferent headstone that offered him neither forgiveness nor reassurance.

For hours (he wasn’t really sure if it had been hours, but it certainly felt that way to him), he kept having those dreaded flashbacks in his head… The image of the boy crouching over his father’s body merging and morphing into looking more like Peter, while he himself applied pressure on the man’s wounds with his bare hands, the same man who was beginning to look more and more like his—

“I did disable your suit’s tracker, but I didn’t exactly need one to know where to find you.” Tony’s voice was grounding, pulling him back to the present… to what was real, to what was happening.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Peter asked, not really knowing what was the point in asking. Still, he avoided Tony’s gaze, choosing to focus his eyes instead on the headstone in front of him even as the older man took a seat beside him. “You didn’t need to come and pick me up, I was heading back anyway—”

“Of course I know you’d be here, you give me so little credit, kid.” Peter felt that gentle, reassuring pat on his shoulder and the gesture alone was enough to break what little composure he had left. “And I also know that I didn’t need to come, but I wanted to.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, not out of shyness nor awkwardness because he and Tony were definitely past that point by now, but more because he was once again reminded that Tony actually cared… that the man was in his corner and would always be, come hell or high water.

Even after all these years, Peter still couldn’t wrap his head around that idea, that he actually had someone, that he wasn’t truly completely alone.

“Alright, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

“Who says there’s anything on my mind?” Peter deflected, easily picking up on Tony’s usual modus operandi when confronted with something that he wasn’t really keen about discussing. Peter learned from the master, after all.

“There’s always something on your mind,” Tony’s tone was patient with a hint of chiding, and Peter wanted to stop himself from thinking that the tone was almost paternal. “The only time it doesn’t pop right out of your mouth is when you’re not sure you should say it… that and when you were still trying to tell MJ that you actually like her. So?”

“I’m fine,” Peter mumbled, but he knew it would be pretty naïve of him if he were to believe that Tony would actually let him get away with not talking about it. Still, he could try, right?

He almost did believe that Tony had decided to drop the issue because the palpable silence stretched between them, with Peter not really wanting to relive the afternoon and with Tony probably waiting for that conversation opening that Peter would be absolutely unwilling to give to him. Still, Tony, Peter knew, was nothing if not persistent.

“Pete, you can’t save everybody.”

It was said so simply, so fatherly even, that Peter could really do very little to stop the dam from finally breaking. He knew that Tony knew that he never really felt comfortable talking about his uncle, and Peter was actually thankful that Tony had opted not to pursue the topic directly at least.

Still the thought didn’t do much to alleviate Peter’s guilt from what happened that afternoon. He kept thinking that if he had only been a bit faster, a little braver, a bit tougher… if he hadn’t let the ghost of his past failure haunt him at such a very crucial moment…

Peter cringed at the possibility that another kid could be orphaned by now all because he got scared and stunned, exactly like the boy he once was the last time he actually saw his uncle breathing and living…

“Kid, it’s not your fault. We try and we try but we can’t save them all.”

“But you did, and granted that it cost you a lot,” Peter paused, his red-rimmed eyes quickly darting towards Tony’s prosthetic arm, making him feel so small and unsure and inept. “But you did… you did save us all.”

“I didn’t, kid.”

“No, you actually did—”

“I didn’t, kid, at least not during the first time. Else, I would not have spent a lot of nights imagining, dreaming that I saved you in Titan. Because every night before I go to sleep, in the last five years I keep thinking about the things I could have done differently… Kid, every night I save you, in my head and in my dreams. But when it mattered the most, when it actually counted, I failed. I didn't save you.”

“No, Mr. Stark... Because when it mattered the most, you brought me back.”

Peter didn’t really know what else to say other than that, but he hoped that it was enough for now. He was, after all, very much aware that no matter how immensely grateful he truly was, his thanks wouldn’t even begin to give justice to what Tony had to do, had to gamble with, just to get him (and the others) back.

To tell the truth, he would have dwelled on the thought, on the more appropriate thing to say, but his mind was basically elsewhere at the moment and he blurted out his worries before he could even stop himself.

“I just… I froze earlier because I know what it’s like to be orphaned young, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Touché.”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean…”

He glanced at Tony but there was nothing but understanding in his old man’s eyes, the memory of his own loss clearly still as saddening but time had clearly played a factor in healing past wounds.

“I know what you mean, kid, more than anyone, really. I was twenty one then, technically already an adult, but I was very far from being one.”

“It’s just, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy… And to think that I could’ve done something earlier today had I been faster, stronger, braver…” Peter trailed off, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he thought back to his own parents and his uncle. “I know what it’s like to be alone, to be on your own… It was difficult, it still is.”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Peter furrowed his brows at the way that Tony’s voice broke. “Sorry for what?”

“I try so hard… so hard to make you feel that you have someone, that you’re no longer alone, that you’re not an orphan, at least not anymore. And I really thought that giving you some independence was what you wanted, but I guess I wasn’t doing enough if you still feel that—”

“But you are,” he cut in, only realizing in that moment that he had inadvertently made Tony  feel inadequate, when the truth was Peter actually felt so indebted to him. Peter knew that he owed him his life, so much so that he actually felt shy being around the man, especially whenever he would see Tony’s prosthetic arm because if not for him…

“You’re doing more than enough,” Peter assured him, wanting to tell him that he actually filled that paternal void just exactly when Peter needed him the most. “Mr. Stark, you’re like the—”

Peter caught himself, stopping before he could even say anything more… because doing so would be impolite, would be imposing, would be asking for too much.

“I’m like what?”

You’re like the father I wish I had.

Peter bit his lip as he tried to grapple not necessarily with the right words but with more appropriate ones, less assuming ones, because he was still so uncertain about his place in Tony’s family. Never mind the fact that Pepper would regularly set a place for him on the dinner table and Morgan would ask him to read her bedtime stories and Tony kept calling him kid but…

He didn’t feel worthy.

Because if he couldn’t protect them in the end just like the way that he failed with his own uncle, he would never be worthy. If he couldn’t keep that kid’s father from earlier that afternoon safe, how would he be able to keep this family safe?

You’re like the father I wish I had.

“You’re my mentor, Mr. Stark,” was what Peter settled for in the end. “And I’m very lucky because you’re doing more than enough for me.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Tony smirked at him when Peter threw a sidelong glance in his direction, the obvious chagrin in his voice making Peter curious about his remark. “Because I thought you were going to say that I’m like a father to you, but mentor’s fine, I guess. I’ll take it.”

Peter gazed at him, his brown eyes so full of wonder while Tony simply grinned in that patented smile he usually reserved for the adoring public.

“So let me get this straight. You see me as a son-figure?” Peter asked, forgetting all about his earlier reservations.

“Well, Morgan did tell her teachers that she has an older brother so—”

“That’s Morgan. How about you, though?”

“—and Pepper’s still about twelve percent convinced that you really are my secret lovechild from back in my playboy days—”

“Would it kill you so much to say it out loud?”

Tony laughed and Peter honestly thought that it would probably be better if the ground simply swallowed him up at that point. This was just so embarrassing but he figured that his need for affirmation outweighed his sense of shame, at least in that moment.

“You’re my kid, okay?” Tony reached out to put an arm around his shoulder and somehow, Peter felt lighter, safer, in spite of the day’s events. “Mine and Pepper’s, Morgan’s brother. You’re family, Pete. You always have been. Why do you think you have a room at the Tower and at the lake house?”

“I just thought they’re guest rooms,” he mumbled quietly, eyes downcast because he could feel the tears now streaming down his face.

“Those rooms have photos of you with Morgan, and Star Wars memorabilia, and clothes and shoes in your size. Guest rooms can’t be that specific.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“And it’s not your fault. What happened today and what happened with your uncle, it was never your fault, Pete. You’re just a kid.”

Peter couldn’t help but wipe his eyes with the back of his hand while Tony pulled him into a tighter side-hug. He wished he could tell Tony thank you, but he was quite sure that words would betray him at this point. He honestly didn’t know what happened back there at the alley – he had, after all, been to space and fought his fair share of nemeses – but the familiarity of the situation caught him off-guard, hitting too close to home and trapping him in his own mind and with his own memories.

Peter realized that maybe it was because he had not really forgiven himself… for what happened with his own uncle and for Tony having to make a sacrifice. But if Tony never really blamed him, then…

“Pepper asked me to tell you that the boy’s father is now out of the woods and that he will make a full recovery,” Tony told him after some time, reading the message Pepper must have sent him on his phone. “And that she’s expecting you at dinner tonight, at the tower.”

Peter furrowed his brows, frowning in confusion as he did so. “How did she know about…”

“Who do you think Michelle called?”

“Of course.”

“So let’s go? Home?” Tony stood up, tossing him the keys to the Audi. “You drive. Slowly. I’m gonna guide you, but drive slowly.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t feel alone anymore. After all, he never really was, and he never really would be.

He grinned just as he started the engine, the way that Tony gripped the edge of his seat was not lost on Peter at all.

“You know, Mr. Stark, I think as long as I drive slower than you do, we’ll be fine.”

“Pete, driving slower than me doesn’t automatically mean that you’re driving within the speed limit.”

“I merely said—”

“Just drive. Slowly.” Tony cut in, sighing as he closed his eyes beneath the tinted glasses he was sporting. “Before I change my mind.”

Peter smiled, stepping on the gas and speeding off, within limits, of course.

***

[wingedwizardcat]

Some Kylux for MerMay <3

A03

-

It wasn’t often he let his tail free, but each time brought him a feeling of joy and freedom that would last months. His fairly regular shore leave was carefully calculated to make the most of the tides on whichever planet was closest to the Finalizer, allowing him to indulge in his alternative form for days at a time.

Space travel and life aboard a star destroyer was less than ideal for his body, but he prided himself on keeping his secret close to his chest. No one thought of him as anything other than a standard human, which is exactly what he’d spent his whole life working towards. No one cared if he drank a little more water or eagerly tucked into a seafood dish, he was their General and his quirks went under the radar for the most part.

Until Kylo Ren arrived.

Until his shore leave was cancelled.

Until the urge to swim free brought him to the edge of madness.

“Is something wrong, Sir?” Mitaka asked quietly as they stood together at the viewports on the bridge. The Lieutenant had just finished his report and had apparently noticed the General’s distraction. It was hard to hide the physical trembling that had taken hold of him in recent days, exhaustion bringing to the fore physical symtoms of the turmoil in his mind.

“I need the Officer’s Gym to be closed to the crew tonight.” the ginger forced out, clenching his fists to try to gain control over himself, “I need the pool. To swim. Alone.”

“Of course, General.” Mitaka replied, tapping away on his datapad, “Is there anything else that you need?”

“Fish. Raw. Have it brought to my office for lunch.”

The other man nodded and rushed away with a slight bow of his head in respect for his superior. They’d all started to notice how on edge he was, Hux could feel their nervousness heightening his own.

He paced around the bridge for a while longer, before finally retreating to his office and unbuttoning his uniform jacket in a desperate bid to relieve the itch of the fabric against his skin. He’d never felt that his other form couldn’t be controlled before, but now it was practically clawing its way to the surface. He cautiously lifted his undershirt and glanced beneath, pushing the fabric back down in panic when he saw the glint of scales instead of pale, smooth skin.

He got to his feet, leaving his usually pristine uniform unbuttoned as he left his office and took off at a slight jog towards the Officer’s Gym. Another few hours of waiting would be too long, he needed to swim. He took no notice of the strange looks that followed him through the corridors, the only thing that mattered was freeing his tail.

A cursory glance was all Hux bothered with when he reached the pool, ripping off his uniform and throwing himself into the water. Within a few seconds of being underwater, his legs were gone and his tail with glittering emerald scales was propelling him with ease. A crushing weight felt like it had been lifted from his shoulders as he swam and swam and swam, losing himself to the joy of his natural form.

He came to a sudden halt in the water with an alarmed growl, something invisible closing in on him like a net. He tried to free himself with a powerful bat of his tail, but that had no effect as he was lifted from the water and held above it like a fisherman’s fresh catch.

“It looks like I’ll be having merman for dinner.” the crackle of a vocoder did nothing to ease Hux’s alarm as he turned his head and saw Kylo Ren stood a few feet from the edge of the pool with his arm outstretched, “I knew you were hiding something with your shore leave, but this development is unexpected, General.”

“You cancelled my leave on purpose?!” Hux hissed, sharp teeth flashing, “You had no right to do that, Ren!”

“The Supreme Leader instructed me to look for traitors. What would you think if you found one officer with regular as clockwork shore leave? You needed to be investigated, but your loyalty is no longer my concern.”

The force user lowered his arm and Hux eagerly dived back below the waterline. The water was too clear to hide his form, but it offered him the feeling of safety if nothing else. Slowly, he surfaced and kept himself upright with small, careful movements of his tail, “Then what is your concern?”

“While you were distracted, nothing aboard the ship ran as it should. I need you fully present and engaged if I’m to succeed in finding the girl. I’ll reinstate your shore leave, but I want to accompany you and see how best we can use your form to our advantage.”

“I’m not a siren, Ren. I can’t sing a song and make the Resistance throw themselves out of airlocks. In case you haven’t noticed, this form requires water, of which there is very little in space.”

“But there will be crossovers between your two forms. Instincts that we can use during battle. I’d much rather have the predator on my side than the prey.”

“And what are you in this analogy of yours? My handler?”

“We’re co-commanders.” the Sith apprentice replied after a moment of thought, “No other labels need to be assigned.”

Hux nodded his agreement, pushing himself up and out of the pool so he could sit on the edge, “We should probably get the bantha in the room out of the way before this alliance goes any further. You may touch my tail, but only this once and it stays between us.”

“What-?”

“Don’t pretend otherwise. You feel curiosity just the same as any other being. I won’t bite.”

Kylo Ren seemed initially conflicted, but he cautiously approached when it was apparant that Hux was quite serious. He knelt down and removed his helmet and gloves, studying the ginger before he reached out and carefully placed his palm on the body of the tail.

“Amazing.” he couldn’t help but breathe as he ran his hand forwards and back, feeling the soft scales and hard muscle beneath, “Is this... are all Arkanisians like this?”

“No, only those with High Arkanisian blood, and even then it’s rare. While mostly rainy and gloomy, Arkanis does have a few surprises.”

The force user gathered himself and pulled back, forcing the awe from his expression, “This will stay between us.” he promised.

“You know, if you ever want to touch my tail again, you need only ask.” the General replied with a cautious smile, “No pressure, just an offer.”

“I might take you up on that.” Ren murmured, before he put his gloves and mask back in place and left the room.

“I may not be a siren,” Hux murmured to himself as he grabbed a towel and began drying himself so his legs would return, “But they do say one touch of a High Arkanisian’s tail is all it takes to fall in love.”

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

More Solavellan smut, because you all love it, babe!

Solavellan, “Healthy Disagreements” (AO3) [Explicit]

Solas was in his study, set on the lowest floor of the library rotunda that was adjacent to the main hall in Skyhold, poring over some sketches he’d made of the frescoes he’d observed at that lost temple of Dirthamen which he, Rivka, and the others had explored not a week past following his research into the glyphs they’d found amongst scattered ruins in the Exalted Plains whilst they were clearing out the Freemen there.

He in particular was fascinated by the fact that many of the murals had in fact been not of Dirthamen but of Falon’Din, that guardian and friend of the dead. He let himself have a smirk, marvelling that the old secret-keeper would choose to hide himself behind another’s guise, even unto the very end…and beyond. He looked over their form and design carefully, looking for any variations from what he knew Falon’Din normally looked like to see if the God of Secrets’ handiwork was visible.

Casting a gaze at the oil lamp on his table, he idly wondered how long he’d been at work. Certainly it was long past the time where more sensible men retired to their quarters. But then again, he hardly felt like dreaming tonight, and Rivka had assured him, in fact multiple times, that neither he nor she would be needed for much important the next day.

So focused was he upon his task that he barely noticed her coming in, only glancing up to acknowledge Rivka’s presence as he heard the door closing behind her.

Looking back down at his sketches, he said, “Evening, vhenan. Or is it morning? I hadn’t thought you’d be up at this unearthly hour, to be quite honest. I…”

Slamming her palms on the table, Rivka violently interrupted him, saying, “It’s an hour past midnight, Solas, and I well know that because I’ve been sitting around for a full hour in my room waiting for you to come up.”

Barely even reacting to the jolt which had shaken his desk and merely noting that the oil lamp hadn’t been upset, Solas said, giving a cursory look to Rivka, “Ah, yes! Pardon me, vhenan, but I was so caught on a detail I found in my last sketch that—”

“Dread Wolf take your sketches and your murals!”, Rivka shouted, yanking them off the desk and scattering them on the floor, where they gently fluttered to land around her slippered feet. “And the least you could do is look at me when you talk to me, as well!”

Having no choice but to do so, Solas turned his gaze upwards at Rivka, noting that her usually coiffed hair was now hanging in strands around her face, and that she didn’t seem to be wearing much beyond a silken robe with a Chantry insignia on it and her slippers.

Finally, he asked, “Forgive me, Rivka. Is there something I have done to warrant…”

“I don’t think I will, and I think you have, or more accurately haven’t, Solas,” she scolded. “When I ask you to come up to my quarters for a…private meeting…I expect you to at least tell me if you’re not going to beforehand instead of wasting my time.”

Looking more closely at her, Solas noted that despite the chill of the night and her rather scant attire, she was flushed partly with anger and partly with…something else.

Comprehending some of the subtext, he said, “I am truly sorry, Rivka. I must still have failed to grasp your meaning when you did say that, and I swear that I was far too engrossed with my work to note the passing of the hour.”

Walking around the table to draw herself up to him, Rivka said, “I’m not going to accept your apology, and I’m certainly not going to say sorry for knocking all your precious drawings to the floor either, seeing as you clearly care about them far more than you do me. So, are you going to do something about that?”

“Whatever do you mean?”, he asked innocently.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Creators help me if you truly don’t get it, and may they help you if you’re just playing dumb. This is what I mean.”

Demonstrating her intent, she reached out for the back of Solas’ neck and head and pinned her lips to his, forcefully kissing him repeatedly and breaking away only to catch a breath.

“There,” she said. “That’s what I was expecting a full hour ago, in the comfort of my own room, and not in the chilly recesses of—”

She never finished her sentence as he now took the initiative, forcing her to seat upon the now-empty desk as he took his turn to land his own kisses upon her. Before she could lay back upon it or adjust her position, he grasped his beloved by her arms, his own eyes flashing lustfully.

“I think I am about to ‘do something about it’, as you’ve so nicely put it,” he hissed. “But before that, a word?”

“A word?”, Rivka asked, essentially thinking aloud before realising what he meant. “‘Ocularum’, then.”

His question was silently asked by the raise of an eyebrow.

“It’s the least sexy thing I know,” she explained. “Now, I suppose you’re going to take your anger out on me for scattering your beloved sketches?”

Answering her in husky breaths, he said, “And more. It’s remarkable—and distressing for your people as a whole—that you lived your entire life in a clan with essentially a dozen mothers and fathers and none of them taught you any manners.”

“Manners?”

“What sort of person petulantly storms into another’s study and throws their work to the ground when they think they’re not being given enough attention?”, he asked. “Imagine the insolence were you to do that anywhere else, to anyone else!”

Locking her gaze into his, she breathily said, “Ooh, say ‘insolence’ again, Solas. I like the sound of the word on your lips.”

“Amongst so many things about them. Time to work this insolence out of your system then, vhenan,” he growled, next commanding, “Turn around.”

Looking at Solas with a blank expression, Rivka saw his turn from impatience to offence.

“Did you not hear me, Rivka?”, he said. “Turn around and put your hands on the table. If I have to ask again I can’t promise you I’ll do so patiently.”

Nodding meekly, she turned to face the table and gently placed her palms on the tabletop. With a sudden jerk, one hand on the small of her back and another at her nape, Solas forced her down on the table, her nipples squashing against her breasts as her cheek firmly landed on it too. The bottom of her robe hiked up a little as she bent forward, and she felt a chill draught around her thighs, shivering as she did so.

Solas then glided along the insides of her legs with his knuckles, curving away from her quim to round her buttocks as he gathered the loose end of her robe, bunching its folds and gathering them around her waist, exposing her to the elements and noting with some amusement that firstly, she had indeed not been wearing anything under that robe, and next that she was already slick with anticipation.

Rivka gasped as he spread her arousal along the length of her folds with his fingertips, moaning as the momentary contact faded just as soon as he’d made it.

“Shush,” he said. “This is meant to be a reprimand, not an outlet for your lasciviousness. Lie still whilst I administer some corrections.”

“Corrections?” was all she was able to manage as she thought about what he meant before she felt the sudden sting of his palm on her buttock, releasing a loud groan of pleasure as its coursed through her body.

“Enough!”, he cried, smacking the other one in an attempt to silence her but only making her moan even louder, alternating between the two savagely.

Gasping shallowly, Rivka felt her slick running down her thigh, glancing upwards and hoping nobody was watching or hearing this depraved scene.

“You really are something else,” he said, “Wantonly crying out so that everybody in this rotunda can hear your arousal. I wonder if…”

She’d barely even started pondering his trailed-off sentence before the next slap struck her full on her lips, causing her to quiver in pleasure, with the next one and the following one after that making her buck against the empty air where Solas’ palm had been, and she felt herself on the brink of coming when he reached out and grabbed her entire mound with his hand, closing her lips against each other.

What pleasure there was turned to pain as he gripped it tighter, the force of his fingertips overriding any urge or ability for her to come there and then, and she felt tears from both agony and joy run down her face as he leant over her back, whispering into her ear.

“Don’t presume to come now, not without permission. Do so and I’ll leave your hands bound to this table and bring you to the edge of orgasm again and again, unable to relieve yourself until I decide you’re worthy of doing so,” he promised, asking, “Do you understand me, vhenan?”

She nodded as best she could, her cheek scraping a little as she did so against the table.

“Good,” he said, seemingly satisfied with that. After some silence, she heard some noises behind her, like cloth falling from a place, then the sound of Solas’ footsteps again.

“I do wonder now,” she heard him ponder, “If you’ve ever given this over to anyone.”

At this, she felt what had to be the tip of his phallus briefly touch…briefly touch her rear end? No! Not there! She shook violently against the notion, feeling fresh tears run down her face as she did so.

“Shush,” he said gently. “Calm yourself. I was merely asking. And…here?”

Warmth pulsed through her body as he made contact with her pussy, and she nodded enthusiastically, biting her lip to restrain herself from moaning lustfully at the touch’s promise.

Her self-control was brought to the edge of her limits as she felt his tip slide in whilst his thumbs sought out the little dimples on the back of her waistline and his fingers grasped the skin around her hips, rolling the flesh of her curves between them. Just as she sensed all those touches on her skin, his shaft fully slid into her, Rivka groaning as he did so, with his grip on her hips tightening as he pumped in and out of her body.

Although not quite as long and as…girthy…as she’d imagined or fantasised, it was hitting all the right spots, the head in particular coming to rest against a tight bundle of nerves that caused her to gasp as he slowly, agonisingly, massaged it with his cock. She tried to work her pussy around him to stimulate that spot, but that was only met with anger, as he withdrew his penis entirely, leaving her aching for him to thrust it in again.

“Are simple instructions beyond you, Rivka?”, he hissed, reaching for her wrists one at a time and pinning them to the small of her back with one hand as he slid back into her, stating, “I’ll be taking my pleasure first before you’re allowed to do anything. Understood?”

She nodded again, trying to relax and stand still despite the myriad of sensations coursing through her as he resumed fucking her over his worktable, the obscene sounds of slapping skin echoing through the tower. His pace, steady at first, became more and more fervent, only slowing down long enough for him to lean over to her ear again, shifting his body weight on her wrists as his grip tightened to a vice.

“I think I’m about to reach…that point,” he growled, asking, “Are you ready as well?”

She nodded, and started quivering and trembling impatiently under and around him as the wait for the promise in his words dragged on, until he reached under her chin with his free hand, tilting her head up at him so he could make sure she saw his stern glare. Rivka slowed her breath, exhaling fully as she attempted to calm down. As Solas released her chin, she also felt his grip around her wrists vanish.

“Hands on the table again, vhenan,” Solas ordered, further commanding, “Let’s not have any distractions, shall we?”

Grasping her hips again, he ploughed into her savagely, grunting and groaning in ancient elvhen as he brought himself to his climax, flushing her insides with his release. Rivka heard his voice, as though from a vast distance, saying, “Now, vhenan. Be with me here and now.”

The floodgates tore open there and then, as she screamed to the high heavens, her palms digging into the table as she ignored the last of his commands, slamming her rear into his hips to drive herself over the top, feeling her own fluids flood her pussy, mixing with his as they dripped out of her and along her thighs, trickling downwards to stain her slippers and, ultimately, the floor of Solas’ study.

Rivka flopped bonelessly onto the surface of his desk, breathing hard and quivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, even as she felt him withdraw at last, the final strands connecting the two breaking in the middle and falling upon the ground.

Long moments passed before, in the blink of an eye, she found herself transported back into her own bed, all offending fluids cleaned up, and naked under her sheets. Rivka gasped, sitting up and turning around to find Solas next to her under the bedcovers, also similarly undressed.

Smiling, he asked her, “Was that everything you expected it to be?”

Her cheeks flushed, Rivka nodded wordlessly as she slowly regained her composure, finally managing to answer, “Yes. I…didn’t know if it’d all work out but…you were so commanding, and it felt so right.”

“I’m glad you appreciated it,” he said, asking, “Although I do wonder if all of your fantasies are this…vivid?”

“What do you mean?”, she asked, it apparently being her turn.

“Simply that there are few whom I have known or met would so willingly…let themselves be used, as such,” he said.

Rivka asked in equal parts hesitance and defensiveness, “You’re not judging me, are you?”

“Not in the least,” Solas answered quickly. “I just was curious as to whether your own romances in the physical world ever took such turns as our times together here have.”

She shook her head, explaining, “No, the last time I was…with someone…was shortly before the Conclave. We’d both been dispatched by our clan to attend the Conclave, and we both knew it’d be the last time we’d see each other for a while, if at all. He was a nice lad, and we spent the night beforehand gently and tenderly.”

“I see,” he said, then coming to a realisation. “If you were both at the Conclave then…”

Rivka nodded her head slowly and sadly, confirming his deductions. “Ismael didn’t make it. Neither did his brother Esaias.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Solas said. “Forgive me for dredging that pain up again.”

She now shook her head curtly. “It’s alright. It hurts less nowadays. But you’re right, I think. I’m only this…adventurous…in the Fade. I don’t know if it’s the Fade itself inducing this, or…”

“…your thoughts about me?”, he asked.

“You know me too well,” Rivka said with a laugh. “Still, thanks for bringing me somewhere warmer and cozier after all of that. Have we time to just…lie here a while?”

Solas smiled, saying, “We have all the time we want or need, vhenan. Come over here.”

Taking him up on his invitation, Rivka slid down the bed and rolled over until she was close enough to put her arms around him, and him hers, burying her face in her shoulder and relaxing into his body as the minutes before the sunrise, and the inevitable return to their responsibilities in the daytime, slowed to eternity.

-

@dadrunkwriting

[sunsetinmyvein]

The Radio Station - Chapter Two - I’m So Excited

21st of August, 2013

  The email had come in from her boss about a week before the interview was scheduled – next Wednesday, Mathew Healy was going to be back on her show. A part of her felt kind of anxious about this fact. Since the last time they had met, the band had indeed taken off as she predicted. Their popularity was only snowballing and the man that she had the pleasure of knowing for a brief while was revelling in it (from what she had seen in other interviews, anyway). She tried to remind herself that he was very easy to get along with the last time, so this should be no different. And she had met some substantially larger names than The 1975 in her time at the station. So, her anxiety was therefore fairly unwarranted. Which begged the question about why she felt those nerves sitting at the pit of her stomach in the first place, just from knowing that he was coming back into the studio. However, there wasn’t any point in stewing over it, nor was there time to, because he was knocking lightly at her glass door before she knew it. His mohawk had grown out a bit since she’d last seen him eight months ago, but otherwise he looked largely the same. She had a feeling he was even wearing the same black jacket he’d been wearing before. Looking behind him, it would seem that he’d brought one of the guys with him that she had seen him with after their last interview. If she recalled correctly, he was their drummer.

 “It was Matthew, yeah?” She asked, trying to play it cool as she ushered the two of them inside. She hoped that it wouldn’t be apparent too quickly that she had been watching The 1975's movements closely since they’d met. Though, if Matthew was as clued on this time as he was the last time they’d spoke, she likely wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.

“Yeah, but Matty’s better.” He grinned. There was a short pause as he stopped for a beat and maintained eye contact, before remembering that he had someone else to introduce. “And I don’t think you guys formally met last time, but this is George. I dragged him along, hope that’s okay.” He added as he gestured to the man standing behind him.  

“Good seeing you again.” George nodded politely.

“You as well.” She replied. “Take a seat you guys, there’s still a couple of songs that have to play through before I introduce you.” She said as she gestured to the other side of the desk. Matty gladly took the usual guest spot as George dragged across the smaller chair from the corner of the room.

  “How’ve you been?” Matty asked eagerly, shuffling around in his seat as he tried to get comfortable.

“Yeah, good. Pretty much the same as usual.” She chuckled as she took a sip of her coffee.

“I’m surprised that you’re still running the lunchtime shift and they’ve not bumped you up to some prime time, peak-hour traffic slot.” He said casually, earning an incredulous laugh from her. The morning and afternoon shifts were the most coveted positions at any radio station, let alone one as big as this. She was pretty happy that she’d managed to land a job that gave her hours during the day as opposed to a midnight shift.

“Ah, I think I’d need a bit more of an audience before that happened.” She replied.

“I dunno, from what I’ve heard you seem to have a decent following.” He said with a shrug.

It was quiet for a moment as she processed that. She was pretty certain she could hear the clock hanging above the door ticking quietly as her brain tried to catch up. “You listen to the show?” She asked eventually.

“Whenever I get a chance, yeah. Or just catch a few highlights here and there on social media.”

  That truly caught her off guard. Matthew Healy was out there writing albums, playing shows, and listening to her radio show? Why? Surely, he had better things to do in his downtime? “Uh, so what about you guys?” She asked, clearing her throat and trying to change the topic before he took note of how flustered she was becoming at this knowledge. “How’s things?”

“Really good!” He grinned. “We had Glastonbury recently which was amazing, and have Reading and Leeds coming up this weekend, and-” He started rattling off, quickly stopped by George as he put a hand down on the singers’ shoulder.

“Don’t wanna give too much away before the interview starts, Matt.” He laughed softly.

“Well, no, but-“

“You have to save the stories or you’re just gonna end up repeating them.”

“I can tell different ones.”

“You’re gonna tell the same ones that you tell every time, I know you are. And you won’t wanna tell them in the interview because you already said them now.”

“You don’t know that.” Matty frowned, clearly keen to push the point.

They continued this back and forth for a while before she intervened, “Anyway,” She sensed she had to diffuse this argument before it progressed into teenage bickering. “let’s do an interview.”

  The two of them instantly tuned out of their conversation and back into the matter at hand as she began flipping switches. She pulled her headset on as she gave them one last cursory glance to make sure that they were ready.

"Hope you’re all having a pleasant afternoon out there, folks.” She spoke into her microphone. “As per usual on our Wednesday shows, I do have some special guests here in the studio with me to have a chat.” She said, nodding across to Matty to introduce himself.

“Hey! It’s Matty from The 1975.” He said with an excited grin.

“And George.” His friend added, leaning across to be closer to the mic. “Great to be here.”

“So, it’s been about nine months since you were here-”

“Entirely too long, if you ask me.” Matty chimed in casually. She pressed on, trying to ignore the charm that seemed to radiate from just about everything this man said.

“-and all of the EPs are out now, correct?” She continued.

“Yep.”

“Your album comes out in just under two weeks?”

“That sounds about right.”

  She glanced down at the notepad in front of her, but she was pretty sure that over the last week she had memorised these questions front to back. “Are you excited for the album to finally be out? You were saying last time that it was practically already written back when you started the EP concepts.”

“We're definitely excited to finally hear people's reactions after how much traction we've gained from the EPs.” George began.

“It's been sitting in our heads for so long, it was almost hard to postpone it, but we wanted it to be perfect.” Matty threw in. “We didn't really expect to have such a positive reaction so soon, so it'll be interesting to see what people do with the main event.” Matty answered with a daydreamy look flashing in his eyes for a moment.

“I’ve really been enjoying the EPs.” She added, which instantly caught Matty's attention.

“Have you?” He asked instantly.

“Yeah, they've had a fair few spins through my playlists.” She laughed, suddenly making him grin ear to ear.

  “You mentioned the positive reaction, Matty. With how fast you guys have taken off, I've heard a lot of people out there referring to The 1975 as an overnight success.” She prompted. “But you guys have been working on this since you were teenagers.”

He let out a sigh. “There is so much stuff about us being an overnight success…” He pulled a hand through his hair as he looked over at George. “It’s been ten years, actually.” He chuckled.

“Was the ten years worth it when you got the call to open for the Stones?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” He almost shouted, now letting out a full laugh. “it’s stuff like that, that really makes you appreciate it.”

George nodded along with him. “I think this whole year’s been worth it. Not just the Stones show, we’ve had a lot of great festivals and great sold out shows. It’s been strange. Surreal telling people about those events.” He elaborated.

“We didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really. So, it was a bit daunting initially.”

  “You guys are still on tour?” She asked, moving along to the next topic.

“Yeah, have been since we last spoke.” Matty said with a nod. “Not really getting off tour until...” He seemed to be counting in his head. “December next year.”

“Next year?” She asked in surprise. “That's quite a long tour.”

“We are just… constantly on the move now.” He shrugged.

“That's for sure. It’s been a big year for The 1975. You guys had Glastonbury in June.”

“Yeah! That was amazing. It was incredible to play at a festival that we all grew up going to.”

“And have Reading and Leeds coming up this weekend with some big names.” She reminded him.

“Crazy…” He agreed. “We haven’t really been in the country for a lot of it. When Chocolate went so mental, we’ve been in America and Europe and just touring. We’ve just seen each other every day, it’s not really been that different for us. But the shows are getting bigger, people are really investing in the band, so it’s an amazing time.”

  “You guys also did South by South West, which was eleven shows in five days.”

“That was mental.” George scoffed.

“Yeah! We were quite surprised to see how many people came to all of those shows. Chris Martin said the most perfect thing ever - of all people - if you throw a party and like 50 people come up, so imagine doing that for twice, three times the amount of that, every night, in cities you’ve never even really heard of. We turned up in Milwaukee and 350 people came to the show. We had a sold-out show in new York.” He rattled off, seeming slightly bewildered at the memory.

“That's pretty crazy to be making such big waves in a different country like that.” She concurred.

“I think it’s a testament to the internet, really. How far we’ve come from Manchester all the way across the world.” The drummer offered.

Matty instantly took that thought and ran with it, “God, I could talk about it for ages. It’s strange to go somewhere – when you go to places, and you realise you have a following there… your identity, your sense of self, almost feels slightly diluted? Because you’re in somewhere so unfamiliar, but witnessing the most familiar parts of your life. Your material, your art. It’s weird, man.” He said, shaking his head slightly.

  “Does it intimidate you guys at all?” She questioned.

“No.” He instantly answered. “It’s amazing, a very humbling experience. It’s just very odd, the power of the internet? It’s kind of unsettling, but not intimidating. Kind of feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself a little bit.”

“How so?” She urged him to continue.

“Well... that’s when you’re at your most honest, isn’t it? When nobody knows who your band is. Now people know who we are. I’m the protagonist in every song I write. Which means every time I put stuff out there, it's putting out a part of me. Every conversation in a song is me and a normally female counterpart.” He tried his best to explain. “But that’s a subconscious thing.” He added as an afterthought.

“So it's like you're a little too transparent putting that much of yourself out there to such a large group of people?”

“Well, yeah. Your identity becomes kind of vaguely diluted because it’s not as embedded in what you’re familiar with anymore. Your identity kind of extends to places that you don’t really understand. It’s quite an unsettling thing for me.” Matty looked like he was struggling to find the right adjectives to describe the feeling. “It’s interesting. It’s cool.” He eventually settled on.

  “Does that sort of feeling ever bother you when you're on stage?” She asked.

“Not at all. Performing is one of the only times I feel satisfied.” He laughed. “I just love it. It’s like putting on a party every night.”

“Would you guys ever do another big supporting tour like The Stones?”

“Probably not right now.” George supplied, before Matty spoke over him.

“There’s been a genuine investment from our fans. Every show we put out sells out really quickly now. We’ve not been able to meet the demands of the amount of people who want to see our band. As much as going off and playing with popstars in arenas would be fun, I think that would be an indulgent decision. It wouldn’t be for the right reasons. We need to play our own shows… we’ll have the opportunity for all that later.” He answered decisively. George seemed happy with this. “I don’t want us to get too big too quickly, you know? A lot of people feel like we’re their band. 'You’re my kinda band.' That’s how I always used to fall in love with bands. I don’t wanna lose that. I want that to remain, because it really is important to me that every single person gets the band.” It wasn't hard to believe that Matty meant what he was saying with the amount of conviction in his voice as he spoke into the mic in front of him.

“We have quite a strict door policy on our band. We don’t want idiots gettin’ in.” George threw in to try and lighten the mood.

  “Back to Reading and Leeds, then. You're playing with the likes of Fall Out Boy and Green Day. Those are some massive names that'll be bringing in big crowds.” She started her line of questioning, waiting for them to respond before she continued.

“Yeah... We haven’t played to that many people.” Matty wiped his hands down his face as he took in a deep breath. “But it’s a real validation of all you’re doing. It’s not something we’ve ever craved, but it’s something we’ve really, really embraced and something that pushes us forward as creative people. It's cemented our identity as a band.” He replied.

“Are you nervous?” She asked with a smile.

He chuckled slightly, “Yeah, a little bit, but not really. What’ve we got to be nervous of? If people are there, they’ve already made that investment in us. We’ve just gotta show up and provide what we are.” George nodded. “And we can do that, so let’s just do it, d’you know what I mean?”

  “All right, we're gonna play a couple of songs and then we'll be back with some questions you guys sent in earlier in the week.” She spoke into her microphone before cutting away.

“Fan questions?” George asked in curiosity as he took his headset off.

“Yeah. The station told people to text stuff in through the week and I've picked a few to ask.” She said with a nod as she took a swig from her cup of coffee.

“Hopefully you picked good ones.” Matty said with an eyebrow raised.

“You'll just have to see.” She shot back, earning a grin from him.

“You do brilliant interviews. I can't imagine you'd give us shitty questions.” He added. She tried her best to make sure he wouldn't see the slight blush on her cheeks at the compliment.

  “You know, you should come out to a show sometime.” He segued. She was all too happy for an out from that conversation before it progressed.

“You guys hardly ever play here.” She pointed out.

“Come see us at Reading.”

“I hardly think you guys are high enough up on the bill to be offering to get me into a major festival for free.” She tried to sound accusatory, but couldn’t stop herself from cracking a small smile.

“Ask the station to get you in.” He suggested. She noticed that he seemed… rather eager about this idea.

She sighed deeply as she mulled this over. It would be nice to see them play live. It would be nice to see Matty again. Seeing him at a show counted as work, right? She could use that as a loophole in her own rules. “I’ll see what I can do.” Matty’s eyes practically lit up at her words.

  “Okay, we're back with Matty and George of The 1975, here to answer some questions sent in by you lovely listeners.” She started, flipping over her notebook to the scribbled fan questions. “First up we have Louise who wanted to know, what's your highlight been so far?” The two men sitting across from her both let out a groan.

“So much has happened...” George mumbled.

“The whole thing has just become a bit of a blur, to be honest with you.” Matty answered. “It’s just loads of surreal situations strung together by doing interviews. I’d like to be in that place of having that much foresight – that much retrospect and hindsight. Everything’s happened so quick… I don’t know how I’m gonna feel about it. I can’t imagine things can continue being this intense in another year.” He paused for a moment, before pulling himself back on track. “Having a genuine connection with people who I never would’ve thought had even heard of our band every night, just that kind of…extended feeling… is the highlight of every night.”

“That's quite a nice sentiment.” She nodded.

“When we were a lot smaller in the UK, like January, a couple came up to me after a gig in London. And said that they’d fallen in love with each other through our EP – the Sex EP. They’d started speaking about it when they were out with a group of friends. They’d met and said ‘you know this band The 1975’ and they fell in love with that record and now they’re getting engaged.” He looked absolutely astounded by this, looking across to her to make sure she understood how crazy that was. “And I love that. It nearly made me cry. Because that’s it. That’s all we wanna do. For our music to affect people emotionally. If you have an artistic expression that does that… there’s nothing more beautiful, really. And if that’s your job, how can you get any better than that?” He finished with a shrug.

  “Next we have Sam who's asked could you guys imagine doing something else instead of being in the band?” She questioned, crossing it off her list.

“We can’t do anything else.” George said with a laugh, instantly making his friend do the same.

“The band is the only expression we have. That’s bought from being complacent on working for anything else, and being totally, totally narrow minded and blind. We’ve never thought of the idea of this not happening.” Matty said.

“David has asked, how do you keep going?”

“Alcohol.” Matty instantly laughed. “Not really.” He quickly corrected. “It’s been the only thing we do, y’know? It’s not like we were in a band and had other interests. As soon as we became consumed by this band, we just stuck together as individuals. I think also because our social group has always orientated around us as a four, there’s never been any reason for us to not make music. It’s almost as if someone said ‘yeah, all right’ and then we got embraced by lots of different people and institutions.” He explained.

  “Have there been any bad times?” She asked. “That was from Anna.”

“Not really?” George frowned. “I suppose when we were being wined and dined by the labels and then everything kind of fell apart? But it ended for the better, because we then signed a great deal on an indie that allowed us to have total creative control. Retrospectively we wouldn’t have had it any other way.” He answered.

“But it wasn’t that bad!” Matty chimed in. “Getting’ flirted, y’know. We were really young when all these labels were going for us. We were always quite fortunate as a band to have a lot of foresight.”

“Right, on that note, Jessica has asked how hard is it to stay true to your original ideas when speaking to labels?”

“You get really excited for the first few encounters, then you quickly learn to tame yourself and not get excited until you’re physically doing what has been said that they’ll do for you. You’ve gotta keep your head.” George answered.

“We just prided ourselves on our conviction. The only reason we wanted to do was this because it was on our terms.”

  “Okay, Brian has asked if you guys ever fall out?”

“No.” Both of them instantly answered.

“We Just avoid that stuff and let other people deal with it. It’s too much of a personal endeavour to let the small stuff get to you. It’s not like we’re four boys who started a band because we wanted to be in a band, we’re four mates who ended up in a band by accident. So, pfft, whatever.” The singer scoffed.

“We’ve not focused on the financial stuff or anything like that. The only thing we have maintained is to have the final say and total creative control, and we all agree on that so there's not been any arguments to have.” George said.

“Last serious one and then we have some quick fire stuff.” She said as she scribbled out the last question. “Brendan wanted to know what your biggest accomplishment is so far?”

“Just making the record.” Matty said with a shrug. “I don’t really care how that record’s perceived or embraced, because it’s such an honest record - it’s such an honest depiction of who we are and where we’re from. It’s so uncompromised. The fact that a band like us managed to make a record like that without compromising at all… I’m just proud of that as an idea.”

  “Okay, some short and sweet ones to end out the interview.” George and Matty sat up a little straighter in their seats. “Who's the best behaved?” She asked.

“George is tidy, I guess?” Matty seemed hesitant as he glanced at his mate. “He’s quite well behaved but we’re all quite well behaved because we’ve been in a band for a long time. This a very… kind of pursuit for music for us. A lot of our partying doesn’t actually happen when we’re on tour. We try and be as good as possible. All of us have our moments? We’re in a rock band, y’know what I mean?” He chuckled, running a hand through his mohawk.

“These are meant to be quick, Matty.” She reminded him with a smile. “If you could pick one person dead or alive to be stuck on an island with, who would it be?”

“Musically? Michael Jackson – just to go through musical ideas. But I think he’d get on my nerves after a couple of days.”

“Yeah, same.” George agreed.

  “Can you moonwalk?”

“Yes. Very well.”

“Which celebrity do you think would have the best banter at a party?”

“Anyone from Geordie Shore.”

“If you could swap wardrobes with anyone, who would you want it to be?”

“ASAP rocky. For sure.”

“Write us a poem.”

“That's not quick fire!” He scoffed with a laugh. “And that's not a question!” He added, now properly laughing. “In an interview, the idea is to ask questions that I can answer. You’re giving me all of the work.”

“Ahh, I thought you'd be able to churn out something instinctual like those people who spill the truth after a bunch of quick questions.” She grinned.

  “Well, that's all we have time for.” She sighed, leaning back a bit in her chair. “Thank you guys for coming in to the studio to have a chat.”

“It's no problem.” George smiled sweetly.

“We'll be here any time you want us on.” Matty replied.

“That was Matty and George from The 1975, and a track from them is coming up next.” She finished up as she set Chocolate up to play next. The two boys started getting up from their seats, grabbing their stuff and straightening out their jackets. As they were about to leave, she heard Matty tell George to go on ahead and he'd catch up. She spun in her chair to face him as he walked back over to her.

“I was serious , by the way.” Matty said, leaning back against the desk. “Any time you want us on the show, or if you wanna come out to see us play, just let me know.” He said as he held out a piece of paper. She took it from him, realising it had his number scrawled on it.

“Is this meant to be a subtle way of giving me your number?” She frowned up at him, but he definitely caught on to the excitement she was trying her best to hide.

“It can be whatever you want it to be.” He shrugged with a smirk as he followed after his friend.

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @dot-writes @tooshhhy @robinrunsfiction @approved-by-dentists

Previous Chapter

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[benditlikepress]

heaven forbid opportunities missed

reading some @indestinatus inspired me to write this. The fics are in no way connected i just felt inspired to write ❣️

thank u @justkindaoverhereobsessing 4 ur bit of insight into this

Read in full on ao3

set after 10x24 x

//

The drink in his hand was going down quicker than he’d intended. He supposed that was only natural when you drink alone.

Tony had only ever been to this bar once or twice - it was a little out of his way and the crowd was younger than he'd found himself interested in in recent times, but after another day spent ruminating over the events of the past few months he decided change was necessary.

As it turned out, a sabbatical wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The fact he was still thinking of it as a prolonged period off work, rather than a permanent departure, said enough. Tony had never been very good at not working: he could have fun, sure, but he enjoyed the security of having somewhere to go every day. Enjoyed the work and the feeling he was making a difference. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was making better sitting in his apartment kidding himself he’d start learning piano tomorrow. 

For now, a new bar. Or at least a different one to the one he’d usually head to after work.

He took a long sip of his drink and offered a cursory glance around the large room. He remembered it vaguely – the booths in garish red along the wall lined with windows, the strange light fixtures. The bar was already busy though it was still mid-evening, and the crowd was, for the most part, younger than him. Something that was happening more and more as he got older.

He remembered who it was that had first bought him here when he glanced off towards the booths at the opposite end of the bar and saw her, surrounded by a group of women several years her junior.

He wouldn’t expect Ziva to be the centre of attention in a situation like that, but she seemed to be; the other women all turned a little to be facing her. She said something and a woman with a loud voice sat opposite her responded but it was difficult to make out the words across the room. He watched Ziva smile in response, showing her teeth in a way that had been hard to come by in recent times. He wondered how much she meant it or if it was just for show, but he knew her well enough by now to see the genuine glint in her eyes.

She looked younger than she had in a long time, the weight of recent events off her shoulders. Even if only for a minute.

He wasn’t sure how long he watched her before she felt his eyes boring into her – truthfully he’d expected it sooner, trained as she was to know when someone was following her. She whipped her head around and her eyes found his instinctively, crash-landing without a second glance anywhere else. The smile she’d already been wearing still plastered on her face, making them shine under the artificial lights.

He lifted his glass a little in acknowledgement at her and her expression changed, a different kind of smile. Contemplative. Hopeful.

One of the women sat near her noticed her attention had been grabbed, and soon Tony seemingly found himself the talk of the town. The loud woman wearing a polka dot shirt leaned towards Ziva and said something, still looking at him, that made her roll her eyes.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since they handed in their badges. It seemed ridiculous, of course – they’d spoken every day as normal but something had stopped Tony asking her to hang out on that first night, and ever since then there’d been a kind of game of chicken being played between them, both of them waiting for the other to take the initiative.

It was what they did best.

Then again, maybe it was in Tony’s head. Things had been a little weird with what had happened with Adam and Parsons and their conversation at Gibbs’ cabin, conversations by phone and text desperately clinging to the way their relationship was before, though Tony realised it was a lot to ask given where they’d spent much of the past few months.

Their relationship had always been a to-and-fro but their latest shifts had been jarring. Tony couldn’t blame her, of course: he understood that, once again, the parameters of their interactions had been dictated by events happening outside of it. Though they had a remarkable ability to recover from spanners in the work, their relationship was a delicate thing. It was exactly what Ziva had been talking about in the woods, and maybe it was a cliché, but there had always been a part of him that had feared the ramifications on their relationship of taking the next step. Neither of them had ever been any good in romantic relationships, let alone when there seemed to be endless barriers and events and third parties preventing them from taking the plunge.

Ziva was still staring at him as he mused the point, assessing her expression for anything more than the anticipatory look she’d had on first seeing him. He raised his eyebrows at her and her smile grew minutely, shaking her head out of it.

It didn’t take long before she was standing up, leaning over the table to say something to the other women and then pointing in Tony’s direction. They all looked back at him for a second time but before he could get too self-conscious their attentions waned, turning back to their insular conversations as Ziva walked towards him with her drink in hand.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world..”

Tony turned to Ziva with a lazy grin. “Remember when you used to hate movies?”

Continue reading on ao3

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us : Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Night Out

Previous Chapter: here

The smell of cologne and weed alerted Sloane to Troy’s presence before the door of the technical could even open. The priest who had opened the door and led her there in the first place bowed and offered her a hand as she stepped up to the technical, these vehicles, aside from Tyreen’s personal technical were not designed with shorter people in mind. She thanked stars above that the ‘fancy’ clothing Iris had delivered to her room for this outing consisted of a mint green blouse and black slacks, she could only imagine making a fool of herself trying to get in and out of Troy’s technical in a skirt.

The God-king gave a short chuckle as she clambered into the seat next to him before he took another drag of the blunt in his hand. He offered it to her as he coughed into the furred collar of his vest.

Sloane took it looking at it rather quizzically, of course she knew Troy smoked, it was hard not to know. She however, had never seen the appeal, she’d read a lot about getting stoned but never could bring herself to do it.

“Go ahead, take a drag.”

“I uh, I’ve never done this before.” She admitted sheepishly.

“What? Really!? Not even to spice up that drab little shack in the woods.”

She shook her head.

“Alright, don’t worry I can teach you Slo, I’ve got plenty of experience.”

He mimed holding the joint and brought his fingers up to his lips and winked at her. She got the hint and took the joint to her lips.

“That’s it, breathe in.”

She did, the new taste and flash of heat as the smoke sucked into her mouth startled her but Troy held up a hand.

“No no, hold it, you gotta let it get in your lungs.”

After fighting the initial desire to spit out the smoke she held it in for as a few seconds longer than she thought she would manage before she doubled over herself coughing.

“See, you did fine? First hits a bit rough yeah, but you’re over that hurdle now. Wasn’t so bad was it?” He placed the joint in the ashtray and offered her a water bottle which she drank from greedily. “Like all things, it just takes practice.”

“Where are we going tonight? The Priest who fetched me didn’t mention anything in particular.” It was peculiar for her not to be briefed on where they were going and the fact that they were dressed down despite this being a date made her wonder what Troy had up his sleeve.

“A place where the sun does not shine. You don’t have to worry about anything tonight, it’ll all stay between us.”

“Oh poetic, but not what I asked.” She snorted as she took a cursory glance out the window. The cathedral was just a small speck on the horizon now and she realized this was the farthest she had been on Pandora. The Cathedrals' ever looming shadow over Temple town seemed so comforting compared to the harsh sunlight that shone over the barren desert.

“We have a settlement in the western desert, it’s picked up the name Scrapburg. It's where the rest of the engineers live when they’re not on assignment at the cathedral or deployed at an outpost. A bunch of my people live there actually. It’s not like Temple town, or the Cathedral, you’ll see. I think you’ll like the place.” Troy explained and patted her knee before awkwardly letting his hand rest on her thigh. She let it stay there, the willing contact with him appreciated.

The rest of the ride was mostly silent save for the sounds of the wheels as they bounced over the uneven surface of the desert. It wasn’t for lack of things to talk about, Sloane was buzzing with things she could say, but given this was a date she figured it better to save that for when they got to their destination. She had however kept her eyes on him for the rest of the drive not even noticing that they’d stopped until the door opened, their driver bowing to his gods before he spoke.

“Meet you here at the arranged pick up time, my liege?”

“That’s right, and don’t make us wait. You know how much of a pain in the ass it is to get through Cathedral gate at peak hours, even for us.”

Troy hooked his arm around Sloane’s waist, he led her away from the technical and through the gate. It was then that she got her first good look at the city proper. It was different from Temple Town in every conceivable way, where Temple Town was ever changing and movable Scrapburg immediately gave off the aura of permanence.

Instead of ramshackle buildings and tent camps,there were well built almost metropolitan buildings. They still had the typical Pandora flare but she had never expected something like this compared to the CoV capital. Solar panels were affixed to roofs and dust shields were installed on the balconies she could see.

The streets were covered by colored tapestries which she presumed were also to keep the sandstorm from buffeting the people who traveled. There were no cars, only carts pulled by large Skags and the occasional Motorbike. A bell tolled in the distance and she watched as people on the street stopped, others coming out onto their balconies and the sound rang through the city. Troy however did not stop instead speeding up his stride.

“Troy you’re gonna trip me, I can’t keep up!” Sloane protested.

“I was hoping we could avoid the attention, guess I should have known better than to send word. Even if that word was explicit, I did not want to be bothered tonight.” She could hear his fangs pressing against each other as he finished speaking, his agitation palpable in the air.

“Lord-Father Troy, how honored we are to be in your presence again.” A red cowled figure stepped out from the alley way, moving far too smoothly for a normal human.

It was only once the man was standing in front of them that his strange movements made sense. In the place of legs the heavily robed figure had four insectoid robotic limbs; two facing the front, two facing back. His right hand was also replaced with a robotic prosthetic that looked more like sleek black bone than the hulking form that hung off Troy.

“High Priest Deimos, I quite remember being very clear in our communication about tonight.” Troy glowered at the man.

“Forgive me for the intrusion Lord-Father. I was hoping I could escort you and the Verdant Lady to your residence.” Deimos said his fingers nervously bounced off each other as he spoke.

“We’re a bit busy for small talk.”

“It’s a ten minute walk my God-King, I won’t be burdensome for long. You can’t deny it’s been a fair while since we’ve spoken face to face, judging mother keeps you away from us.”

The more Sloane watched Deimos the more she realized he was more machine than man, a shift of his robe revealing a pump and tank system where his digestive system ought to be. She supposed that those who worshipped Troy would be more open to body modification but she couldn’t imagine casting away her organs for mechanical replacements.

“Fine.”

Deimos reached for Sloane’s hand only for Troy to swat it away with his prosthetic. The force behind the swipe reminded her just how easily he could crush someone with a flick of his wrist, he didn’t even need a weapon.

“And Sloane stays with me.”

“My apologies Lord-Father. I did not mean any offense.”

“Don’t get me wrong Deimos. I appreciate the hard work you all do, but Sloane and I are on a tight schedule. It was hard enough to convince Tyreen to let us have the night out.”

Troy and Deimos continued their back and forth of annoyance and platitudes as they walked Sloane tuned it out for the most part. She instead watched the street as they walked. She couldn’t recall ever seeing children in Temple Town but here she caught sight of more than one child being ushered to bow their heads like their parents before them as they walked past.

The filtered sunlight gave their procession a more somber feeling, especially as smoke from freshly lit censers wafted into the street. A bell tolled as they approached the steps she assumed belonged to the city hall. Troy released his grip on her hand and took a step forward, obscuring her slightly. Her gaze moved to the crowd that gathered at the foot of the steps.

She noted that those who had gathered seemed to be more calm and relaxed than the crowds that gathered to meet them in the great wandering city. That most of them seemed to have cybernetic parts which made sense, given Troy’s own disability it would make sense that his town would be made of people like him.

So wrapped up in taking in the foreign city’s spectacle she almost didn’t notice the men had stopped walking before she felt the tug of Troy’s grasp as she walked out of range.

“Uhh Pandora to Sloane, didn’t you hear me? We’re here.” Troy said an amused smirk pulled at the corner of his cheeks.

She looked up at the skyscraper that climbed greedily for the heaves. “Wow, sure is big.”

“Only the best for a god am I right?”

She snorted and nudged his arm with his shoulder. “Oh definitely. Totally not letting anyone think you're compensating eh.”

Troy turned red around the cheeks before he turned back to Deimos. “Well go on then you bucket of bolts get out here. And tell Phobos I’m expecting his report on my desk in the morning.”

The priest tapped his mechanical legs against the asphalt nervously before nodding emphatically. “By your will be done.” The priest skittered away back the way he had come before Troy’s temper could flare.

“Compensating, really Sloane? I could have any person in the CoV if I wanted, think I need to compensate to get that?” He was back to his jovial mood like someone had flipped a switch.

“I’m just saying it’s a big tower is all.”

“I like the view. Now, you coming in or shall we spend the night looking at my big tower?”

Sloane playfully rolled her eyes before she took his hand again.

The inside of the building was fairly standard for CoV buildings, the inverted vault symbol hung over the reception desk between two graffitied eyes. On the far wall a copy of Troy’s stained glass window from the Cathedral bathed the lobby in warm tones.

Troy did not acknowledge the receptionist simply strolling on by to the elevator. He placed his hand on a bioscanner located beneath the call button and a soft hum emitted from it before the ding of the lift's arrival cut through the otherwise silent lobby. The moment they stepped into the elevator and the doors clicked shut the atmosphere tangibly changed, Troy relaxing much the way he had been in the technical.

“I’m sorry about all that, I just wanted to get you here without being mobbed by followers who would want to meet you and ask fifty questions a piece. Tonight’s about relaxing and that’s what it’ll be from this moment on.” He smiled one of his warm and genuine smiles, unlike the smirk he used when dealing with followers this one went up to his eyes and softened his features. Sloane had come to relish seeing it in her few months among the twins.

They stepped out of the lift immediately into a fancy penthouse suite. Again it had all the design choices that made it read as Troy’s space, from the organized chaos to the books left turned over to hold their place.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tonight’s about you and I and nobody else so just tell me what you want.” He said hanging his vest over a chair as he went about the steps of removing his prothesthic. If they were going to have a cozy night in he needed to be comfortable.

“Yeah I’m starving, I haven’t eaten since Juniper brought me lunch.” She agreed, they hadn’t been gone from the cathedral more than a few hours yet it felt like ages ago now.

Troy turned to head into the kitchen when something caught Sloane’s eye. A black rectangular shaped box with a pair of controllers sat on top of it.

“Is that a Flaystation?” She asked her head tilted like a curious puppy as she spied it.

“Fuck yeah it is, we can play a game once we eat.” He reassured before he continued his quest to the kitchen.

Sloane made herself at home like Troy had suggested and plopped herself down on the plush sofa in front of the television. She was slightly surprised when a helper droid came out of a hole in the wall much like the ones back at the Cathedral. It pushed her shoes back over by the front door after she took them and returned shortly with a folded blanket on its head offering it to her.

She must have dozed off as the next thing she knew Troy was prodding her side. “Hey, hey! Dinner’s ready, sleepy head.”

She blinked awake and saw him grinning far too widely as he looked down at her curled up on the sofa. The same kind of look he gave when he had something up his sleeve in their game of bunkers and badasses, a genuine Troy smile.

Troy ran through his games library while they ate, pointing out the games he thought she would like. She was pleasantly surprised when he got it right, though they had spent months hanging out, doing their jobs, and sleeping in the same bed it had always felt like something they’d done out of obligation. When Troy had broken down the night of her coronation she had been caught off guard that she was so trusted and even now on an actual date with him it was only just clicking that he saw her for who she really was.

After a few hours of gaming, during which Sloane learned that Troy had taught himself to use a Flaystation controller with his feet which she found very impressive, the nature sire found herself yawning again. She leaned into Troy’s side, her head rested against the curve of his rib cage.

“It’s been a good night.” She sighed a content smile on her face.

“It has, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I did too.” He paused and took a deep breath before his hand came up and caught her under the chin, he gently tilted her head up to look him in the face.

“So, you think we can uh, make it official then. I know we’re in a weird situation where like we’ve been doing stuff couples do but it’s just been professional. I’ve really come to care for you these past months Sloane, more than I have anyone else. I would be honored and humbled to call you my girlfriend.”

Sloane’s face went red with blush as he spoke. “I would love to be your girlfriend Troy.”

She stretched up to meet his lips though she only stayed for a moment. As she pulled away she blinked in surprise as a thought registered with her.

“Holy fucking shit that was my first kiss.”

“Wait really?! Well…. it won’t be your last.”

She gave him a playful shove giggling as she did so. Her time away from Eden-4 had in general felt dreamlike and unreal if she thought about it too hard. Now however she found herself hoping that if truly was a dream that she would never wake up.

“So what changes at home? Is there anything I need to avoid doing around other people or something?”

Troy’s face steeled and his eyes darkened. There was an uncomfortably long pause between them before he spoke his voice had a hard edge, the kind that came with experience behind it and frightened her a bit.

“Tyreen cannot know. Not yet. Keep your head down, act like nothing changed unless we’re in private. I’ll handle it when the time comes.”

[ofheroesandvillains]

To Catch A Ghost - B.Russo - 1

Billy Russo x assassin!reader

Words: 2k Warnings: None  Summary: Post-season 1 of the Punisher. Billy helps Frank defeat Agent Orange, but doesn't realise that his initial involvement has landed him right in the middle of an investigation nobody knows about. 

I’ve had a Billy fic in my head for a very long time but I was always worried that I wouldn’t do the characters justice. I’ve decided to just go for it anyway, but please let me know if it’s something you’d like to see more of - I don't want to waste time on it if no one likes it haha! 

(Not my gif, credit to the creator!) 

“Y’know, I always knew I’d see one of you on my doorstep someday.”

He smiled. 

“Mind if I come in?”

You stepped aside with a sigh. At least he had the good manners to toe his shoes off before stepping inside. It hadn’t snowed in a few days but the dirt road leading to your little cabin was still predominantly sludge and you weren’t in the floor-scrubbing mood.

“This is...cosy.”

He looked about the room the same way you always did. Builders took their tools home with them, but people like you and Coulson, you took home vigilance. There was no telling when work would sneak up on you, and after spying the file in his hand, it was clear that now was one of those times. 

“Thanks, renovated it myself.” 

You made your way to the quaint little kitchen that sat attached to the living room. Bottled water, unopened. You knew it was all he’d take, and he probably wouldn’t drink it anyway. Again, vigilance. Or paranoia, you had a hard time telling which was which nowadays. 

Either way, he accepted the bottle with a smile.

“You know I’m retired, right?” you asked, making yourself comfortable on the plush chesterfield. “Handed in my resignation right after-”

“Right after the Triskelion, yeah.” Coulson nodded, making his way over to the armchair beside you. 

Your eyes narrowed as he leaned back into the leather, far more comfortable than expected.

He dropped the file on top of the small coffee table and cracked open his bottle of water. To anyone who didn’t know you, you could be two old friends sitting down after years apart and reminiscing about the good times. Except, there was a reason you hadn’t seen each other in so long, and good times were few and far between in your line of work. 

“I know what you’re doing, Coulson.” His brows shot up innocently. “I’m not taking another job.”

“Of course not. You’re retired.”

A strained silence stretched long enough to make you squirm in your seat. Your eyes were burning a hole through the folder as it sat there staring back at you. Coulson pretended not to notice, instead drumming his fingers against the armrest and feigning interest in the wooden beams overhead. 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. 

“Damn it.”

You swiped the folder off the table and didn’t need to look over to know he was smiling.  

The first page seemed to be a profile, the layout familiar but obscured by pictures. The couch dipped beside you. 

“William Rawlins, former CIA.”

You stared down at the middle-aged man in the photo with a grimace. His hair was sparse and he had a milky eye, but it was the self-important look on his face that didn’t sit well with you.

“Want me to kill him?”

Coulson huffed in what might have been a laugh, had you thought him capable. 

“No need, he’s already dead.” With that said, he removed the photo from the folder and placed it on the table. Beneath it was another face you didn’t recognise.

“Colonel Ray Schoonover. Former marine, turned drug lord.”

“I always liked a challenge.” Your lips twitched up, only to fall as Coulson put that photo right beside Rawlins’.

“Oh, he’s dead too.”

You shot him an exasperated look.

“Well, who the hell am I killin’ here, Coulson?” 

“Not killing, investigating. You’re investigating him.” He pointed down to the profile.

There were two photos of one William “Billy” Russo. The first was a typical military headshot. With his uniform and short hair, he looked a lot more baby-faced than he did in the full body shot below. There, he was pictured in a tailored suit, his face sterner and older - a man who’d seen too much in his short life. 

But none of that negated the fact that William Russo was a handsome man.

Your brows furrowed as you scanned through his details, and you looked back over at Coulson with a frown.

“You want me to...babysit a former Marine?”

“Investigate,” he repeated.

“Right,” you drawled. “And there’s no one else available? Like, no one at all?”

A sudden seriousness settled over him, and he gave you that same genuine look that always managed to rope you into life-threatening situations. You cursed yourself for respecting him as much as you did.

“No one I trust as much as I trust you.”

“Don’t let Nat hear you say that.”

You shared an amused glance.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought anyone else could do this job, kid.” He sighed. “I know you’re out, but this guy’s good at spotting a tail. Agent Ramirez gave me his report from a hospital bed.”

You snorted. “I’m no spy, Coulson. What makes you so sure I won’t end up in that same bed?”

Coulson smiled. “Ramirez was a spy, you’re a ghost. A little harder to catch one of those in my experience.”

“Just my luck Romanoff’s a public figure now, huh?” 

You mulled over the idea, eyes unconsciously locked onto the darkest pair you’d ever seen. His numbers were impressive, but you’d seen better. You had better. Alright, Russo.

“What exactly am I looking for?”

---------

“Rawlins was heavily involved in multiple illegal operations over east and on home soil. Our main concern, however, was his involvement with HYDRA.”

“Why is it always HYDRA?”

“We know that Rawlins funded Russo’s company, ANVIL. But we don’t know the extent of their relationship.”

“In other words, you don’t know if this Russo guy’s taken it upon himself to finish whatever Rawlins started with HYDRA.”

“We need you to get close to him, find out if he knows anything.”

“If he does?”

“Then congratulations, Nine. You get to kill someone after all.”

---------

The best way to lure someone in was to stoke their curiosity, then pretend you wanted nothing to do with them - at least in your line of work. Make him think he’s approaching you, not the other way around, Nat’s voice echoed in your mind.

The little hole-in-the-wall dive bar he frequented when he wasn’t entertaining company, wasn’t much of a stretch from what you’d usually enjoy. Admittedly, you didn’t have many friends, and your cabin was isolated enough to ensure that the only interaction you usually got was on your trip to the store for your weekly haul. 

But this...it was nice. It would be even nicer without the wasted frat boys in the corner eyeing you while they decided which one was macho enough to try his luck.

They weren’t regulars. You’d been coming here for almost a month and had never seen them before. More importantly, you hadn’t been seen before either. Not by Russo, at least. That would all change tonight if things went according to plan. 

Wednesday night, an early finish at the office. Too early in the week to go wild, but late enough to enjoy a night out. 

By now, Reggie - the old bartender - knew your usual order without asking, and what little backstory you’d supplied was firmly cemented in his mind. He even flicked the game on for you with a wink - you’d raised your glass in thanks.  

“H- ehem...Hey…”

Your eyes barely drifted from the TV. A cursory glance was enough to confirm that one of the fledglings had finally plucked up the courage...or was too wasted to stay away. 

“What?” 

He swallowed thickly, and you almost felt bad when you considered just how young he looked. Was he even legal? 

His friends laughed on the other side of the room and he scowled over his shoulder at them before turning back with a smile. 

“Mind if I buy you a drink?”

“Sorry, I don’t accept drinks from minors.”

Apparently insulted, he stood a little taller, chest puffed out and lips pursed.

“I’m not a kid.”

“I didn’t say you were a kid. I said you were a minor.”

You saw him roll his eyes from the corner of your eye. Yeah, not a kid, you mentally scoffed.

“Would you just accept the damn drink?” 

“No.”

“Why?” He sounded exasperated, and you were just about at the end of your rope. 

You finally dragged your gaze from the TV and the look you shot him must have held the right amount of warning, because it certainly had the desired effect. His shoulders fell and he took a slow and sheepish step back.

“Because,” you began, voice low. “I said so. Now, beat it, kid. I’m trying to watch the game.”

He scurried off with his tail between his legs just as someone slipped into the seat beside you. 

“Ouch.” 

It was barely a word, but the way it rolled off his lips was smoother than the drink you were nursing. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him, and you cursed his timing.

“Think he’ll walk it off?” He asked in good humour, before motioning to the bartender. 

You decided that the photographs didn’t do him justice. Even when he traded his suits for his sweaters, he still looked better than any mark you’d tailed before. 

“They always do.”

The glass of scotch passed to him snatched his attention, and he shot Reggie a grateful smile.

“Make it two, Reg.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” 

A silence settled between you, interrupted only by periodic laughter and the chatter of commentators. You could feel his eyes on you. 

They were glued to your chest, a furrow in his brow and a small frown on his lips.

The best way to get his attention? Tell him about yourself without saying a word. Let him think he’s figuring you out. Men love thinking they’re smart.

“You okay?”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed and apologetic.

“Sorry, I wasn’t...” he huffed an embarrassed laugh, before nodding toward your chest, eyes pointedly on your own. “You served?”

You glanced down at the ball chain that disappeared beneath the neckline of your shirt. 

“Good spot. I guess I’m not the only one.”

He smiled, something more genuine and proud than you’d expected from him, but it was quick to falter. It reminded you of whenever you would think of S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d done great things together, made friends you wouldn’t trade for the world, even saved that same world a few times. But knowing just how rotten the organisation was at the core left a bad taste in your mouth.

It tainted those memories and reminded you that everything they asked of you and everything you did for them was suspect. 

He recovered quickly. 

“Right you are.”

Your eyes narrowed as he took a swig of his drink.

“I’m thinking...Navy.”

He grimaced into his glass, and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re just out here usin’ everyone’s pride as a punching bag tonight, huh?” He joked with a short laugh of his own. 

“Well, now you’ve gotta be Army!” 

“Marine Corps.”

Your brows shot up. “Nice.” 

He traced the lip of his glass with a small smile. It probably wasn’t the thing he was usually complimented for, but he certainly wasn't this bashful about his looks. 

A vibration shot through your leg and while knew your conversation with him was over sooner than you would have liked, it may have just been in your favour. 

He likes women, and women like him. You’re not going to be one of those women, and he needs to know that. Half the fun is in the chase, got it?

“Sorry, I gotta take this.” You slipped your phone out of your pocket and shot him an apologetic look. “It was nice meeting you though...”

His smile faltered and the hint of disappointment that flashed in his eyes was gone in a blink. 

“Billy,” he supplied. “Billy Russo.”

You shook the hand he offered you. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Billy Russo,” you said, slipping out of your seat with one final smile. 

His eyes trailed after you until you were out the door and out of sight, but he would think of you again that night. 

---------

“Have you made contact?”

“Sure have, and you have shitty timing, by the way.”

“Keep me posted.”

He hung up without another word and you sighed. 

“Love you too, Phil.”

---------

Part 2

[out-of-jams]

Airplane Mode | Track 06: Base Line | jhs

Summary: Inspired by Love at First Touch by bagelswrites

In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death.

So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?

And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok/ FemOC

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: Explicit language.

Words written in bold are spoken in Korean.

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Eunjae woke up very confused.

To the sound of loud, constant ringing.

It startled her sleeping body so much that it yanked her out of the land of dreams and back to reality. Slowly peeling her heavy eyes open, Eunjae stared blankly at the unfamiliar white wall across from her. Her brain was not yet awake and was could barely process where she was and how she got there. So it took her a moment to realize that the obnoxious sound echoing through her ears was a doorbell.

“Miles, I swear to God.” Eunjae mumbled incoherently. Reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes, she sat up in bed, causing the thick comforter to pool around her waist. She was still dressed in the same outfit from last night since she had nothing else to change into. Though she’d shed her bra and joggers right before collapsing into bed.

A sigh left her lips as another round of doorbell ringing started up and she tore her eyes back open in irritation. It wasn’t until her vision landed on the brown wood of the long dresser across from her bed that the memories came rushing back to her. She most definitely was not in New York.

“So then who—” Eunjae’s eyes widened as the sound of light knocking accompanied the ringing of the doorbell. Whoever was on the other side had given up on just ringing, and started to match the tempo of both sounds to tap out some kind of nonsensical song. Blinking in the dim light shining through the black curtained window, her mouth parted in realization. “Oh, shit.”

Eunjae sprang out of bed and almost face planted into the rug underneath when her foot got caught in the comforter. Curses flying from her mouth, she stumbled across the room, ripping her joggers and bra from where they’d landed on the vanity mirror after she blindly threw them. Eunjae scrambled into her clothes and swung the door to her room open so fast that she almost smacked herself in the face.

No one ever said she was the most graceful person first thing in the morning.

“I’m coming!” Whoever was on the other side of the door was either deaf or too caught up in the track they were remixing on her door to hear her.

Eunjae’s bare feet padded down the short narrow hallway outside her room. She’d been so tired last night that she’d barely even given her new living space a quick, cursory glance before crawling into bed. So now as she grandma-shuffled towards the door like some half-assed zombie, she let her eyes wander.

To the right side of the hallway was a door that led to a bathroom that she was sure she would explore later to shower. As she emerged from the passageway, it opened out into a kitchen/living room. To the left was a small, but nice kitchen. And instead of a table, there was a long bar/island with stools pushed underneath. All of the equipment looked brand new and it was too bad that she wouldn't have a need for it.

The living room was straight ahead. A leather couch took up one whole wall and the cream colored shag rug underneath looked soft enough to sleep on. Separating the couch from a dark wood tv stand was a rounded glass coffee table. The walls throughout the whole apartment were painted a boring eggshell white that was almost blinding in the sun.

“I’ll have to fix that.” Eunjae muttered to herself. The place wasn’t huge, but she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want to be put up in some lavish penthouse like some weird, trophy soulmate. Eunjae already felt awkward enough for how much Big Hit was already doing for her; best not to add more to the list.

As Eunjae reached the door, she stopped from grabbing the doorknob when she caught her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. With a grimace, she quickly ran her fingers through her wild bedhead in an attempt to tame it. Seemingly satisfied, Eunjae quickly yanked open the door before the neighbors decided to file a noise complaint.

Jung Hoseok stood on the other side of the door, one finger hovering over the doorbell as if he were about to ring it again. His expression converted from amused to surprised, and then back to amused, before finally settling on friendly. Eunjae decided right then and there that he was way too awake, way too early in the morning. Hoseok’s dimples came out to play as he flashed her a grin and an energetic wave.

Not only was he completely awake, but he was fully dressed for the day too. With his white and red long-sleeve pullover, french tucked into a pair of jeans, he looked very casual. He’d parted his dark hair in the middle so that it exposed the lightly tanned skin of his forehead. And a black belt was threaded through the hoops of his jeans to keep them from falling down his slim waist.

All-in-all, his very put together appearance made Eunjae look like some half-dead monster that just crawled out of the sewer.

Just call me Master Splinter . She thought, staring up at him with tired eyes and messy hair.

Hoseok dropped his hand and leaned casually against the doorway. His fresh scent filled Eunjae’s nose and she vaguely wondered if all of the members smelled that good, or if it was just a Hoseok thing. Tucking a hand into the pocket of his jacket, He gave her a greeting that was way too cheerful for her exhausted brain to mimic.

“Good morning!”

Eunjae hummed in acknowledgment and reached up to rub at her cheeks. “Morning, Hobi.”

He seemed completely unoffended by her lack of enthusiasm which she was grateful for. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah. You?” Blinking up at him through dead eyes, Eunjae tried her hardest to match his energy. It was infectious; beginning to filter through her haze filled mind like a stream of fresh water.

“Yes. Good!”

“That’s good.” Eunjae mumbled around a yawn, “‘hat time is it?”

Hoseok tilted his head to the side cutely in confusion. When he hesitated in replying, Eunjae sent him a sleepy smile and lightly tapped on her wrist; the universal gesture to ask for the time. Hoseok made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat and fished around in the pocket of his jeans to pull out his phone. As he flashed the screen her way, Eunjae gave a slow blink at how early it was.

The both of them had gotten back from the airport a little after four am, and the numbers flashing across Hoseok’s phone read that it was now ten am. If Eunjae was doing the math right (which she probably wasn’t), that only equated to around less than six hours of sleep total. Which was definitely pointing to the danger side of her sleep-o-meter.

“Oh.” Was the only sound that could leave her mouth and a pout formed unconsciously on her lips as she squinted up at Hoseok.

How was he already awake and ready to begin his day now ? She really envied his ability to pull energy out of thin air. Though she couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Eunjae thought someone from the company was supposed to pick her up and take her shopping for the early half of the day. Surely Bit Hit wouldn’t send her out with Hoseok. Because that would undoubtedly cause a huge scandal if they were caught. Not that she would have minded spending time with him, but she wasn’t quite prepared to be bashed into the next century in the next issue of Dispatch.

Eunjae shifted a little closer to the door and tried to peer around Hoseok’s tall frame to see if any of the other members were in the hallway. Or anyone at all. When she found no one, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her, who was slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Where, um,” Eunjae paused, brows knitting as she tried to search for the words in Korean. At coming up blank, her nose scrunched. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Everyone?” Hoseok parroted back with a blink. Shrugging, he offered her a smile. “Only me.”

“Only you?” Her lips twitched up in response at their weird back-and-forth game of repeating words. As if saying them out loud would help them to translate somehow.

Pulling a hand from the pocket of his fuzzy pullover, he gestured back down the hall to where he’d informed her last night was where Bangtan resided. Their apartment was all the way on the opposite end of the corridor, and Eunjae could just barely make out the outline of the door.

“Left.” A string of non-english words then left Hoseok’s mouth and all Eunjae could do was stare up at him blankly. At noticing her confusion, his mouth pursed and he tilted his head, leaning further against the doorframe. If he felt at all frustrated by their lack of ability to communicate, he didn’t show it. “Earlier. But not me.”

“Oh. Why?”

Hoseok clasped his hands together and held them up to his cheek dramatically, swishing from side to side with his eyes closed. “Tired.”

“So you slept in, then.”

Eunjae said it out loud mostly to herself, but he answered her with a cute, “ding, ding, ding! ”

Which made her wonder how much English he could or could not understand. But that was a question to answer at some other point in time, when she wasn’t falling asleep standing up. Running her hands down her face to try and wake herself up, Eunjae’s tongue flickered across her dry lips.

“Are you here to take me with you to the company, then?” She couldn’t help but continuously feel guilty over the fact that she couldn’t communicate very well in his language. Him being the one to be forced to speak in hers didn’t sit well with her.

Eunjae could definitely tell when Hoseok was confused. In the few short hours that she’d known him in person, she received that look from him a lot. He’d tilt his head to the side and furrow his brow a bit. Then his eyelashes would flutter faster than normal as if the answer to his confusion was right in front of him, but he just couldn’t see it. And his pale pink lips would part just enough to stop from looking like a full on pout. Not only that, but a small little hum would resonate in the back of his throat, sounding more like a sigh than not.

And Eunjae was on the receiving end of a very confused Hoseok.

Pursing her lips, she tried to think of a way to communicate what she was trying to say. Her mind went blank and she cringed internally at the now awkward air encasing them like a bubble. Eunjae wasn’t really sure if a game of charades full of wild gestures and confused faces would somehow disperse the cringeworthy tension.

Too caught up in trying to find a way to bridge the invisible, gaping chasm between them, Eunjae failed to see the imaginary light bulb go off above Hoseok’s head. His sudden movement, however, caught her attention as he fished back into his pocket and whipped out his phone. He quickly held up a finger telling her to wait as his other hand swiped across the screen. Eunjae couldn’t see exactly what he was doing due to the fact that he had what looked like a privacy screen attached to the glass.

Hoseok whipped his phone around to show her and Eunjae almost smacked her forehead at her stupidity. On display was a translator app and as he passed her the phone, she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought of the idea. It was so obvious.

“Talk for English to Korean.” He waved a hand at the phone, but before she could speak, the app picked up his voice and a translated version of what he’d just said came out of the speakers in a robotic voice.

Snorting in amusement, Eunjae repeated what she’d said previous and Hoseok let out a tiny hum and gestured for his phone back. The words that left his mouth went in one ear and out the other, and Eunjae shifted on her feet as she waited for the app to translate. Hopefully she’d be able to get a burner phone sometime during the day so that she could download the app for herself. Getting lost in a foreign country with no means of communication was something that was not on her bucket list. After mentally calculating the funds in her bank account, she was sure she could swing it.

“Sejin texted that someone would be here to pick you up at eleven.” The female monotonous, robotic tone snapped Eunjae out of her thoughts and she eyed the phone Hoseok held out between them. “But you have no clothes, right?”

It took Eunjae a second too long to figure out how he knew that bit of information. The night before (or that morning) had been kind of a blur to her. The memories came back to her slowly: him questioning her about her missing luggage, and the add on the fact that she was still in the same outfit.

Hopefully I don’t smell bad . She unconsciously wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“Right.”

Instead of answering her, Hoseok pushed off the doorframe and gifted Eunjae with one of his eye smiles. He gestured for her to follow him and her face contorted in confusion, but she slipped on her shoes still by the door and stepped out into the hall anyway. As the door closed behind her, Eunjae couldn’t help but ask, “where are we going?”

She asked more out of curiosity than anything else. Miles would always berate her about the fact that she was too spontaneous, too willing to bounce from one plan to the next. Eunjae was the type of person to just go along with whatever was thrown her way. And she liked to live life that way; there was something freeing about not holding yourself to a plan sometimes. Most of her more cherished memories were created by taking a leap of faith.

“Clothes!” Hoseok threw over his shoulder, waving his hand in the air to usher her along. Eunjae’s short legs had a hard time keeping up with his long ones and she internally cursed her genetics. At least being a 5’1” woman in South Korea was kind of average. Well, that’s what Eunjae liked to tell herself anyway.

The hallway they were walking down was empty and she took a moment to wonder if any of the other apartments in the building housed celebrities. Surely they had to, what with how expensive they were and the amount of security to even get into the building. Hopefully that meant that there would be little risk of someone exposing the nature of her and Hoseok’s soulbond.

That was just a hassle she didn’t want to deal with.

Eunjae almost ran into the back of the rapper, shoes scruffing against the carpet as she slid to an abrupt stop. Hoseok didn’t seem to notice, instead quickly keying in the code to the apartment and swinging it open. He turned to the side, back pressed against the door to hold it open, and motioned for her to enter first.

The situation was slowly starting to dawn on her. As an ARMY for a little over a year, the prospect of being granted access to Bangtan’s apartment threatened to bring out the fangirl in her. The shock of Hoseok being her soulmate had still not settled in, but as Eunjae was brought more and more into his world, the reality she once knew began to shatter. For now, the walls were merely cracked, but she didn’t doubt that once she met the rest of the members, it would implode into tiny pieces.

After taking a moment to compose herself and not let her inner ARMY show, Eunjae crossed over the threshold. As she passed through the doorway, her shoulder brushed against Hoseok and the electric heat that jolted under her skin almost made her trip over her feet. That feeling was something that Eunjae doubted she would ever get used to. The sound of the door closing drew her attention away from the wide hallway of the entryway and back to Hoseok.

“Need to hurry.” He waved her to follow him as he walked quickly through the wide hallway of the entryway.

Eunjae nodded in response, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it from where he walked in front of her. Hoseok turned left at the end of the short hallway wand the apartment opened up into the big living room. The far wall was made up of all windows, though the blinds were drawn halfway down so she could barely see the view of the city.

The building was located in Hanam Hill, which housed some of the most expensive apartments in Seoul. It was just far enough out of the heart of the city to provide privacy, but not so far that the boys had to travel a long distance to the company. Eunjae had yet to get the chance to see the view from her own apartment since she’d gotten in so late.

The boy’s living room was nice and spacious, but it wasn’t at all flashy. The two of them passed by a large cream colored L-shaped couch and with a wide screen tv mounted to the wall. It was decorated with various knick-knacks that must have been collected from various members.

The marble floor reflected the lights overhead and Eunjae had to stop her jaw from dropping at the sight of the luxury kitchen. It was big, way bigger than hers, and all of the equipment looked state of the art. Which made her wonder if the boys had some kind of personal chef, or if they all just ordered in whenever Seokjin didn’t want to cook.

Hoseok must have caught her rapidly wandering eyes because he threw a grin over his shoulder and offhandedly waved around the space. “See later.”

“You have to go?” Eunjae assumed that’s why he was speed walking through the apartment like a bat out of hell. She had to speed up to a trot in order to keep up as they passed various closed doors down the hallway next to the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Hoseok finally stopped at a door on the left that was already cracked open. He pushed it the rest way and spun around to usher her in. “Practice.”

Hoseok’s room wasn’t super huge, and Eunjae already knew through Miles that he shared it with Jimin. There were two beds against the far wall, separated by a bedside table. There were a few shelves hanging on the walls with various trinkets that Eunjae couldn’t tell who they belonged to. Hoseok crossed the carpet and stopped at a closet door. There was another one a little to the left, which must have been Jimin’s.

Without pause, the door swung open to reveal a smaller version of a walk-in closet. It was big enough to fit both of them if they squeezed, but not so large that she could fully stretch out if she laid down. There were clothes hung up in a random order that Eunjae couldn’t discern, bright colors popping out in between darker ones. Lines of drawers covered the bottom half of the opposite wall, but all of them were closed.

Back pressed up against the door frame, Hoseok gently laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her closer to the closet. “Pick any.”

“For me?” Eunjae pointed a finger at herself. She felt a little slow on the uptake.

Sure, he’d said that he was taking her to get clothes, but she didn’t imagine that he’d give her some of his. Her inner fangirl was starting to crawl its way out and Eunjae had to bite down to keep it from escaping. Was he really about to give her full access to his closet? Not only was her inner ARMY screaming, but the wannabe fashion designer inside of her couldn’t wait to pick through his designer clothes.

Her excitement at the situation must have been showing because Hoseok’s contagious giggle left his throat. He moved away from the door to stand behind her, both of his hands on her shoulders as he ushered her closer. “For you!”

As he let his hands drop, Eunjae turned to shoot him a beaming, grateful smile. The one that made her nose crinkle. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok grinned and mumbled something in Korean too fast for her to catch. Before she could ask what he’d said, the phone in his pocket dinged . He slipped it out and glanced at the screen before giving her an apologetic smile. “Got to go.”

“Go!” Eunjae waved him off with both hands, not wanting to be the reason he got in trouble. “Don’t be late.”

Hobi hummed and put his phone and opened his arms wide to gesture at his closet. “Stay. Pick any. I will see you...soon!”

For whatever reason, he’d decided not to use the translator on his phone. Either he forgot about it in his haste or he wanted to go without, Eunjae wasn’t sure. But she appreciated the gesture either way. If anything, him trying his best to speak English gave her more incentive to learn more Korean for him.

Eunjae was a little shocked that he trusted her, a near stranger, enough to leave her alone in Bangtan’s apartment. Sure, they were soulmates, but she could have been some kind of crazy sasaeng. So him gifting her that trust was something that she didn’t want to betray.

“See you soon.”

Hoseok gave her a cute little wave before disappearing out the room. As she turned back to the numerous amount of clothes hanging in the closet she could hear the front door open and close. With hands on her hips, Eunjae spun in a small circle, analyzing the different choices. She already knew that she didn’t have a chance in hell of fitting into any of the taller man’s pants. At least not if she wanted to be able to walk without tripping over herself every five seconds. Her fingertips brushed through the fabric with pursed lips.

She was going to have to get creative.

As he walked down the hall, Hoseok could hear the boisterous sounds of the rest of his members spilling out of the practice room. Jimin’s laugh greeted his ears as Hoseok pushed open the door and slipped inside the room. All six of the boys were sitting in a messy circle in the center of the room and the smell of fried chicken and sweat invaded his nostrils.

Jungkook turned at the sound of the door closing with half a piece of chicken sticking out of his mouth. A mumbled, “hey, hyung,” sent bits of chewed up food spraying from his mouth and onto the floor.

“Kook-ah!” Jimin scrunched his nose down at the mess next to his leg. “That’s disgusting.”

Jungkook just shrugged and shoved the rest of the chicken into his mouth. His greeting brought everyone else’s attention to Hoseok as he crossed the room to squeeze in between Yoongi and Taehyung. Neither of them moved to make room, so Hoseok just stretched his legs out between them, half leaning on Yoongi as he did so.

“‘Bout time you got here.” Yoongi raised a brow at the other rapper as he brought his chopsticks to his mouth.

Namjoon, who sat on the opposite side of the circle, quickly swallowed the food in his mouth before addressing Hoseok. “So, how is she adjusting?”

Leaning back on his hands, Hoseok gave a small half-shrug. All eyes were back on him again as they waited for his answer. The members had been just about as excited for his soulmate to arrive as he’d been. Though the language barrier was definitely a large obstacle, Hoseok still had faith that they could figure out an effective way to communicate.

Prior to his soulmate’s arrival, he’d been following Namjoon around in his free time to bug him for English lessons. Hoseok may have known enough English to somewhat follow along during American interviews, but he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to have full blown conversations. That was where the regret had settled in. He definitely should have been more adamant in the past about learning it, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Hoseok had gone out on a limb when he first met Eunjae by giving her his contact information. Sure, she was his soulmate, but he wasn’t reckless enough not to take the fact that she was a fan into consideration.

The rest of his members had been a little worried and somewhat skeptical, but at the end of the day, they trusted Hoseok’s judgement. They knew that he wouldn’t do anything to put them in harm’s way. He’d had faith that the universe wouldn’t pair him with someone who wasn’t a good person, so he’d taken the risk. And it had paid off.

Though he didn’t really know that much about her and they hadn’t been able to communicate a whole lot with his intense schedule. But Hoseok held out hope that they could form a strong bond. He’d been taken by surprise by just how strong the magnetizing pull between them was. Even after all of the research that he did as he laid in bed late at night hours after practice and interviews and studio sessions.

Jung Hoseok would be the first to admit that he didn’t know a whole lot about soulmates. He’d never paid much attention to it during primary school. The only time it even crossed his mind was whenever a news article would come out, but even then he’d forget about it soon after. Which was yet another thing he regretted.

Maybe if he’d paid more attention, he would have been prepared for how addicting the touch of a soulmate was. It was like a drug that he couldn’t help but want to get his hands on all the time. Not that he would, since he barely knew her and didn’t want to scare her off somehow.

Hell, he was barely even conscious of his body’s own movements before he touched her. Hoseok wasn’t even big on copious amounts of skinship with the exception of the other members. Even then, he wasn’t as touchy as Jimin or Taehyung. So wanting to constantly initiate skinship with a near stranger was overwhelming.

“Earth to Hobi-ya!”

A kick to the bottom of Hoseok’s show brought him out of his thoughts. Seokjin raised an eyebrow from across the circle, waving his chopsticks like he could magically pull the thoughts from his head.

Hoseok shot him an innocent look. “Did you say something, hyung?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Jin gave another kick to his shoe. “What’s got you all spaced out? Namjoonie asked how your soulmate is adjusting.”

“Ah.” The rapper gave Namjoon a sheepish smile, who just waved him off in response. “I’m not sure. It hasn’t even been a day.”

“But we’re gonna meet her today, right?” Taehyung turned to him with hopeful brown eyes.

He’d been one of the most excited ones to meet her beside Jimin. And Hoseok couldn’t help the grateful blanket that settled in his chest. The fact that his members were so accepting of the situation was something that he was thankful for. If they wound up not getting along with his soulmate, Hoseok wasn’t sure what he’d do. So he didn’t think about it.

Hoseok patted Tae’s shoulder with a smile. “Yup! She should be here some time later. Try not to embarrass me.”

He’d said the last part playfully, but a small part of him meant it.

“You said to make sure that we embarrass you, hyung?” Jungkook’s doe eyes peered over another piece of chicken that he was about to shove into his mouth. Though his overly innocent expression gave away his mischief.

“That’s what I heard.” Yoongi’s monotone voice did well to hide his playful sarcasm. He ignored the deadpan look from Hoseok and busied himself with downing the rest of his coffee.

“Let’s at least try not to scare her.” Namjoon, ever the responsible leader piped up with a shrug and a snort of amusement. “At least let her settle in first.”

“So don’t let her meet anyone then. Got it.”

The kick to the bottom of Hoseok’s shoe came from Jimin this time and he ignored it in favor of pushing Taehyung’s chopsticks away from his face. The smell of chicken must have broken through whatever tied over exhaustion gracing Hoseok’s system, because his stomach growled loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

Seokjin eyed him from across the circle, eyes narrowed and pouty lips pursed. His expressions morphed into one of concern as he nodded his head towards the food containers in the center of the circle of boys. “You should eat something.”

Hoseok’s nose wrinkled at the thought of putting any type of food in his mouth. The last time he’d eaten something, the taste of garbage had coated his tongue for the rest of the day. It wasn’t something that he really desired to repeat, so he wanted to forgo that option for as long as he could. “I’m okay.”

“Jin-hyung’s right.” Taehyung pushed the piece of chicken dangling from his chopsticks against Hoseok’s lips. “You should eat.”

With a grimace, Hoseok opened his mouth to reiterate that he wasn’t in the mood to scrape the taste of decay from his taste buds. But before he could, Taehyung shoved the food into his open mouth. Cringing in absolute disgust, Jin sent him a glare before he could spit it out.

“Chew and swallow.”

Not wanting to be on the other side of Seokjin’s wrath, Hoseok did his best to chew without letting the food touch his tongue. After he swallowed, Taehyung ducked his head to hide his smile of victory.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

Hoseok would have answered Jin if it wasn’t for the fact that his stomach twisted in sudden nausea. The small bit of food that he’d just eaten was about to make a reappearance. Ignoring the looks of concern from the other boys, Hoseok shot off the floor and stumbled his way to the door. He’d almost made it too, but his system was fast working and he hadn’t been quick enough.

His fear of throwing up came to fruition--all over the floor of the practice room.

“Fuck.”

[boogaloomagoo]

Whiskey Lullaby | Nic & Margot

We laid her next to him beneath the willow While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

This was a bad idea. This was a genuinely foolish, poorly thought out, half-baked idea that was going to get her killed. Why had she even thought this was something she should suggest carrying out in the first place?! Margot was practically pacing a hole into the motel sidewalk, in her human form for the time being but still making certain that she was in a fairly cornered, darkened area. God, she really fucked it up this time, didn't she? Sure, I'll be your bodyguard for a potential clan of werewolves that will come for blood! TOTALLY rational and doable! What the actual fuck!? Granted, she thought she could take on two of them by herself - she had in the past. But more than that, any more than that, or an unanticipated factor being thrown into the mix, and she was utterly screwed. Well, then again, it wasn't as though she would be fighting them off alone. The guy -- Nicodemus, right -- he seemed more than capable of handling himself. If worse came down to it, they could tag-team and potentially come out with few scars. Hopefully. Groaning in her throat, the blonde finally rounded a corner before coming face to face with a door. Yeah, this was his. He'd given her the number earlier. So, all she had to do was... Swallowing thickly, she raised a fist and, after hesitating with it mid-air, rapped on the door three times.

Nicodemus felt good about himself and that should have been the first warning sign: he never felt good about himself. Existence was simply there and he was a blood-meat vessel inside of it, chugging along. But with the bottle of the American Honey that Blanche sent him, he felt decent. He hummed. He decided early on once his mouth started tingling and his fingers felt warm that he should stop sharpening his knives. Safety first, for whatever the fuck that even mattered. Somewhere outside, he knew Margot was wandering about. That went beyond his understanding, her willingness to suddenly protect him at all costs. He didn’t get it and the more he thought about it, the more his brow creased and the humming in his throat cracked. At least she hadn’t called him a hero. He would’ve lost it right then and there. Found another hopeless tree to splinter and shatter until the destruction felt good. For now, with whiskey in him, he could allow that to be what made him feel good. Small allowances. His own humming distracted him from the knocking until he heard the final one. The whiskey was doing its job at blocking things out, it seemed. Grabbing a flannel shirt to throw on from his kaleidoscope box of them, he forego buttoning it as he peered through the eye-hole. Speak of the bear. He unslipped the lock and opened the door wide, a lazy, baby-sized smile on his face. “Evenin’ Gold. Slow night out there?”

The seconds that ticked by following her initial knock seemed to roll by in slow motion, as if time had slowed after the action itself had been carried out. Or perhaps that was how Margot's mind simply perceived it - caution coiling in every taught muscle, anxiety mounting like a shadowy figure looming behind her, fingers digging so tight into her bare upper arms so as to create the indents of very angry, equally anxious little moons in the pale skin. When her ears caught onto the muffled sound of a lock being undone, she attempted to straighten her posture from it's already ramrod state, jutting her chin out slightly and placing both hands on her hips - all in order to present an image of self-assurance and confidence instead of the frightened child muttering to herself about getting in trouble that lay just below the surface. When the door finally revealed her charge, however, her shoulders slumped a bit, brow furrowed lightly in mild confusion. He was... smiling? Okay, that was definitely a shift from the negative shifts of his lips about a week ago. Not that it didn't look nice on him, but -- why? "It... I guess you could, uh, say that..." And what was-- Gold? Something - displeasure, familiarity, a simple passing sensation - something clenched within Margot's gut upon hearing the nickname. Her eyes shifted to glance into what little of his room she could view, and the glint of something caught her eye - a bottle? Or two? Soon enough she was leaning in a bit to give a tentative sniff of the air around him. The scent of whiskey; faint, but unmistakable. That explained just about everything. The blonde could feel the corner of her mouth lift up in a partially amused smirk. "I'm guessing you're having a fairly good night so far?"

The hunter blinked languidly at the bugbear. His mouth felt dry and his tongue traced around his bottom lip as he sent a cursory glance to either side of the door. Nicodemus didn’t particularly care what it might’ve looked like to some shitty voyeur. Didn’t particularly care for much, regardless. But a care was still there somewhere. He returned to look at Margot, back straight and her posture screaming professionalism. All she needed was a badge and uniform, then she’d look ever the part. ‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ A low laugh started in his chest and he fought to keep it down, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. Damn, his cheeks felt warm and he bit his lip to draw the blood somewhere else. He hated that he was one of those blushy drinkers. “I don’t think there’s any wolves in the room,” he said, eyes casting up and to the right as he thought. He placed his hand low on his hip once more. She was smirking at him and dark brows rose when his eyes fell on her again. “Goin’ well so far, yeah. I’m enjoyin’ the fruits of my labor.” With his upper body turned, he gestured to the bottles of Wild Turkey American Honey. God bless Blanche Harlow and her fake ID. “At least I ain’t doin’ it dead ass in the middle of the woods somewhere. Then you’d really have your work cut out for you, huh?” He was talking a lot and not drinking enough, but now he had a guest and his expression brightened by a fraction. Southern hospitality and the need to pour himself another shot kept him locked between her and the doorway. “You allowed to drink on the job, Gold? Plenty for two.”

Blue eyes watched his facial expressions shift with a silent curiosity. Alcohol had such an intriguing effect on people - some could be swayed into a flurry of anger, others drowning in their sorrows the deeper they sank into a bottle. And then there were those whose spirits seemed to lift with each shot, higher and higher until they were floating happily on a cloud that nobody else but themselves could see. Where the hard lines were akin to rusted-gears that had seemed to ground out each furrow of his brow and every frown, there was now a smoothness, an ease with which his features rose and fell. He was definitely in a better mood than the night they met - although, Margot could argue that from their conversation online, he didn't exactly seem to be a person whose dander was always up. But to see him so obviously relaxed, possibly even, dare she say - bordering on a giggly drunk? "Yeah, I definitely would not recommend that. I'd hate to have someone catch a bear hauling a boozy guy back to his hotel room. Not that I'd mind," Or would she? Should she? There was far too much effort tacked onto that particular train of thought, and so Margot decided to focus on his offer instead. She quirked her mouth to the side, glancing over her shoulder as though someone of import might be watching their exchange. "I..." She hesitated for another beat before releasing the grip on her hips, nodding fervently. "Sure. Why not? It is a pretty slow night, after all," She noted with a small, appreciative smile up towards him.

He watched her thoughts cross over her face, a thoughtfulness to it that he wasn’t expecting. He had expected her to leave, go back to whatever post she had picked and leave him by himself. But she hadn’t and she was engaging with him. A lot of people were talking to him a lot more lately and Nicodemus didn’t know how to process it, like a kernel that wouldn’t come out of the garbage disposal. Kept clacking around in his head and confusing him. “Well, cher, you did say you were a big ass bear,” he said with a slow smirk of his own, his words heavy with Cajun drawl. “That sounds like somethin’ a big ass bear wouldn’t have a hard time doin’.” His fingers lightly tapped at the door frame as she considered his offer. Again, he’d expected a no. A quick getaway and a shrug, that was it. But then she was nodding at him and he fought hard to keep his mouth from parting in shock. Oh, she had agreed. What the fuck? Right, alright. He offered, she accepted. A smile shifted his shock away. Sometimes shit didn’t always go the wrong way and while he could barely grasp on that watery concept, droplets still remained on his fingertips. It took him a minute that felt like an hour before he cleared his throat and returned her nod with a slow, deliberate one of his own. He stepped back to the side and gave her space to enter. He wasn’t a particularly messy individual and he was glad that sober Nicodemus had bothered to put the knives and guns away in safe places. Very little in the room said much about him, aside from the snowglobes, whiskey bottles, and the half-read copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. His thumb traced the pulse in his neck. “Help yourself. Honey whiskey alright? Ain’t just askin’ because you’re a...” His voice lowered thoughtfully as he closed the door, a secretive smile tweaking the corners of his lips. “Y’know.”

Oh. Right. She had... actually referred to herself as that in their online conversation. Another effort to prove herself hardy enough to take on the task of being a competent guardian for him. Right. Sometimes, Margot truly did wonder why she chose certain phrases, but in reality most of them were taken from either television or what she'd heard other people around her age utilize. It just seemed like an accurate depiction at the time. "Exactly, totally what I am. So, not out of the realm of possibility at all," Was he all that surprised that she had accepted his offer? Perhaps. It wasn't as though either of them came off as particularly social, which actually worked a bit in her favor. He didn't seem the type to pry, and Margot wasn't fond of those who did. So far, everything was playing out smoothly. Stepping past the threshold into his room, her gaze idly found itself lingering on his frame for a moment, noting the unbuttoned flannel with a bit of familiarity. She herself had a cornucopia of them, varying patterns and makes, due to the functionality and comfort factors. Flannel was a good thing. Next she focused on the interior of the small room, hands once again finding purchase grasped onto her arms in front of her chest - a protective sort of stance, but not exactly defensive. Not at the moment. Oh, wow, had he really just...? A prompt snort flew past her lips, head tilted back to regard him with a quizzical yet amused expression. "I'm more of a berry girl, if we're being honest. But honey'll do just fine," Her own lips curved up of their own accord, arms lowered to hang a bit more loosely; guard slowly lowering. "Or was that a blonde reference? Goldilocks? Barbie? Hell, I could go on all night.”

Nicodemus held his hands up in mock surrender. "Won't catch me sayin' different." Fuck, it felt so strange to invite someone in. The smile and the heat up in his neck, living in his cheeks, were well and truly alive. But there was a cold in him that burned hotter than any fire that liquor could start. Frigid and near-death since before he knew what death meant. Loneliness is a shield, solitude is a weapon. If any of you isn't made of steel or iron, what use is it? Softness served nothing except the dead. It didn't serve him. Yet he clicked the door shut behind him, grabbed one of the plastic hotel cups, and started to pour honey into ice. "Nothin' pretty. In fact, it started lookin' cleaner after I got here." Fill the emptiness with noise. He took a sip and felt better. Did she just snort? Yup, he was feeling good again. Smiled at her as he offered her a clean cup. "Guess we're just gonna have to compromise then, huh?" The flush was there again and he moved away, occupied himself with the small gathering of things on his table. It didn't do well to idle. Too much could happen if he did. At her question, he turned back to look at Margot. "Your hair, uh, it's like gold. Honey gold. Whatever. Y'know what I mean. Don't think they have bugbear Barbie yet. " He shook his head and rubbed at the back of it. Tugged at the back of his flannel shirt. "Y'want ice?"

"Good," Margot fixed with a stern gaze void of any actual seriousness, the upturn of her lips giving that away quite easily. The step that she had taken, both physically and metaphorically, entering a portion of his life by going into his hotel room, was beginning to feel less daunting the more she took in the surroundings. They weren't unfamiliar; she and her father had stayed at the Traveler's when they initially arrived in town. And she could clearly recall not wishing to linger here any longer than they had to. Now, however, in a room that was obviously being more lived in compared to a one-night stay, there was a sort of... coziness, that couldn't be denied. Indeed it looked a lot cleaner than their room, a soft hum of approval at the insinuation. "I don't doubt that. I seriously didn't see one maid the couple nights I stayed here," Pale fingers rose to take the cup from him with a gentle thanks, glancing down into the contents before taking a sip. She couldn't help but shiver, face puckering as the sting rode it's way down her throat. And then he was mentioning her hair again and, in favor of focusing on his last question, she took a step towards him. "Do I know? Never had anyone call it honey gold before," She then tilted her head, allowing the loose waves to cascade a bit with the motion. She wouldn't deny it - Nicodemus intrigued her. All new people did, but based on how they had met, he could definitely be classified as a special case.

“I’ve got a running theory that the place is run by vamps and ghosts,” Nicodemus said, a slight conspiratorial edge to his tone. “I haven’t seen a soul since I got here.” He looked at her curiously. He knew little to nothing about her, but that was changing. She knew French, liked Secret of Nimh for some fucking reason, had her own little shack in the woods, and had stayed in the Traveler’s Rest as well. Whether or not that last one established some sort of camaraderie, he wasn’t sure. Staying at the place felt like passing through a certain veil into a next world. Or that was just the effect the town had on his head, let alone the whiskey. The whiskey that had her face puckering and he let out a little laugh. “Sure as shit ain’t berry, is it?” He wondered what the berry stuff she liked was and if it would be worth trying one day. That thought was short-lived. His brows pinched together as she stepped closer to him and he tipped his head back slightly to look down at her. Did she just shake her hair at him? The image of a bear once towering over him, fur splitting into gold, rooted him in place. A sip of his whiskey followed before he answered, his gaze holding hers. “”Spose you don’t,” he rumbled out with the slightest lift in his shoulders. “Probably haven’t had to play bodyguard for anyone either. Off to one hell of a start in a series of firsts, huh?” He smiled, his teeth making a rare appearance before they were gone just as quick. The hunter held the tip of his tongue between his canines. “Guessin’ that’s a no to the ice.” A step back and the space between them widened as he took a seat at the rickety table he tried to balance out with the bible from the nightstand. “Sure I’ve got some cards around here or somethin’...”

Ghosts were a concept she could readily agree with. They meandered the woods a great portion of the time, and in her bugbear form were not only visible, but could be interacted with as well. Some didn't care to pay Margot any attention, but there were those who would talk for hours, even when she couldn't technically communicate back. But they still remained a good company for the most part. Vampires, however - vamps - Margot couldn't help but seal her lips to contain the mounting laughter rising up her throat. Once she was certain she had a decent grasp on herself, she nodded, albeit a bit reluctant to admit that was the reason for not seeing anyone around. "Could be? Not that the ghosts I've met make it a habit of running motels, but, maybe that's a side-job they don't talk about," Observing Nicodemus, Margot came to the assumption that he likely had a 'running theory' about quite a lot that went on in White Crest. He didn't seem the type to be overly paranoid, maybe a healthy dosage like she herself possessed. Or was she attempting to find similarities that simply weren't there? Either way, she had gotten him to laugh, even if at a bit of her own expense - that was progress. She shook her head, lips smacking as the taste lingering on her tongue and a shiver ran through her frame. "Nope! Not even close... But this is good, too. Put's hair on your chest," Her palm thumped atop her own as if to prove the point, letting out a minor cough. Ah, there was that contemplative look, directed solely on her. She never felt the urge to wither beneath it, like when most men of his stature and demeanor would gaze at her. Then again, it was fairly obvious to her that Nicodemus didn't fit into the category of 'most men' at this juncture. "Not by choice, no. There were times, but... yeah, this is new. I don't regret it, though," She felt the need to tack that last part on quickly, fingers clenched a little tighter around the cup. When he distanced himself, she took a moment to wade through a thickness that felt far too similar to loss, and quickly tipped the remnants of her drink down her throat. Oof, that burned something fierce. Gasping out a rough exhale, she shook her head and followed after him - not sitting, but standing just a few feet across from where he rested. "If not, we could always play Never Have I Ever. I've heard it's a good game when you wanna get to know people," And I'd like to get to know you.

Nicodemus rubbed a hand over his bare jaw before he tapped at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Know many ghosts, huh?” Somewhere in him, beyond the steadily increasing tide of honey liquor, he recalled that bears and ghosts were familiar with each other. But it was a surface-level understanding. It was enough of one to get by with, enough of one to act on whenever the time and the money called for it. In his hotel room, with the air conditioner set to comfortably cool, time and money had little to do with him or Margot. “Don’t recall ever meetin’ one, so I ain’t puttin’ off ghost motel just yet,” he said offhandedly, a slim assured smile present. If he kept running theories, checking numbers, he wouldn’t get lost in thought. Getting lost in his head was a dangerous road to stumble on. It would lead him deeper into territory unknown, territory like not allowing death to come for a bugbear. He wondered what that meant for him. He didn’t believe in fate and nothing believed in him, yet...He looked at her. There it was, getting lost in thought. The hunter looked into his plastic whiskey glass like both an epiphany and an epilogue. It brought him back and he glanced up at her. Up at her because she was still standing. The familiarity of the moment wasn’t lost on him and for a breath of time, he just looked up at her. How the hell did either of them get there? What made him worth protecting and what made her worth saving? Thoughts and considerations so rusted in his head that they ground together like teeth in a restless sleep. And then he smirked. “Not regrettin’ it too much either. Y’know you can sit,” he said with a laugh like the hum of an engine. A machine loosened by the liquor in his gears, in his head. He slid his hand across the table to tap at the open spot across from him. “I won’t bite you or nothin’.” She wasn’t kidding when she said she preferred something smoother like berries. Even then, she still humored the heat he offered and that was a perplexing thought. Never Have I Ever. Reflexively, like blocking a hit, he sat up a touch straighter and loosely folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve never heard of that one,” he admitted but didn’t rebuff. He was curious. Slowly, he nodded. “How does it help you get to know people?”

"A few. Definitely way more here in White Crest," Which was saying something when you took into account that the world was literally teeming with ghosts to those who held the ability to see and interact with them. "They, uh, they're pretty conversational. Which kinda sucks because the most I can do is grunt and nod along to what they're saying," A bemused smile flitted across Margot's lips at the memories of her walks alongside those numerous spirits, and she nursed her bottom lip gently. "I could always shift and see where they hang out. Tell you which spots to avoid or, y'know, where they hide all the soaps and shampoos," A sly wink turned in his direction, peach-toned lips curving into a mischievous smile. She could certainly find plenty of ways to benefit him if she so chose to - the real question was why would she?

Did all of this stem from the fact that he had saved her? It seemed the only plausible explanation, mainly due to the fact that aside from her father and... well, nobody else had. Not in such a dire situation, where most others would have simply turned away and let nature run it's course. And then in a blur of screams and growls and blood and fur and torn flesh - he was there. She was growing uncomfortable with musing on the why's and the how's, though, because it never stopped at face value for her. She could tear away into the depths of people's motives, whether she needed to or not, and the possibilities, the never knowing, haunted her more than she could ever express. So, she wouldn't dwell. Now, she would sip at her whiskey, slide into the seat offered to her, settle back and regard Nicodemus as he simply was in the moment - a person. Though her brows arched in mild surprise at his next assurance. "Well, that's good to know. 'Cause I definitely bite back," She paused, then immediately chuckled, low and hearty, fingers loosely splayed in front of her lips. Whoa, where had that come from? Was it too forward? Fuck it - they were drinking whiskey in his motel room. Fuck verbal caution.

"Okay, so, it's basically a drinking game. One of us says something we've never done before. But if you have done it, you drink. And we go back and forth, yadda yadda, and in the end one or both of us just get entirely shit-faced. Sounds fun, right?" She had leaned forward a bit in her explanation, front row of teeth gleaming as she beamed at him, before motioning to her cup with a small quirk of her brows. "Gonna need a filler, though." Ghosts didn’t make any sense to him. A controversial thought considering what Nicodemus did for a living. People died and that was it. It didn’t pay to believe in anything that came after. He didn’t have anything to tether him to the world. Why Margot would smile about ghosts, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed...happy about it. Not that he was someone that could recognize happiness unless it pressed against the back of his eyes with a knife edge. But she looked happy about it and he got caught up in that thought, wound up tight that he didn’t speak for a long moment. “I don’t know about your bodyguard duties dipping into incorporeal territory, Gold,” he finally said with a raspy laugh. “But if I start feelin’ haunted, I’ll let you know.”

The pad of his thumb rubbed blindly against his fingers as he alternated them. A slow circle before he moved onto the next. The rest of him was motionless, yet some part of him always needed to be in motion. Perhaps that was why he hardly slept. He wouldn’t blame it on anything else, like a sudden resurgence of conscience or deep thought. ’Cause I definitely bite back. The hum in his throat caught and he threw back the rest of his drink to chase down any thought that was surging up. “Jesus fuck,” he coughed out as he adjusted in his sea to close the centermost button of his flannel shirt. He felt like fire, like burning itself. “Went down the wrong pipe, boy howdy.”

The hunter offered Margot a dry smirk, looking between her eyes and her hair. The latter, an odd object of fixation that he felt far more comfortable attributing to the drink in him than anything else. A drink that he needed more of. “Alright, I think I got the gist of it,” he said with a nod as he unscrewed the bottle and topped himself off. The hunter’s eyes focused on her cup as he leaned forward, his fingers on hers for a brief moment as he held her cup and filled it just the same as his. “Guess I’ll start?” He asked as he sat back, lifting his eyes to look at her. “Never have I ever...sang drunk karaoke.”

"Then you should've gotten the silver package. Comes with a guarantee of protection against 'Ghosts and Ghoulies' of all kinds. It's not too late to add it on, either. Just two easy payments of diner turkey clubs," Mmm, did she love those sandwiches. Then again, there wasn't much in the food department that she couldn't rightfully stand. But what surprised her more than the fact that he was willing to pay her in food was how... open, she currently felt. Not 'open' in the sense that Margot would be willing to spill every secret about herself to an... acquaintance? No, it was the much safer kind, the one that would ramble on about being a flannel aficionado and lover of all movies with Madeline Kahn.

Maybe it was the whiskey. The burn had filtered out after her last drink, leaving a pleasant warmth to reside in her limbs and belly and head. That familiar sensation of being grounded yet floating at the same time encompassed her entirely, and every time he would look her way, there was always a trace of a smile playing on her lips. Even when he seemed to choke on his own gulp, and she made a 'Pffft!' sound before covering her mouth with widened eyes. "Oh cripes, are you... yeah, you're fine, you're fiiine," Her momentary worry formed and dissipated in the same blink of an eye, hers finding themselves lingering on the fingers buttoning his shirt before shifting to her cup.

Then he was filling her cup, which apparently meant that his large fingers find purchase around her slim ones. The digits didn't tense, for once, instead focused on the sensation, savoring it for a later memory that might mean something or nothing at all. This time there wasn't a coldness to his retreat, just a tingle along the skin as she raised the cup slightly, already prepped to take a sip. And down it went with his first Never, the corners of her mouth raised high in fond recollection. "It was the summer of 2013," She began after lowering the drink, tongue prodding the corner of her mouth, "My dad and I had literally just... stopped at this bar after our shift - we worked at the same welding factory, then - and it just so happened to be Karaoke night. We were a couple beers in since we lived within walking distance of our place, and, I kinda gave my dad this look... I had to drag him on stage, but, eventually we got up there and belted out Queen. God, I wish I had a camera for it, we. Were. Amazing," Margot chuckled at the memory, before righting herself in the chair and clearing her throat. "Okay, okay. Never have I ever... gotten so drunk I blacked out."

“Oh, now I gotta upgrade? I think you’re startin’ to swindle me here, Gold,” Nicodemus huffed, his shoulders shaking with the quiet laugh. With the liquor burning in him, it felt alright to laugh. It almost felt alright to live. With the fire in him, he wasn’t as much of a rundown cathedral of fallacies. Lost to time, lost to decay. Mossgrown and tired. His skin felt alive under his own fingers, pads tracing lines and faint scars across his palm. “Here I thought you were just wantin’ to put that you donated to charity on your tax forms by bein’ here.“ His laughter continued in spite of his own self-degradation. He was untouchable. He was damn near as open as a church on Sunday, yet one door still remained closed.

He swallowed down the irritation of his throat and chose to numb it with more whiskey. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked, didn’t it? “It ain’t gonna be this that kills me.” He half-assedly raised his plastic glass like a false king. A king of nothing, not even the lone inheritance to the Bossier name, and there was freedom in that. As small as it was, considering the way he willingly bound himself to the life of hunting. The Bossier name meant little, but he took pride in what he did. He looked at her. It wouldn’t be the booze that killed him. Maybe it would be letting someone in. He passed that thought over and leaned in.

Margot was a great storyteller. Far better than he was. She didn’t stumble over her words quite like he did, or answer in minute grunts when someone laid their life out for him. There was a liveliness to the way she spoke that kept him focused entirely on her, his fingers no longer swirling and his heel no longer bouncing. She spoke of her father with such fondness that he almost felt that ugly green creep up. He didn’t know his dad and considering the way he fucked off to nowhere, it didn’t matter. But her story did and he smiled down at the table when she finished, his hand against his neck as he learned. At her next Never he grunted and shrugged, throwing back a quarter of his own drink. “Once. It’s real hard for me to get there, constitution an’ all, but hoo boy, when I got there, I got there,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was headin’ out of New Orleans for the last time and I hit up Bourbon Street. It’s, uh, notorious for its indecency. Anyhow, I just kept drinking at bars until they kicked me out and I just made my way down.” He pantomimed walking down the street with two fingers. “Stopped by every bar. I think it was the second to last where I don’t remember what happened. Woke up in an alley with beads and, uh, someone’s bra across me like a bandolier. Might’ve been two.” His face heated at the memory. It didn’t occur to him to consider how he got there. That he had heavily thought about smothering his mindless grandfather just an hour before he took to the street. “Alright, alright. Think I’m gettin’ the gist. Never have I ever...Never have I ever been awake for two days straight.”

The smile that began inching across the stretch of Margot's lips was soaked in impish glee, tongue poking out to dip across and savor the lingering hint of whiskey. At heart, she yearned to enjoy life - had been brought up to believe that in the most quaint and quiet and simple of environments, lay the most cherished of memories made, and for the making. The closed off exterior lent itself for others to believe the opposite. She was a paranoid shut-in whose only solace was finding out new ways to seal herself off from the world and it's many, many dangers. Her father had inadvertently aided in creating that image, though she knew it was born from the right reasons. They had no other means of protecting themselves where physical altercations weren't concerned. "You don't 'gotta', just a suggestion. I'm looking out for you here, dude.”

The idea of Nicodemus being a charity case struck a sour chord, and her smile faltered slightly, eyes lowering to stare down at her cup. With the air of calm bemusement that settled between them, she idly wondered if this was solely being done out of regard for his safety. Right now, she was enjoying herself, enjoying another's company. That... just didn't happen very often in her life. Not outside of herself and her father.

Obviously he had fallen prey to her next Never, and she watched with eager fascination as he downed his own gulp, awaiting the story behind his reaction. Already she felt the beginnings of a smile curl upon her lips, but she attempted to stave it off for as long as possible. Though she couldn't stop a snort from arising from her, head bowed slightly. "Mm, that's... definitely interesting," She would have asked what size bra it was, but he seemed sufficiently bashful about the entire ordeal, so she wouldn't pry for the time being. Still it was enough for her to snicker lightly. Until his next Never. Her laughter trailed off into silence, and she tilted her cup with loose fingers before raising it to her lips in a long swig. Not pleasant. "Definitely done that before. Not because I wanted to.”

The strangeness of the situation settled over Nicodemus as he watched Margot smile and much like when someone cried around him, the inebriated felt compelled to match it. His large hand wrapped around the small plastic cup as he tapped out a nameless rhythm. No gun in his hand, no knife between his teeth. Somewhere else, he might've felt vulnerable. On edge and looking for an out. But he didn't. He didn't think whiskey was the reason for that. Why he felt comfortable around Margot, he wasn't sure and that uncertainty made his fingers tap. Tap not clench. She didn't have to give a shit that danger was lurking for him around every corner, under every crack. He himself didn't give a shit. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he mumbled, looking down. "Still gettin' used to that shit."

Her demeanor shifted and he frowned at himself. Rude and dismissive, he absolutely could be. A lifetime of no social contact other than his grandparents and the occasional stranger in the front yard with hard eyes had left him ill-prepared for company. A killing machine, yes, but a social butterfly? He was a hornet. To consider being anything else was death.

They were drinking again and he welcomed the burn of distraction. "Interestin' is a word for it, yeah." He rumbled when he laughed, slim crows feet landing at the corners of his eyes. Nose scrunched. The hunter shifted as she downed her next Never. Suddenly, he wasn't interested in the next Never and more interested in the story behind what she didn't say. Her response said enough. "Ain't keen on it either if I'm bein' honest with you, Gold. Don't sleep much these days. This," he paused as he added a little more to his cup. "Is supposed to help. Mostly doesn't, but hey, placebos been around long enough, ain't they?" His tongue prodded his bottom lip as he chewed over the question. "Can I ask what happened?"

Margot could have guessed the exact words before they formed in his throat. It was only fair, considering that they had both divulged the details of their respective Nevers thus far. Of course, she also hadn’t meant for the game to take such a three-sixty where it concerned the mood of said truths. Margot’s lips twitched to the side, becoming a tightly clamped seal. Her hesitance was worn like a flashy outer garment - there was no need to hide it, and with Nic being as perceptive as she believed him to be, it wouldn’t have done any good either way. Her chest felt suddenly far too tight, as if the whiskey had burned too deep, siphoning a portion of air from her lungs. Constricted and in desperate need of release. She exhaled, long and slow through her nose, before forcing a smile onto her features. One that appeared almost as pained as she felt.

“You make a habit out of something, you’re bound to make yourself believe in it. Hell, maybe it actually does work in some weird, twisted way. Enough that you don’t stop,” She wasn’t directly referring to Nic or his issues with alcohol, nor would she ever. Vices were, and should be, to each their own. Her father had them, her mother once, and she certainly held a fair amount. Coping was coping - whether a mechanism or a method.

Talking things out was supposedly a method. A shitty one, far as she was concerned. But, the game was the game. “I was thirteen. And… we had just moved. Again. Maybe the fifth time… Sixth? No, no fifth, I remember. We’d come from Dulvey - it was so fucking humid, and we were in the car, sweating out every ounce of water we’d poured into ourselves. ‘Cause the air condition had stopped working a while back, and we never got the chance to fix it. Not before dad… had his feeling,” A bitterness laced the word, lines reminiscent of a scowl forming along each side of her lips. “See, after… stuff happened, my dad got real paranoid about hunters. Not animal ones - hunters who go after people like me. People who aren’t people, in their eyes. And he swore we were about to be found out by this group of guys he worked with. Said they were asking him too many questions, didn’t like the way they’d look at me when I stopped by to visit him. So, we packed the little we had and just... left. We were living out of a motel at the time, barely stayed longer than four months. We never stayed in one place very long. And dad… God, he was so fucking tired. And I knew how to drive, so I did. Three days, we just drove. Or we’d stop and rest, but when he thought I was asleep, I never was. I couldn’t. ‘Cause all I could think of was ‘The moment I close my eyes, they’ll catch us. The moment I let my guard down, that’s when they’ll come’. So we drove, and I didn’t sleep until we made it to the next state. And even then it felt wrong,”

By the time Margot had finished, her body had sagged, eyes slightly hazy as they stared listlessly at the table below her. She should come up with another Never, a part of her mind echoed. But the other half wondered what the point was to all of it. To any of it. 

Nicodemus watched her without blinking. As warm as the whiskey had made him feel, it seeped out of him fingers first. Not at all unlike the dispassionate cold in which he rounded up still-warm bodies and dropped them off. Not at all unlike cold, crisp dollars in his hand. In his pocket. Supposed he made a habit out of that too. But he didn't believe in it. Didn't believe in anything. He believed in the certainty of an odd number of bullets and the evens that leveled out at the end. His jaw tightened to a painful, sharp angle. He let go of the cup before the plastic started to crack but not before he tipped it back down his throat. His bad habit. He pulled away from the table, receded like a slow wave. A sick sense of humor burned his belly like acid as he listened to her tell her story, tell her fears, tell her tragedy. Hadn't his started the same? The death of a mother. The fear, the uncertainty, the knife's edge of oblivion that whispered a moon song. The kind of song that kept him dancing, blood like ribbons around his wrists. Or chains. When he closed his eyes thirty years ago, sleep evaded him. Sleep was where the demons came. Vulnerability was an open door, for either a hand to hold you or a hand to bite you. Either one could end it all. Bite his own hand and he could suffer alone. Decades old scars patterned his palms, cut off his lifelines before. Disconnected him from the then and the now.

As she finished, near lifeless and colorless, he said nothing. Maybe that was the knife. Maybe that was why he never asked for names. Names meant something. Completed faces and eyes in a way that unnerved him. The hunter exhaled a slow, steady breath through his nose as he finally allowed himself to blink. She looked at the table as he looked at her. His eyes narrowed. His tongue pressed against the sharp point of his teeth until he tasted his own blood and swallowed it. The poor excuse of a fan overhead circled precariously. His eyes slid past her, to the dim clock on the table. To the slip of a moon peeking in through the curtains that never closed right. Warmth crept in at his neck. His hands slid to the table. A lone finger began to tap dully against the wood. The finger just to the right of his trigger finger. She must have had an idea what he was. How he tore a wolf in two with just a silver knife and that damnable Bossier spirit. The one he couldn't seem to exorcise himself of. If you bleed, make the other bleed more. Wordlessly, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and drank it entirely. He screwed the cap back on and set it down. Now well-oiled, Nic cracked open his iron jaw.

"Fear keeps you awake. Sometimes you have to kill it to sleep at night."

His voice was low, devoid of that mirth from before. Why didn't she just tear him in two if she even had the inkling of what he was? She could do it. Her bite was stronger. For as hard as his eyes were, the edges of his face softened. Waned under her presence.

"If I put my head down right now…" he glanced back to look at the misshapen form of a pillow behind him. "What's gonna happen, Margot?"

As easily as the game had begun, it had slowed to a halt. If anyone recognized that all good things came to an end, it was Margot. The moment he had asked, the second the story came to mind, the aching pause before it had finally rose in her throat - all frustration and bitter bile waiting to be expelled, not viciously, not spat; it drooled from her, drained thick and heavy and cloying, unending like the searing road had stretched over those long three days. No matter how many times she had repeated the entirety of events inside of her head, it never seemed to be enough. And like a poison of the stomach, it churned and circled and only grew in acidity until it seemed to eat away at her from the inside out. She had emotionally vomited right in front of a man who she had seen only once before, had seen bare and exposed, had talked to even less. And her belly still ached from the purge.

She didn't watch him, or maybe it was couldn't. More had been said between them than the simple telling of a story; she was certain he had to be aware of that. Nic wasn't stupid. That was both a relief, and a blatant danger. And the longer she sat with him, becoming aware of his mannerisms, his voice, had traced the sharp edge of his jaw when it thrust against skin and was certain it could cut diamond if he wished to do so, the more she began to realize that her forced naivety could not, and would no longer last. He was what he was, what they all were, and she had come to that realization before they sat at a table together in a crappy motel room. It dawned on her the moment he decided not to kill her.

Why did that seem so long ago, now?

Her gaze finally lifted, only to flicker to the bottle as it was hefted into a firm grasp and emptied of its remaining drops. Not unlike the second he drained the life force from that wolf. Swift, and decisive. Yes, that's what he was. There was no more room for a maybe. And she was, and suddenly stood once his question had lingered a few moments into the silence between them. For all the listlessness that had been her form prior, Margot righted herself fully; tall, proud, sharp. Blue gaze locked onto his features as she inhaled, fingers curling towards her palm atop the rickety surface. “I told you,” Exhale; fingers slowly splayed out as she approached him, the edge of the grey cardigan draped around her shoulders brushing against his arm. A small, almost sad smile formed, features softening in… it wasn’t understanding, but acceptance. 

“I’ll protect you,”