#I gotta draw him out of the incognito wear again

[getvalentined]

I don't always doodle my OCs—but when I do, it's usually* Whiravi.

He's the white rabbit in a story that's basically Alice in Wonderland in Space that I'd like to make into a visual novel someday. Gotta set up the whole thing in Twine first.

*When it's not Whiravi, it's Myn or Salmac. I can admit to having favorites.

[starryeyedweeb]

Valentine’s Day With Hunter x Hunter

Characters Included: Kurapika, Hisoka, Chrollo, Illumi

Content Included: Floofity fluff- Valentine’s style; fairly gender-neutral

A Valentine’s Day With...

Kurapika

Kurapika’s actually beyond excited for Valentine’s Day with you, and has counted down the days until the event

He has a pretty traditional way of celebrating Valentine’s, but isn’t it tradition because it’s beloved by all?

He had made arrangements to get off work early that evening weeks in advance, and when the day finally comes, he can’t wait to go pick you up for your date

Like most, he had made reservations at a romantic restaurant, but the one he had chosen was more of a hidden gem- in a quieter part of town, with a niche menu, and in an intimate setting

You observe your surroundings in delight as you’re led to your table, where you sit side-by-side in front of a spindly vase of flowers

“Do you like it?” Kurapika asks, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he watches your reactions carefully. “I saw this restaurant months ago, and I’ve always thought you would enjoy it.”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, squeezing his hand lightly, and he averts his eyes with a sheepish chuckle

After enjoying your romantic course meal, Kurapika takes you off to the next spot of the night: an observatory, which is conveniently empty of all other people

“I’ve always wanted to go stargazing with you, but it’s too cold to go now. Even if it wasn’t, though, you can’t really see any stars in the city,” he explains. “So I decided on the next best thing.”

You could sense his nerves, for he wanted so badly for you to enjoy yourself completely

“I love it, I promise.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go sit down and enjoy it.”

With hands still linked, you relax into your reclined seats and stare up at the celestial scene above you, pointing out constellations and naming your favorites

After settling deeply into your contentment at the time you were having with each other, Kurapika sits up slightly and reaches into his pocket

“I’d like to give you your gift now, if that’s alright.”

“You got me something?”

“I did.” He laughs gently, his cheeks reddening again. “I’ve always wanted to get you a nice gift, and this seemed like the perfect occasion.”

He hands you the pristinely wrapped package, which you open to find a delicate necklace, with a single but stunning ruby charm

He had saved up for months to get you something nice, and had labored over picking out something that would remind you of him without being too pretentious on his part

So, needless to say, happiness swells in his chest when you break into a wide grin

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe

“Would you like me to put it on you?”

You nod, and with gentle fingers brushing against your skin, he fastens the chain around your neck, placing a whisper of a kiss just below your jaw.

“Thank you for spending this time with me,” you murmur as the two of you sit back again, your faces illuminated by the starry scene above

“If it was up to me, I’d never leave.”

Hisoka

Going into Valentine’s Day with a partner as unorthodox as Hisoka left you with many questions about what he would do to celebrate, if anything at all

You were prepared for anything, so you were less surprised than you might’ve been when he shook you awake nearly at the crack of dawn

“What’s going on?” You mutter sleepily. “Why are you awake so early?”

He merely drops a bag down next to you and strides out of the room

“Put that on,” he instructs, shutting the door behind him

Your brows knit in confusion as you reach into the bag and pull out an outfit that toes the line between summery and skimpy, presenting the question of “Is this streetwear or lingerie?”

Knowing it would be more fun to play along with his plan, you do as he told and go to meet him outside the room

Your breath catches in your throat as you see him with his hair down and makeup off, almost as if he was going incognito

“It’s a little cold to be wearing something like this, isn’t it?” you ask by way of announcing your presence

Sighing headily as he takes in the sight of you, he approaches and wraps his arms around you, his hands sneaking down to give your ass a squeeze

“It will make sense soon, I promise.” He grabs your coat off the rack and holds it out for you. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make it on time.”

You allow yourself to be swept up in his plan, which ends up with the two of you on a plane he had “borrowed” from Illumi and the Zoldycks, flying towards an unknown destination

“Seriously, Hisoka, what’s going on?” You demand, peering out the window for clues

“Relax, darling. Would I ever lead you wrong?” He pours you a drink and holds it out to you

You take it and flash him a dubious look. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Fine. I’ll give you a hint. I’ve always hated the cold, so I want to take the opportunity of a romantic holiday to escape it with you.”

“That’s better, I suppose.” You sip your drink, noticing him look you up and down out of the corner of your eye

“I did an excellent job picking out that outfit for you,” he declares, cocking his head slightly sideways. “We still have a while to go. Why don’t we do something to keep busy?

You slide a bit closer to him, drawing a finger up and down his hip. “What did you have in mind?”

Hours later, when the plane finally arrives at the mystery destination, you find yourselves on a secluded island, approaching a quaint beach house that had been carefully prepared for your arrival

“Was this the surprise?” you gasp, staring at the scene in awe.

“It was. Some time away where we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist,” he replies with a self-satisfied smirk. “Are you pleased?”

“I am! This is perfect.”

He snakes his arm around your waist, leading you towards the entrance of the house. “Let’s get started, then.”

“I thought we already did get started.”

“Darling, you should know by now that what we did was only a warm up.”

Chrollo

Chrollo had been secretly planning a celebration for months, mapping out all of his operations around keeping that one special day open

On Valentine’s morning, he’s gone, but in his place is a tray of your favorite breakfast and a note instructing you to dress warm and be ready to leave by 7:00 that night

There are no other clues, so as you indulge in the breakfast, you wonder what he could have planned for you

Because with Chrollo, it could be anything

Meanwhile, he’s spending the day making all the last-minute preparations for your celebration, and hen the hour arrives, a knock sounds on your door

But instead of Chrollo, you find a driver that had been sent to take you to the date spot

You end up being driven so far outside of the city you halfway wonder if you’ve finally fallen victim to one of the revenge kidnappings Chrollo had always warned you about

Until the driver pulls up to the base of a massive hill, where your boyfriend waits with a smile on his face

“What on Earth have you planned this time?” You ask as he extends his hand to help you out of the car

“I’m a criminal mastermind, love. I simply cannot afford to be predictable.”

He leads you up to the top of the hill, where he set up a candlelight picnic on a blanket covered in rose petals, situated overlooking a fantastic view of the entire city

“Oh, Chro, it’s lovely,” you breathe, but can’t resist a shiver as you sit down and take the glass of wine he offered

He tuts. “I thought I told you to dress warm.”

“You didn’t leave much more information, so I wasn’t sure just how warm.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing that I planned for this, too.”

He takes out a blanket and wraps it around both of your shoulders, and you enjoy your cozy meal whilst overlooking the lights of the city

“Let me guess,” you begin, reaching for yet another gourmet appetizer. “Everything here is stolen.”

“Why, of course it is.”

“And the Troupe is probably quite angry with you for sending them on such a trivial errand to get all of this.”

“Initially, but they were alright with it when I offered them half of the spoils for their own enjoyment.”  He shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket. “But I’d like to give you something that, for the first time in years, I haven’t stolen.”

“You actually bought something?” You gasp incredulously, taking the small box in your hands.

“Sort of. I had it made.” He shrugs. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

With him looking over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, you flip open the top of the box and discover a ring, the delicate silver band formed in the shape of an elegant spider web, tiny diamonds glistening at the points

Once you’ve taken the sight of it in, Chrollo takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger

“Since you’re reluctant to get a Troupe tattoo, I wanted something else to symbolize.”

“To symbolize what?” You ask, admiring how the ring glistens in the candlelight.

“To symbolize that you’re my home,” he replies with a cheesy, almost joking expression, but his eyes sparkled with truth. “Do you like it?”

“Chro, I love it.”

The corners of his lips turn upward as he cups your cheek

“And I love you.”

Illumi

Honestly, Illumi had never even heard of Valentine’s Day before you came along

So, needless to say, no plans to celebrate were made until he was out for drinks with Hisoka the night before and Illumi was asked what he was going to do to celebrate

He just blinked, completely confused

“You know, people tend to get very upset if their partners don’t do anything for Valentine’s Day. They’ve probably got something planned for you,” Hisoka teased.

When Illumi was still staring at him with a blank expression, Hisoka explained the concept and helped Illumi make some last-minute arrangements

So, when you wake up on the morning of Valentine’s Day, you find an ornate vase full of orchids and a box of luxury chocolates sitting at the end of your bed

Gotta use and abuse the Zoldyck family funds, you know

You’re overjoyed and pleasantly surprised

Honestly you had expected nothing at all, so assuming that the flowers and chocolates were the entirety of your surprise for the day, you happily go about the rest of your own Valentine’s plans: a day of self-care and self-love

Dating an assassin with a personality like Illumi’s was rewarding, but also immensely challenging, so you definitely deserved it

In light of cliche and tradition, you decide to make some fondue for yourself, and are just getting ready to serve it when you turn around to find Illumi standing behind you in the kitchen

You let out a startled yelp and drop the spoon you’re holding

“Illumi, you scared me!”

“I thought I’ve been teaching you about awareness lately. You should’ve sensed my presence.”

“I was just distracted. Besides, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at all. I thought you were supposed to be working tonight.”

“I just learned what ‘Valentine’s Day’ is. I rearranged the plan so that I could come spend the evening with you.”

You sense a warm feeling spreading across your chest, and have to fight the urge to swallow him in a hug.

“Well, perfect timing. I was just about to serve dinner.”

The two of you share a two-course fondue, then settle in on the couch

Illumi wasn’t really a TV person, so you play some music softly in the background and gaze out the window as rain begins to fall outside

As you lay with Illumi’s arm folded around your waist, you reflect that your quiet Valentine’s Day was a little less than orthodox, but the peace it brought was exactly what the both of you desperately needed

[newcaptainofsquad9]

So, When Can We Tell The World? {1} Min Yoongi x black! fem! reader

Parts: 1 2 3 4  5 6 

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been collaborating for a few years, what the public world didn’t know however was that the both of you were in a happy, functioning relationship. After showing up to support at one of your shows, Yoongi suggests going public, making you anxious for him, but most of all your own well-being with his fans and of what the South Korean public would think of you. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Idol-verse, Smut (hinted at in this part, but none explicitly)

Word Count: 2, 046

Author’s Note: So, here we are another series. I know too many, but this one will probably be the same chapter length as Shakespeare Sub, I promise. Anyways, I hope ya’ll enjoy it and if ya’ll have any BTS or EXO requests, send them my way. Thanks!

The last song of the concert always feels surreal. The stage isn’t huge, just a decent sized theater in Bluetsville(your hometown). It’s the thought that gets me, I’ve played at bigger venues before, yet coming back always gets me emotional. Once the song finishes I smile so hard my cheeks hurt and glance out into the crowd as applause fills the entire venue. 

One person stands out the most with his over-sized black hoodie, glasses and a cap with my stage name on it. I wouldn’t have done a double take if he didn’t flash that familiar gummy smile, as if he knew I was going to look there. It’s only a moment, yet I recognize Yoongi’s smile anywhere, he hardly does it even around me. Maybe his fans don’t notice him but in that slip second I did as he claps the loudest before sending me his finger hearts. I start to do it back, but stop myself abruptly. No, that’ll just draw attention to us. It’s almost an exclusive k-pop gesture, which someone on Twitter could easily pick up on. Instead I send him a quick wink. 

“Thank you so much!” I scream.

The crowd reacts in thunderous applause once more, I give one last bow and turn back towards the curtain, disappearing behind it.

***

I find myself dressed down in my dressing room, wearing one of Yoongi’s old hoodies, a snapback and grey sweats. My phone lights up abruptly, signalling an upcoming call from my brother, Kevin of all people. 

“Sup loser,” I say through a low giggle. 

“Yo idiot,” he answers back, “how’d the show go?”

I sigh with a dopey grin.

It was amazing. Even though the people packed together in swayed, waved and sung together like a frenzied horde, I couldn’t help but think back to Yoongi. I hope he got to wherever he needed to safely. 

“Uh, did you hear me?” Kevin asks. 

“Y-Yeah,” I say quickly, “it went amazing, a little more daunting compared to my first tour.”

Kevin gaffs.   

“If that didn’t boost your chances at the Grammys, I don’t know what will!” 

I chuckle against the phone at my brother’s words. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works Kev,” I say, “I don’t really care, they invited me, I guess to preform.”

Kevin hums. 

“Yeah?” he asks, “And what about ol’ Agust D, eh? he performing with you? I heard him and the guys were supposed to be there too.”

I can’t help but smile when he mentions Yoongi’s other rap persona. That album was what made me discover Yoongi’s music, along with BTS’s discography and eventually pushed me to want to collaborate with them. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with Yoongi during our time recording All The Crown Players(a song from your album). 

“I’m not really sure,” I say, “you know how they can be.”

“Oh, I know, how can they snub you twice!” Kevin whines, “anyway, I gotta go! Next time you talk to ol’ Suga tell him I said hey!”

I roll my eyes. 

“I told you  to call him Yoongi,” I groan. 

“Ey, that’s what the fans call him,” he says, “talk to you later, love you.”

“Love you too idiot,” I say.

Kevin starts to say something else but I hang up anyway. If he’s got something to do he won’t call back as fast and I won’t get another earful. 

“That’s what you get for teasing me about my boyfriend,” I mutter to myself.  

A text from Yoongi lights my phone up instead. 

Yoongi: It amazes me every time you perform, God you were so amazing babe

My dopey smile returns once my fingers numbly tap the keypad in response.

Me: I saw you at the end! How the hell did you get in without anyone recognizing you?

Yoongi responds straight away.

Yoongi: I have my ways. I’ve been doing this for seven years sweetheart, I’ve mastered the art of incognito mode. 😎

My grin spreads out at his message. My fingers follow the lame joke that pops into my head, yet I couldn’t care less.

Me: So, what you’re Batman? No, Anpanman! 😂😂

I giggle out as Yoongi’s response takes a little longer, as it should. Between my lame jokes and Jin’s dad jokes I think he’s fed up with the both of us. At least with me it makes some sort of sense. 

A moment passes, instead of a text back I get a call from Yoongi. Oh boy. 

“Hello?” I answer.

“I know you’re laughing,” Yoongi says, “I just want to confirm that it wasn’t funny.”

I cover my mouth to stifle the remaining giggles that flood out. 

“I know, but it’s true,” I say, “you are my Anpanman.”

Yoongi grumbles something that I can’t make out. 

“Sorry babe, what was that?” I ask. 

“Nothing Jagi,” he says, “anyway —”

“Yoongi,” I warn, “tell me, please?”

Yoongi sighs deeply.

“I said, I better be your Anpanman,” he admits, “are you happy now?” 

“Yes,” I say, “how long are you gonna be here?”

“As long as you want me,” Yoongi answers, “we got a small break before Grammys and the MMAs. I was wondering if we could meet at your place.”

My heart hammers in my chest at his words. We’ve stayed with each other overnight before, yet I always feel like I’m some lovestuck teenager when I’m around Yoongi. We rarely get moments together, if it’s public we have to remain friendly, but not too friendly to raise dating suspicions. Even when he’s here in America it’s difficult to schedule time for each other. I’m an artist too and BTS is getting just as huge, the fact that Yoongi and I both have time before the Grammy’s is a God send.    

“Y/N?” Yoongi asks, breaking me from my thoughts. 

“Yeah, we can meet there,” I reassure, “you still have a key?”

“You know I do,” he says, “see you there.”

I bit my lip before humming in agreement. 

***

The moment I step across the threshold of my house, I shut the door and twist the locks in place. A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist before I can get a chance to take my hands off the cold locks. 

“I need to go to your shows more often,” Yoongi says. 

I shiver at his breath near my ear and turn around in his arms to face him. He’s in his dark hoodie, but the hat is gone, revealing soft, short brown hair that falls into his eyes. 

“You come when you can,” I say, “I’m just glad you got there safely.”

Yoongi chuckles while he moves a hand up to cup my face. 

“You worry too much,” he notes, “I’m here, ok?”

His eyes soften as they bore into mine, he leans in to press our foreheads together. I follow his lead, our lips meet in a fierce kiss, something we haven’t been able to do in months. My fingers find themselves in his brown locks as he groans into the kiss, backing up slightly, yet not disconnecting from my lips. 

I pull back with a giggle.

“Are you good?”

Yoongi nods and nudges his head towards my velvet sofa. 

“I just wanted to take this to the couch,” he admits, “your concert took everything out of me.”

“Oh really?”

Yoongi nods as I take his hand and lead him to the sofa before we both plop down on it. 

“Really,” he confirms with a kiss, “you kinda got me worked up actually.”

I return his kisses fully, pull myself up into his lap and rub down his chest. 

“Is that in a good way?” I challenge. 

Yoongi growls against my jaw, kissing down my neck as his hands rub up and down my sides. 

“Oh it’s good baby, so good,” he groans, “God, tug your fingers in my hair again.”

I nod as our lips meet once again, my fingers find themselves in his hair as our make out continues. His moans make me smile, his hips bucking up against me as the kisses grow hungrier. 

“You’re so needy,” I whisper, “do you need me to take care of that?”

Yoongi’s eyes close as he nods. 

“Please, I, God, I love you,” he moans. 

My hands freeze once I reach for the buckle of his pants. Did he just say the l word? 

Yoongi opens his eyes, the lust that was once there is replaced with concern.

“Y/N?” he asks, “you all right?”

I nod and slide back onto the couch from his lap. 

“Yeah,” I lie. 

Of course I knew he loved me, he never says it though. I’m the one you says it, and Yoongi always responds with a “me too” or “love you more.” Never fully. It shouldn’t bother me much, yet it does for some reason. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi says. 

I look up and his face is only an inch from my own. 

“Was that too much?” he asks, “what did I do wrong?”

I stroke his cheek and shake my head. 

“Nothing, it’s just,” I pause before continuing, “it was just surprising to hear I love you from you.”

Yoongi pulls back to pull me into an embrace. 

“You had me worried,” he whispers, “I know I need to say it more especially when we’re pressed for time together.”

I smile in the crook of his neck. 

“No, it’s fine,” I say, “we can keep it between us.”

Yoongi pulls back with a puzzled glare.

“What do you mean?”

I sit up and gnaw at my lip. 

“Maybe, we shouldn’t say it often, because I don’t want it to slip out at the wrong time,” I explain, “with ARMY and all those girls clawing at you.”

Yoongi chuckles as he leans in to plant a few kisses down my neck. 

“Do they make you jealous?” he asks.

I can hardly focus as his lips continue to work. 

“Well, a little,” I say, “it’s a lot to live up to.”

Yoongi grows serious. I end up against his chest as his arms wound themselves tightly around me. His heart beats rhythmically in tune with mine, forcing me to calm down just a bit.

“They don’t hold a candle to you,” he says, “I love them, but it’s a different type of love. You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

The words get lodged in my throat at the intense look Yoongi throws at me. He’s completely serious. 

“Yoongi-”

“Y/N, I want to tell the world,” he admits, “ARMY, everyone.”

Where is he going with this?

“Yoongi, what are you-”

“We should be official,” Yoongi declares.

My mind goes haywire. He isn’t serious, right?

“But we are official,” I say, “Yoongi, we’ve already established that we’re dating.”

Yoongi shakes his head this time.

“Y/N you know what I mean,” he says, “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

A rush comes to my head at once. The headlines would be horrendous: “BTS star Suga has been revealed to be dating ‘urban’ Hip Hop artist Y/N Y/L/N.” Kpop Twitter will literally implode in on itself. Yoongi won’t get any rest and I won’t be able to live it down. If I was Korean maybe, just maybe I would get out alive, even if I was white too, but as a black woman? There’s not a chance in hell.

“Babe, please tell me what you’re thinking,” Yoongi pleads,”you’ve been quiet for awhile.”

“Yoongi, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“How come?” he asks.

“Well, for one, do you know what happened with Chen? Kai? Jennie?” I ask, “the fans would devour me!”

“They wouldn’t,” he grumbles, “you’re an amazing person, singer, rapper and writer.”

“Yeah and black,” I say bluntly, “they can’t get past that.”

Yoongi takes both of my hands prior to squeezing tightly. 

“I know, but they’ll just have to handle it, right?”

It’s like the words aren’t even being comprehended. Does he not hear me? 

I inhale slowly and stand from the couch. 

“Y/N-”

I give Yoongi an artificial smile, something to get him off my back for a moment. 

“I-I’m ok, I-I just need some time to myself,” I say. 

Yoongi deflates, but nods anyway before leaning back into the couch. 

[theannaredfield]

DMC Theory-

Dante and Vergil’s birthday got incognito confirmed. Hear me out.

Dmc5 was the first game in the series to really give us dates. To give us a year no less. Now of course, this contributes to the fact of there being flashbacks and what not. HOWEVER. They didn’t need to give us specific dates and time stamps of everything going on. We didn’t necessarily need to know the events of the games take place over the course of about 3 days. In addition, they could’ve just said 1 month later or prior, and they do. But this info just further proves we didn’t need to know it was April 30th, May 3nd, May 15, June 15 etc. it could’ve been any date they wanted.

And that’s why these dates GOTTA be important. They could’ve chosen any old dates but they chose these ones. Now granted. This is reaching, maybe these dates are random but then why bother giving us dates when no other game has before. Easy, because some of these dates have meaning.

April 30th is the day Nero loses his arm, obviously.

May 1st is when Vergil gets to Redgrave and to his childhood home, to separate the man from Devil. This is our most likely candidate to be the twins birthday, because Vergil went out of his way to go back to Redgrave in his dying state, let alone go back to his childhood home. If he was really cocerned about his oncoming death, why would he go to all that trouble rather than just do it somewhere, anywhere, and ASAP.

Additionally, that’s the day V is born. What if Vergil chose his birthday as the day he would be “reborn” as a better, stronger, and more powerful form. He would overshadow his original weak birth with his new meaningful one, the one that would lead him to a better life.

Additionally, May 3rd when V hires Dante; he is very pissed when V says Vergil. Almost Devil triggers on the lad as we see in Visions of V. What if... it’s because it was just their birthday. Maybe birthdays are hard for him because he is the last surviving member of his family and he uses it to mourn his dead brother. It would make sense then why he’d be mad because not only did he think his brother was dead and that he killed him, but it was around the time Dante might’ve been mourning more heavily. (Dante wasn’t even that level of mad when Trish showed up in DMC1 and was like “hey the guy who killed your mom is back.”)

The next date I wanna draw attention to is June 15th. This is most probably the day Eva died, and the Sparda’s were attacked. Why? A few reasons

Once again Capcom made the decision to put in something they didn’t necessarily need to. This is the first game they show us a flashback of the attack. The first time they show us Eva’s death. We’ve heard it plenty of times but this time they SHOWED it. And there was no real in game cue as to why. Dante was about to wake up, and they didn’t need to show us anything. That cutscene could’ve not been there and it wouldn’t really impact anything.

Dante is not one they’ve shown have nightmares before. We know this bothers him of course, they don’t need to say it at all. We know he’s depressed and probably is traumatized from the event, however they still showed us. They showed us that Dante was thinking about it on that day specifically. Why? Why this day as opposed to any other day? Why at all? As stated above, it wasn’t a necessary scene.

In VOV we learn that it is spring/summer when the attack happens. The boys are wearing shorts, its good weather to play outside or read a book in, and Eva’s garden is in bloom (which she tells the boys to help her in.). So we know it’s around the same season as the time the game is occurring.

We know the attack and the boys birthday happen around the same time, so a little over a month apart could make sense. After all, they already have their halves of the amulet, which were given on their 8th birthday.

Okay I was just checking my facts and I don’t wanna erase my work and stuff but, the game confirms the attack was the night of the 16th. Most defiantly June 16th because of the reasons stated above. It’s in the Newspaper articles of the library files. Because of this file, there’s no reason to further explain my reasoning. The above bullets apply to the 16th as well and the game basically confirmed it. Which means the idea that the dates have meaning is also confirmed.

Now one question remains, what are the other dates in terms of importance? (April 30th, May 15th, and June 15th) My guess is that they aren’t really important. They’re just dates in the path of getting to May 1st and June 16th. However, a likely theory is that they’re dates that other game events took place, or hell one could be Nero’s birthday for all we know. However there’s nothing to really hint to big importance so it’s likely they aren’t important. (My guess would be one of the dates is when the events of 3, 1 and 4 take place.)

[pendragonfics]

H@CK3R

Paring: Griff/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is a hacker, established relationship, canon compliant, angst, fluff.

Summary: The problem with being a paid hacker was that you could really do anything you wanted. Legally? Not really. But you still did it, even without the warrant required.

Word Count: 2,056

Current Date: 2017-09-14

The problem with working early was that the bed was too warm. Too soft. Too snuggly. And your bedfellow? Well, he was all that and more. Your boyfriend Griffin had been a one-night stand four years ago, and when you both had tried to sneak out of the motel the next day, you found each other struggling to make a getaway with a sock half on and buttons in the wrong holes, and decided that, instead of leaving it at the best damn sex you’ve ever had but at want to take this to Starbucks? It’s my day off. Then you just couldn’t get rid of each other.

He was like the white splotches to your panda, the cream to your coffee, the accelerator to your 1992 Chevy. When you came home early after early starts, he came home late after late stars, or whenever he pleased, really, smelling of engine oil or whiskey or someone else’s cigarettes. But waking up, well, that was the thing. You wanted so badly to be the small spoon to his larger one, wanted to stay so close to his chest and smell in the musk that was so Griff and trace your fingers over his tattoos until he woke up.

But you had work.

You always had work.

“I gotta get up,” you moan against his chest, one of those bear-like arms tangled close to your back, keeping you near his warmth. It was so nice, and if it was on your little-to-none paid holiday days, you’d savour it, but you can’t. Unless you want to be broke and snuggled up to Griff, you must greet the day. You groan when his arm grows tighter around your waist. “Griff…”

He groans back. It’s a guttural noise, animal-like, ferocious. But to you, it’s nothing but a kitten impersonating a lion. Griff might be built like a hurricane shelter, tattooed like bus stop, drive a battered pickup truck and swear like a sailor, but he’s a sweetie.

“Griff.” You repeat. “We can snuggle later. I’ve – I’ve got to get up.”

He makes another noise. Then, in that handsome accent, “Do you really gotta go?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

---

The problem with being a paid hacker was that you could really do anything you wanted. Legally? Not really. But you still did it, even without the warrant required. The man who hired you always pixelated his face when on the regular Skype, and spoke with a surprisingly All-American accent that most certainly pledged allegiance to the flag and then stole from it. Because that’s what you were – the canary. Back when miners were actual people who had pickaxes and dug for lumps of coal to burn, they had a thing where they’d use a bird to make sure it was safe. That bird was you – scoping out the world from behind a shield of encrypted software and ones and zeroes and code that you could do in your sleep. You figured out the chinks in the armour of Big Pharma and those seemingly impregnable places, and exploited them for your boss to do what he would with it.

And you just did it. You weren’t really morally flawed. Maybe just a teeny-tiny bit. A smidge. You still took the money from your boss, you lived from it. It’s what kept you from being just like your ancestors, starved by poverty or drowned in addictions. You kept hacking, you kept getting paid. Did it make you a bad person? You didn’t want to be a bad person. You helped elderly ladies make it to their cars when it was rainy and they forgot an umbrella. You let younger kids win arm wrestles with you. You knew all the lyrics to Mama Mia! The Musical! Bad people didn’t sing disco.

Griff caught you like this one evening. He came home smelling like engine oil again, his undershirt splattered with traces of it, his eyebrows quizzical and questioning your still fingers at the keyboard on your laptop. He knew you could write eighty words per minute, and when you were still, it either meant there were no words to come out, or perhaps all of them were stuck somewhere, aching to be translated from brain to keyboard.

“Babe?” He asked, and placed one of your knitted shawls over your shoulders. It smelt like something used in the washing machine, but with Griff standing over you, his scent overpowered that. “Something wrong?”

You shake your head, closing the screen. “Nope,” you reach up to stroke his facial hair, enjoying as Griff hummed as you carded your finger through his manicured hair. “It’s probably nothing.”

---

That night, instead of being in the crook of Griff’s arm, you’re positioned on the edge of the sofa arm like you only own that part of the chair, laptop perilously perched on your knees. Or rather, on a huddle of blankets and Griff’s jackets that are keeping you from turning into an icicle in the night air. The screen lights your face up as you plough through malware and firewalls, flicking switches in the code before you until it gives you a green light.

I’m in, you thought to yourself.

Your boss’s computer was not as well-protected as your own, and for that, you wondered how you’d never really thought of getting into the hood of his browser and looking at that secretive life lived. He had a folder of kid’s pictures on the desktop, some Freddie Mercury music, an unfinished picture of a boy with earbuds in from Microsoft Paint program.

You overlooked those. Instead, you fished deeper, going for the password-protected folders (an easy entry, your software could undo it easier than Griff undid your own bra) that were full of pdfs, documentation. Your eyes dart around the titles, and you realise. They’re all your files, things you’ve sent to him over time, all neat and tidily kept deep in his PC like archives of dirty secrets. There are files from six, seven years ago, as well as one you sent just three days ago.

“Tell me more,” you whisper to the empty air.

There’s no reply, unless you count the snuffle Griff makes, a snore, and a shift over the bed to the colder side of the mattress. Your side. But instead of thinking of how damn good it would be to be there beside your boyfriend, you return your attention to the screen. Closing that folder, you find one down the list titled crewmen. While the other folders are ordered by makes and models of cars, a word that doesn’t fit the cypher stands out like a grey hair on a dark-haired head.

You enter the folder, and blink.

It has thirty-six jpeg files in it, all labelled by surname. You know this, because you’re there, and so is Griff. The rest of the faces are unfamiliar, perhaps people you’ve met by off chance once in your life time, because they look bland. Unfamiliar. There’s a boy with sunglasses, like the drawing you found, an African American man, a woman with a small neck tattoo, an Asian man…you could keep looking at these unfamiliar people, but your eyes drift to Griff’s file.

Hesitantly, you click it. The photo is from before you met, and you only know that because there’s a tattoo missing under his ear in the picture. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t smiling because this picture is from a mug shot. You know Griff has done some shitty things and some shady stuff too, you don’t ask, but you just know. From what you can read from the jpeg, he’s from Arizona, has an offshore bank account and a long middle name you’ve never heard him talk about.

Next, you click on your file. It has a photograph of you, swiped from a post uploaded in 2011 from a deleted Facebook account. It has your name, your address, your status with Griff, your abilities, your wants, needs, life catalogued so neatly in Times New Roman font that it makes you retch, splutter, cough. Quickly, you swipe the two files, exit the hack, and toss your laptop onto the lounge, aghast.

You’ve found your answer.

---

When you tell Griff what you did that night, he’s silent. When his burner phone goes off, he doesn’t answer it. He’s just sitting there, looking at the files you’ve grabbed a hold of, lightly scowling at the picture of himself from years ago on your screen. You’re silent too. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be words to say things. Sometimes, the silence speaks for itself.

“You work for Doc too?” He asks after a while.

You shake your head. “I don’t know who I work for.” You admit. “He’s very American, and we never see face-to-face. But he always wears a suit on Skype.”

Griff nods. “That’s Doc.”

You shiver. It can’t be coincidence that you’re both lovers who work for the same man. You’re no criminal, but from what you read, you see that Griff is, and constantly is. He’s the muscle, the intimidator, the man with a gun who tells you Shut up and give me the money! You can’t imagine Griff like that. He’s not like that with you. He’s got the words sand and wich tattooed on his knuckles (that was after a few too many drinks one night), and when it’s stormy outside he turns off his phone and keeps you close to him because he knows how much you hate thunder. But it says he’s killed people. Did it make him a bad person? You didn’t want him to be a bad person.

“I want to run away,” you whisper to thin air. “I can’t be responsible for this anymore.”

Griff types one finger at a time into incognito mode on Google Chrome, spelling out M-E-X-I-C-O. You shake your head. He deletes those letters, and types out, C-A-N-A-D-A. You don’t shake your head. Griff smiles, and while you flop backward in the chair, defeated at life and existence itself, his burner phone rings.

“Is that –,”

He nods. “It’s always Doc.” You swallow, watching as he flipped the archaic little phone open, holding it to his ear. You can’t hear the words on the other end, not with a speaker that’s straight out of 2003, but you get the gist of it from the way Griff’s mouth is twisting. At last, he snaps the phone shut, and a breath escapes your lungs. “Another job.”

You remember submitting a text file two days ago. It’s the last file you’ve sent, and while you’re sure he has a backup for you in case you go AWOL (like you’re planning to do), it’s the thought that counts. The last of your taint on the world around Atlanta.

“After…?”

You don’t need to finish. He nods. “After.”

---

When Griff comes home the night after the last heist, he’s gotten rid of his precious pickup truck and traded it in for an old 1970 Camaro. You raise your eyebrows at the muscle car, but remembering your boyfriend looks like a fiend and totally the type to not blink at in a jaded gem like a Camaro, you keep quiet. Everything in the apartment you can’t take with you has been methodically put into moving boxes stuffed with firelighters and newspaper, and with the sprinkler fire alarms on a well-paced timer, there’s sure to be enough damage there to erase all trace of you two existing in that apartment. There’s no way for sure you’re getting the bond back.

When you toss your bag in the back of the car, you jog up to the apartment, lighter in hand. But before you make the place go up in flames, you see you’ve left your laptop on the table. You know Griff is waiting on the street, and time is precious, but still, you log on, and open Skype messenger.

Screw you, Doc you type.

You flick the lighter, and light the wick leading to the boxes, leaving your laptop open, the screen to be soon burned to a crisp, hard drive fried as you and Griff leave your lives as criminals to become someone adjacent to that noun. You decided then and there, as you both hit the interstate that it didn’t make you bad people to bad things. Just people.

[lemonine]

got tagged by @rhotano! 10 of nenela’s ic outfits

Savior of Ala Mhigo

Eorzean Travels

Ishgardian Travels

Gyr Abanian Travels

Uldahn Chic

Gridanian Casual

Sleepwear

Incognito

Hingan clothes

Dark disguise

more info for these silly names under the cut

the first one is pretty obvious, this is the outfit nenela wore while helping liberate ala mhigo. her left arm is covered because she got some nasty burns during that one fight with zenos in yanxia. the cane is deae gratia, which according to my google translate skills means something like ‘mercy of the goddess’? i mean considering nenela’s rly faithful it seemed fitting. the outfit in general is inspired by both lyse and minfilia, lyse bc hey its a pretty dress for liberation and minfilia bc she couldnt be there to see her homeland freed and nenela’s doing it for her too

second outfit is the eorzean/2.0 traveling outfit! its comfy, got a cute skirt, its a swooshy robe and a crystal cane, what else could you want for a healer? the friendship circlet is from lahen ‘@aethercurrent’ al’nebar, when they fought leviathan together and nenela helped him get over his fear of water, for a little bit at least. she wears it into battle to remind herself to be brave even if things are scary.

third one is the heavensward traveling outfit! warm tights. warm boots. warm coat. belts. lil pouches/crystal thingies. have you noticed my style preferences for nen yet. shes gotta have plenty of places to store ethers

number four is the stormblood outfit which is not only gyr abanian but nenela also wore it in the far east (she also wore the hingan clothes but not into battle) its sturdy but breathable and as always comfy. it probably isnt supposed to be a dress but she can get away with it. i wish i could turn the skirt into a skort bc its very short but all the shorts are even shorter. when will i get a good skort square enix. when. (also i forgot to show but the cane that goes along with this is the canopus anima)

five is when she tries to blend in with the ul’dahn higher class, such as dealing with the sultana or the syndicate. she still feels kinda uncomfortable wearing fancy clothing like this bc to her it still represents the bad people of ul’dah but hey sometimes you gotta play your part.... her black mage outfit is the same but with the skirt traded in for pants. once upon a time she had a pretty dress she wore for such occasions but then she wore it to the bloody banquet and now its torn and dirty from running through the sewers and it has so many bad memories attached to it she threw it somewhere in a corner of the armoire.

the sixth one is pretty casual, can be worn almost anywhere, but is strongly attached to the times she stayed in gridania. whether you visit the gold saucer or help people with minor issues. its always good. no fighting major battles in this one tho, it doesnt have enough pouches for that

number seven is her nightgown! what else can i say about it. it’s probably a bit simpler actually but this is the closest i can get to it ingame. i like to think while she lived at fortemps manor she got gifted a crescent moon nightgown but its so warm you really cant wear it to bed anywhere other than ishgard. then again nanamo owns one too... maybe nenela’s got the Special Extra Warm version

8 aka incognito. why incognito? well. you dont always want to be recognized as a warrior of light. so nenela just dresses as she did before she became an adventurer, aka as a lil streetrat. its not the same clothes as she wore back then though, but she did sew them herself

9! post 3.0 nenela lived with her aunt kikiko in kugane for a while. though there probably arent that many people there that would recognize her, she still didnt want to draw too much attention to herself so she bought herself this outfit. its also part of getting to terms with the fact that she didnt know her mother was hingan so she’s kinda trying out what feels right. she also wears it while living at her house in shirogane

and finally, 10, the one with the silliest name. why ‘dark disguise’? well. post 3.0 and 3.1 nen has a lot of issues, mainly why she’s still doing all these dangerous wol things when it also makes her rly sad a lot of times. so she figures, ‘hey, last time i felt bad i picked up a sword and made a ton of mistakes but i did learn something about myself i guess? lets do that again but without the mistakes this time’. so she travels back to ishgard to finally take sidurgu up on his offer to become a proper dark knight. (she left him standing there for like a year and he made her go through a very tough training montage) thing is, she’s pretty ashamed of the whole dark knight business at first. bc, yknow. its kinda the opposite of a white mage. so she doesnt really wanna be recognized while training. so she gets an outfit based on swordsmen in stories shes heard of (cough) squall (cough) lightning (cough) aka kinda edgy and also black bc thats what dark knights are right? also she lets her hair down. fool proof disguise. this actually makes the drk quests 10x funnier bc everyone, even people who have only seen her once in their lives, recognizes her immediately. there arent that many blue-eyed purplehaired lalafell up north. the sword she carries is belah’dian which is the only thing that kinda alludes to her heritage. oh, and notice that she isnt wearing the friendship circlet. she doesnt want it to get tainted with ~darkness~

(edit:) please also imagine she’s wearing tights under that lightning skirt/skort. i wouldnt let her run around in coerthas with bare legs but. there’s no tights and skirt item yet as far as im aware

anyway if youve read all of this, twelve bless 

[artificialqueens]

your body as a museum of careless gestures (biadore) - dylann

A/N:

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

But she’s more “don’t sober up at all for 36 hours because you’re sad you can’t randomly drop your own responsibilities and fly out to Europe” impulsive than “actually fly out to Europe” impulsive.

(or

Bianca is vulnerable, homesickness is a real bitch, Europe is very far away and plane tickets are unreasonably priced. Also, old patterns are hard to break, especially when you don’t even want to break them.

A reunion fic, everyone. That’s what this is.

Drag names and she/her pronouns for both throughout most of this. Shoutout to Dare for some solid constructive criticism and noticing my missing paragraph breaks.

Content warnings for mentions of weed and alcohol; sex; minor breathplay)

They FaceTime once, in early August, while Bianca’s at an airport somewhere in Europe, and Adore’s shitfaced in Seattle.

She’s home after a local show, still in full makeup, but she’s pulled her wig off and her own hair is piled up at the top of her head in a messy approximation of a bun. Her phone keeps flashing on every couple of minutes, lighting up with various notifications.

Bianca liking a recent Instagram post, or the occasional tweet, or commenting on pictures they’re both tagged in. It’s the clear signs of someone who’s bored and in some sort of situation where they can’t do much besides fuck about on their phone.

Adore knows she shouldn’t text because— well, because she isn’t having the best night anyway, and while talking to Bianca might help at first, it’d probably fuck her up worse in the long run.

She’s stripped down to her underwear and the remnants of a practically destroyed Sex Pistols tank top when her phone buzzes again. It’s another Facebook comment, and she caves.

To Bea 🍹 (3:27:02am) how the fuck bored are you??

Bianca fires back a 😂 almost immediately, and then types a response. The three dots that indicate her thinking pop up a few times, until she settles on

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:30:03am) Airport. Plane’s delayed.

(3:30:12am) cafe’s not even open, I hate Europe.

Adore mutters “No, you don’t,” to herself as she situates herself in the middle of her bed. Last night’s bowl is still half-packed at the sill of her open window, and she thanks past-Adore for being so considerate as she picks it up and takes a hit. 

And then she remembers Bianca can’t actually hear her.

To Bea 🍹 (3:31:45am) no you dont

(3:31:57am) can i call you???

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:32:05am) 🙃👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

Adore props her phone on her nightstand, and tilts the small reading lamp so it hits her face from the right angle. She’s wearing very light sea green contacts, and she knows for a fact her eyes look stunning.

The connection takes a moment and then the black screen lights up to reveal Roy who looks like a parody of an airplane traveller. He’s clearly exhausted and bleary-eyed under the rim of his baseball cap, and he’s wearing a plush fuchsia pink travel pillow around his neck like a goddamn statement piece.

Adore lets out a delighted laugh, and then goes,

“You look horrible.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Roy laughs, giving his camera a long look. “Isn’t it, like, way past your bedtime?”

“Has anyone ever told you you use emoji like a thirteen year old girl with a secret Instagram account?” Adore fires back.

“Are you calling me old?” Roy asks, feigning offense well enough that it makes Adore break and she shoots the camera a shit-eating grin as she nods and lights up her bowl again.

“Call me old one more time and I’ll buy a house somewhere in central Europe, take up farming, and never fucking come back,” Roy threatens lightly.

“No one would miss you here,” Adore says, perhaps a second too late to be funny.

Roy doesn’t answer, which is fine. Adore is usually obsessed with filling silences, like it’s her personal responsibility to make sure everyone’s constantly entertained. Roy’s an exception.

They’ve been silent around each other enough that it hasn’t felt awkward in years. 

“How’s Europe?” she asks eventually.

“Fun. Loud. Really fucking hot,“ Roy shrugs. He reaches up and presses his thumb against the bridge of his nose before rubbing along the outline of his eye socket. It’s rare and unsettling to see him that quiet and clearly drained.

Adore smokes and watches him as she contemplates how okay it’d be to say what’s actually on her mind.

“Hey, Bea?” she says quietly, as she shifts to lie down on her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“You look really tired. But um— I hope you’re just tired? Europe’s not making you, like, sad, is it?” Adore trails off for a second and presses her eyes shut as she refocuses. “That’s dumb. I mean. A continent can’t make you sad, right? I don’t know—“

“I’m fine,” Roy says and his face lights up with a small, fond smile which makes him look more like himself. “How are you doing? You look—“

“Fucking wasted?” Adore supplies. She aims for a joke but it just kind of comes out tired and flat. Plus, selling Roy the whole act is kind of pointless. “Yeah. I had a weird night, I don’t know. The whole album thing is fucking stressing me out.”

“People are gonna love it,” Roy says quickly, earnestly. He seems more awake. “They’re gonna eat that shit up.”

“You’re supposed to say that ‘cause you love me,” Adore whines jokingly, but then he just shrugs and nods in agreement, which makes her soften. “Thanks. Honestly. It’s just so— people wanna hear the old shit, you know? And the new stuff’s so different, I just— what if they don’t wanna hear it?”

“They keep asking for the old stuff ‘cause they haven’t heard your new stuff,” Roy reasons. He’s holding his headphones’ microphone close to his lips and it sort of feels like he’s in the room and talking directly to her if she closes her eyes.

“You’re right. Thanks, Bea,” she sighs, and then bites her lip as she adds softly, “I miss you.”

“Come to Europe,” Roy laughs a little. He can always recognize when she’s on the brink of some sad spiral and can usually pull her right back out. Adore opens her eyes to watch him laugh at the camera.

It’s impossible not to smile back.

“Right, are you gonna fly me out?” she laughs, making a show of pursing her lips at the camera.

“You wish,” Roy grins, and then his eyes drift over to something out of frame. Some sort of airport announcement comes through the speaker of Adore’s phone, entirely too far away and jumbled to be understandable.

“Hey, listen, I gotta go,” Roy says. “I might finally get to make it to a plane.”

“Awesome, fly safe,” Adore nods, scrunching up her nose as she fights off a yawn.

“You get some rest,” Roy adds. “This was fun, let’s—“

“More often. Yeah. I’ll call you.”

Adore smiles, and they say their goodbyes and hang up.

And then they don’t talk again for weeks.

***

The morning after the last FaceTime call, Adore had woken up with a screenshot of her own bank account, and a bunch of screenshots of various potential flights on her phone. Looking at them (and maybe the hangover) had made her sick, and she’d deleted them with her eyes half closed.

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

But she’s more “don’t sober up at all for 36 hours because you’re sad you can’t randomly drop your own responsibilities and fly out to Europe” impulsive than “actually fly out to Europe” impulsive.

It’d been days, maybe weeks, after the call when an ad had popped up on her Instagram feed, quite aggressively advertising Bianca’s upcoming gig on Fire Island.

New York is, in comparison to central Europe, closer.

Closer, easier to get to, slightly more reasonable.

So Adore had called her manager and said she’d do that one interview she had scheduled over the phone, and that she was going to be out of town for a few days. Her manager wasn’t impressed, but it was just a weekend, and she’d already made up her mind.

She doesn’t really call or let anyone else know she’s going.

When she walks into the club, the security guard gives her and her ID a long, curious look, but other than that, it’s dark enough that no one really notices or pays attention to her.

She’s wearing a Bianca t-shirt she’s mercilessly cut up into a douchey tank top tucked into a short, faux leather mini skirt with an unnecessarily chunky zipper in the front. Underneath the tank top, she’s in a lacy black bandeau that only draws attention to the boy chest, which is the exact effect she’s aiming for. The tight fishnet covering her legs culminates in heeled combat boots. Her hair is long and black and just messy enough that from afar, she looks like she could be just another girl here for the show.

It’s great, and she feels kind of incognito, even though she’s not necessarily trying to hide. She’s just not here to put on a show, either.

When she gets a drink, the bartender shoots her a knowing grin and says this one’s on the house, she only smiles back and thanks him and doesn’t argue. There’s being lowkey, and then there’s just being plain stupid.

The club is already pretty full, and it’s crowded by the time Bianca takes the stage to host.

Adore doesn’t quite care for the actual event and she lets herself be distracted watching her even when she’s off to the side, and clearly not supposed to be pulling the focus.

It’s impossible for Bianca not to pull focus. In a bodycon dress that somehow manages to be both leopard and floral and still be incredible, she looks like every wet dream Adore’s ever had. Bianca’s focused and attentive, she watches each performance and laughs along, and her lips are so shiny, and her eyes are so bright, and Adore is so tempted to make her way over to the stage and pull her off now, like she can’t wait another minute.

But the reality is, she’s waited this long and now that she’s here, Adore wants to do this right. So she sits back, accepts a couple more drinks from the bartender, and lives out her groupie fantasy, screaming and howling with laugher as if she’s just there to prove she can be louder than everyone else in the club.

At the end of the show, Bianca performs a number and the crowd goes wild, and Adore wants to be cheering with them, except she’s transfixed, breathless as she watches Bianca in her element.

“It never fucking gets old,” Adore yells at the bartender once Bianca’s left the stage. Her ears are ringing.

“She’s great,” he agrees, sliding another refill across the bar for her.

“She’s the best,” Adore corrects. “Can you send her a large gin backstage? Tell her it’s from a fan who claims to know her.

The bartender laughs and fixes a drink, and Adore, who’s only human, watches the sway of his hips as he walks through an unmarked door behind the bar which presumably leads backstage.

When Bianca comes out (from a different door, off to the side), she scans the club past the faces of people who notice her and either try to flock to her, or take a few steps back in some sort of classical awe. She glances around with a look Adore has come to realize means she’s expecting to see an acquaintance who’s dropped her name in hopes for a drink and a catchup.

Then, Bianca notices her and her entire face shifts.

Adore watches her face go from a public, performative smile through shock, through defeat, all the way to blossoming into a genuine smile within a split second. Bianca mouths something in her direction and heads over, and Adore’s heart is pounding so hard in her chest that it makes her cough.

Then, Bianca’s in front of her and pulling her into a hug, and saying into her ear,

“You motherfucker.”

Adore laughs loudly, pulling back just enough to catch Bianca’s eyes and grin at her.

“You absolute motherfucker,” Bianca repeats. “You could’ve called—“

“I wanted to surprise you,” Adore shrugs, as if it’s that simple, and Bianca softens.

“Well, I am surprised,” she laughs. Her hands are still around Adore’s waist and she’s becoming more aware of that by the second. “But I left my drink in the dressing room so we’re gonna have to continue being surprised there.”

Adore just nods. She picks up her glass and follows Bianca through the crowd. When Bianca reaches back, she slips her hand in hers, and hopes the club is just dark and confusing enough that no one would see.

***

“I can’t believe you just pulled this shit,” Bianca says as they walk into the dressing room, which is cool and only illuminated by the lightbulbs that line the mirror.

She closes her eyes for a split second and Adore watches her stage poise and energy leave her body like air from a recently popped balloon.

“I wanted to see your face,” Adore shrugs, and squeezes her hand as she brings herself closer. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve watched you—“

“Tonight wasn’t that good,” Bianca says quietly. “It’s not even technically my show…“

Adore bites her lip, and takes a sip of her drink as she says,

“I wasn’t gonna push but— are you okay? I mean, you seem—“

“I’m okay,”

Bianca pulls her hand away from Adore’s and walks around to sit down on the makeup chair, her back turned to the room. Adore just kind of stands there, swallowing uneasily once they break contact. Bianca is never like this, and witnessing it is terrifying, and Adore’s chest is tight as she attempts to figure out how she’d help the most.

“I just feel like I’ve been away for so long, you know?” Bianca says suddenly. Her voice is barely audible over the dull, unrecognizable bass that filters through the walls. “I’m not even sure if I’m away from— This summer’s just going by so fast. I feel like I’m always catching up with people. Like, tonight, when I stepped out—“

“You looked fucking terrified,” Adore supplies. She’s taken one cautious step towards Bianca’s chair and is hovering there.

“‘cause I was,” Bianca agrees, and it comes out in a shaky laugh. “Fuck, Adore, I was so worried I was gonna have to sit down and have a chat with some local queen I haven’t seen in years and make it look like I’m having the time of my life, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

Years of sharing dressing rooms have taught Adore that usually, Bianca would be out of all of her drag by this point. Now, she’s just sitting there, her eyes distant as she looks into the mirror but not really at herself.

Adore sighs and walks the rest of the distance to the makeup table, planting herself directly behind the chair. She drapes her arms over Bianca’s shoulders and crosses her wrists at her chest. Bianca’s hand comes up to cover her wrist, pressing down just a little, as if she’s afraid Adore might pull back.

Bianca’s nails are a dark shade of greenish gold and they glitter as they catch the mirror light. Adore wants to tell her she’s never looked more beautiful.

“It just gets kinda lonely,” Bianca says, quiet enough that Adore isn’t sure if it’s for her at all. She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she moves her hand just a little underneath Bianca’s, so she can run her thumb along the side of Bianca’s hand. Bianca sighs and closes her eyes again. Her eyelashes cast long shadows down her cheeks.

Adore doesn’t move, just lets Bianca breathe and take in the physical weight of her presence, lets her be quiet until she seems a little bit more grounded. Adore can feel it under her arms when Bianca exhales a long breath and her shoulders relax.

“Well, I’m here now,” Adore says finally, quiet and intimate, and it feels like dipping one toe in cool water.

She hasn’t planned this far in advance, never knows quite where they stand when they’ve been away from each other for so long, only knows that she’s here, and she’s here for Bianca, in whatever capacity Bianca needs her to be.

“Yeah— motherfucker,” Bianca repeats softly, in an almost-laugh. “You’re here.”

Then, she makes the choice for Adore.

Bianca pushes the chair back and stands up, turning around to face Adore in one swift, decisive motion. Adore catches her eyes and when Bianca tilts her chin down in the slightest of nods, it’s enough.

Adore launches herself forward, resting a gentle hand at the curve of Bianca’s neck as she kisses her with all the intent of an innocent death row inmate who’s been granted one last wish. Bianca responds almost immediately, her hands coming to rest at the small of Adore’s back. Adore (who, again, is only human) rolls her hips into the touch, which gets a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh from Bianca. It sounds more like her than anything Adore’s heard from her so far tonight.

“Missed you,” Bianca whispers once she pulls back. Up close, her eyes are so incredibly bright.

“I’m here.”

“You are.”

They exchange reassurances in a terribly familiar rhythm, and something in Adore’s chest twists a little. It must show on her face because Bianca says “Shhh” even though she’s silent, and is then she’s kissing her again.

This one lasts longer. Bianca licks her way past Adore’s dark plum lips and all Adore can do is respond in small, breathless sounds as she drops one hand down to grip the table behind Bianca, essentially trapping Bianca between herself and the tabletop.

A bunch of lipsticks fall down and maybe something rolls off the table, and Adore lets out a careless laugh into Bianca’s mouth. Her world feels lighter than it has in months. She doesn’t want to think about it at all.

Bianca distracts her, luckily, as she drops her hands past her ass to brush her fingers under Adore’s skirt. Underneath the thin layer of fishnet, Adore’s — unsurprisingly — untucked and wearing the tiniest briefs which leave most of her ass bare. Upon making that discovery for herself, Bianca lets out a laugh which is both appreciation and utter defeat.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Adore Delano,” she hums, pulling back to draw in a very deep breath.

It’s overdramatic but earnest and Adore feels so fucking wanted.

“I dress to impress,” she says sweetly.

“Jesus,” Bianca whispers, and her exasperated smile reaches all the way to her eyes. “Shut up.”

Adore laughs loudly, and it comes from deep in her chest. This is easier than anything else she’s done in so long. She knows Bianca feels the exact same way because she’s still laughing as she kisses her again.

By the time Bianca pulls back again, Adore’s hard and dizzy and the only coherent thought in her head is a vague curiosity about whether the door to the dressing room locks.

“Where are you staying?” Bianca is asking quietly. The outline of her lipliner has blurred and her eyes are dark and bearing so much promise it makes Adore’s head spin.

She grins in response.

She has one bag — a way too expensive designer carryon — that she’d dropped at a friend’s apartment before explaining that no, she didn’t need a place to crash, just storage room, thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.

She hadn’t bothered with a plan B.

“You bitch,” Bianca laughs fondly. “Yeah. Come on.”

***

Bianca’s hotel room is tiny and taken over almost entirely by the bed in the center. There’s a suitcase half-open in one corner. The lights are off, and the room is instead illuminated by the pale orange glow of street lamps filtering through the (truly hideous) cream tulle curtains.

Adore’s head is swimming. She lets herself fall back onto the mattress, laughing breathlessly as she props herself up on her elbows to look at Bianca who pauses a few steps away to kick off her heels.

“Hold on—“ Bianca starts, heading over to the small table in front of the mirror.

“No, no, no,” Adore says quickly. “No time. Come here—“

Bianca laughs as she stretches to pull the zipper of her own dress down.

“Fine. Just this, then,” she negotiates and Adore nods, and falls silent as she watches her strip and unclip her wig to pull it off.

It’s rare for Bianca to stay in drag when they hook up, but de-dragging takes too long, and Adore is too turned on to survive waiting for her any longer than she absolutely has to.

Plus,

“You look so fucking beautiful,” Adore whispers, lowering herself onto her back as Bianca crawls on top of her. She’s completely naked now and it’s purely instinct when Adore reaches for her cock. Bianca catches her wrist and pulls her hand away, her lips curving in an amused smirk.

“You’re so fucking impatient,” she says quietly and Adore responds with a low groan because Yeah, no shit, aren’t you?

“You’re right,” Bianca agrees, still smirking like some wicked demon of temptation from the depths of Hell when she comes down to catch Adore’s lips in a messy kiss. Adore’s all about hyperbole when it comes to Bianca.

And then Bianca’s grinding her hips down as she licks a hot stripe down the side of Adore’s neck, and literally nothing in Adore’s entire life has ever felt nearly as good.

“That’s cute,” Bianca comments, her lips almost brushing the thin strip of leather. Adore’s wearing a simple one-ring choker, and her face turns a deep shade of pink the second Bianca decides to acknowledge it.

“Told you,” she smirks, and manages to school her voice into an almost challenging singsong. “I dress to impress.”

“Stop talking,” Bianca replies lowly, hooking a finger through the ring to tug Adore up as she kisses her again. Adore’s eyes fall shut and she gasps helplessly into the kiss, and then all she can do is part her lips for Bianca’s tongue.

Adore’s tank top and the lacy bandeau are long gone. She’s still wearing the skirt, and tights, and briefs, and that’s three layers too many, and she’s so uncomfortably hard, and Bianca knows and is ignoring her because apparently, Bianca likes to torture people.

(Which is, on occasion, actually true. And welcomed. Just—)

“Bea,” Adore whines, actually whines, because this is unbearable. “Not right now, Jesus, please.”

“No?”

“No. Come on, I’m done waiting, fuck me now, please,” the last word comes out indignant, as if she’s only saying it to be polite but she doesn’t really want to. It works for Bianca, apparently, because she lets go of the choker and refocuses both of her hands’ attention to unzipping Adore’s skirt.

The zipper goes all the way down and the skirt comes undone.

“You thought this through,” Bianca hums, audibly entertained, and Adore drives her hips up in response because Hurry up, yeah I have, I want this, I’m ready, hurry up.

Bianca peels her tights and her underwear down her legs at the same time and brings them all the way down to her ankles but doesn’t take them off.

“I like the boots,” she explains, breath heavy and hot against the inside of Adore’s thigh. “We’re keeping them on.”

Adore feels filthy, like this part of it is somehow taboo, and her dick is already slick with precome against her stomach. She crosses her ankles and lets her knees fall open to the sides, and Bianca responds with an appreciative groan which makes her twitch.

Adore keeps her eyes closed as she listens to the distant sound of a plastic cap popping open, and then two lubed up fingers are pressing against her and she’s gone.

Bianca preps her quickly, efficiently, because any attempt she makes at slowing down is met by Adore with disjointed sounds of protest and helpless jerks of her hips.

“Now,” she moans eventually as she hovers with her hips pushed off the mattress, desperately trying to get more of Bianca. “Now, I’m ready, come on, fuck me now.”

A moment passes in which Bianca considers making her beg, just to get a rise out of her, but Adore is a picture of uncensored want with her messy hair spilling across the pillows, and her flushed dick, and the small crease in her forehead, and frankly, Bianca’s growing too impatient to tease.

Adore cries out loudly when Bianca pushes into her, sending stars flying behind her closed eyelids. Bianca’s propped a pillow under her hips and the angle is torturous and absolutely fucking perfect. Adore’s thighs shake with tension as Bianca thrusts all the way in, almost too slowly, letting Adore adjust to the sensation. It’s already so much, and yet not nearly enough.

Bianca moves experimentally and it draws a soft whimper from Adore. “Yeah— I’m ready, come on.”

And then, Bianca’s off. She grips Adore’s hips to tilt her up and picks up the pace as her nails dig half-moons into Adore’s ass. Adore is incoherent, meeting each thrust with small moans and broken, disconnected swearwords. Her lips are parted and swollen and glossy with spit, and Bianca stares in admiration for a moment before arching down to kiss her.

Bianca kisses like Adore’s darkest secret is hiding at the back of her mouth and there’s never going to be another way to get to it. It’s disorienting, like walking through darkness. Adore’s ears are ringing. Bianca pulls one hand away from her hips and a second later she’s tugging on Adore’s choker again. This time, she hooks her index finger under the strap and pinches it between the knuckle of her middle finger and her thumb. The leather digs into Adore’s throat and she feels it like fireworks at the back of her skull.

Bianca keeps her lips just out of reach as she tightens her grip on the choker, and it drives Adore to  crane her neck, desperately chasing after a kiss she can’t quite reach. The leather digs into her neck and she coughs right as Bianca thrusts her cock deeper inside of her, at a slightly different angle which makes Adore want to scream.

The sound that comes out is closer to a strangled whine, and Bianca meets it with a low laugh which makes Adore blush. Her chest is so tight she feels like she’s one second, one stray touch, one jerk of Bianca’s hips away from bursting wide open.

“Bea—“ she starts, and it’s barely sound. She gasps, dragging in more air. Bianca’s grip doesn’t falter. “Bea. I’m—“

Adore’s voice breaks a loud moan as Bianca drops her hand to her cock. Bianca laughs quietly, breathlessly, as she tightens her grip and gives her a few experimental strokes. Adore accompanies each stroke with a whimper as Bianca picks up her pace so her hand can match the rhythm of her hips. Adore’s brow is beaded with sweat and her hair is sticking to her face and she looks absolutely gone as she drives her hips up, over and over, in an endless race to meet Bianca halfway.

She comes first, with Bianca’s name in a sharp moan on her lips, cum streaking through Bianca’s fingers and onto her stomach.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Bianca groans quietly, arching down to trace kisses along the red mark lining Adore’s neck as she keeps fucking into her in deep, quick thrusts, chasing her own release.

Adore is shaking, spent and oversensitive and unabashedly loud as each move sends a new wave of aftershocks through her body.

When Bianca comes, she goes perfectly still, perfectly silent, her eyes pressed tightly shut and her lips parted in a soundless scream. Adore, who’s watching her through heavy, hooded eyelids, chokes out a moan instead of her.

Then, the only sound Adore can focus on is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as Bianca lowers herself down, burrowing her face against Adore’s neck. She doesn’t quite kiss this time, just rests there, her breath warm against the cooling sweat on Adore’s skin.

Adore drifts. It takes a minute, or maybe an hour, she’d never know for sure, and Bianca’s growing soft inside of her but neither of them moves. Adore’s limbs feel heavy, inoperable, and she thinks distractedly that maybe that’s not too big of a deal, maybe she can just be there for the rest of her natural existence and she would be okay with that.

Then Bianca moves. She pulls herself away slowly, carefully, like she doesn’t mean to disturb, and Adore still winces at the loss.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” Bianca says softly. Her voice sounds raw, spent, and Adore finds herself hoping it’s still like that tomorrow. She wants people to talk to Bianca and know.

The sound of the bathroom sink running and Bianca’s footsteps sound so far away and Adore closes her eyes, lets them lull her into a half-sleep as her body cools down and stops shaking.

Minutes later, perhaps, Bianca returns with a warm, damp towel, and Adore breathes steadily as she cleans her up, too tired and too gone to do much but accept it. Then it’s more footsteps, to the bathroom and back.

Then, Bianca’s hands are working her boots open and pulling them off, along with the mess of fabric tangled around her ankles. It feels private in a new sort of way, as if this is where the moment would usually have to break but Bianca’s not letting that happen. Adore’s chest tightens and she lets out the smallest noise as she swallows dryly.

“You okay?” Bianca asks, all gentle attentiveness, as she climbs up and rests behind her, one arm coming to drape over Adore’s hips, her hand angled up to rest at her sternum.

“Yeah.” Adore’s throat scratches, and she knows she’ll wake up needing water. Bianca makes a sound like she doesn’t quite believe her, so Adore amends, “I’m here.”

Bianca laughs. It’s almost inaudible but Adore feels it against her back.

“Yeah,” Bianca whispers. She presses her lips against Adore’s shoulder and holds them there for a long time. “You are.”

***

A/N: the title is from this poem which you should definitely read, it’s beautiful.