#I hope this is coherent I'm very tired but I wanna answer this before I forget and a week passes along with any chance of getting a respons

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

I find it important to have an open view of the world and take in and consider opinions of others that differ from my own.

Agreed yes. I assume this is in response to my confusion about the poll in this post? It's the only post I can find from last night (when this anon was sent but I was on mobile and going to bed so I didn't see it until now) that seems relevant so I will proceed under that assumption.

This is a very valid reason to stay on my blog while disagreeing with me! I hope my own perspectives can help enrich yours whether you agree or not! It didn't occur to me to interpret "you're straight up wrong" that way (but that may be my own fault for not including a more fitting option, I wrote the poll on my way to bed iirc and mostly thinking people were either uninterested or found me annoying so it isn't my most carefully thought out poll), I assumed everyone who disagreed saw no value in my takes, so it confused me they'd neither leave nor complain or correct me. But if the disagreement in itself holds value, that makes total sense!

Thank you for explaining this!

You don't owe me any engagement with my opinions of course, nor to satisfy my craving for attention and feedback, but I am still very curious in what ways people disagree, so if you want to enrich my own perspective in return, I'd welcome it!

Thank you, have a nice day!

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Five [PT. 1]

Part Eighty-Five [PT. 2]

Words: 5.5k

Warning(s): explicit language, explicit sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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NIKKI

My lawyer looks completely unimpressed with my lack of shoes, shirt, and dignity as he leans back in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his temples. 

"It doesn't work like that, Nikki, I'm afraid." He informs me finally, sitting up and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. 

"I was declared dead for two minutes. I died. My wife's technically a widow." 

"You can't annul a four year marriage on the basis of 'I died for two minutes.' Some cases of actual death, it can take an act of congress for widow or widower to have an annulment for a marriage where their spouse is no longer alive, legitimately." He explains and I roll my eyes. 

"So, what, I just get some divorce papers or something?" 

"Unless I declare mental incapacity given that you went through a traumatic series of events within the last twenty-four hours and this could possibly be a very serious lapse in judgement." He argues and I stare at him.

"Stop pulling my dick." 

"I'm not 'pulling your dick.' I just don't want you to make this decision and then regret it when your head clears." 

I managed to wear him down and by the next morning, he left the papers by Tommy's door after Vince mentioned to me that Viv stayed over there with Tommy and Heather.

When I get home, Karen opens the door and looks at me, wide eyed and confused. 

"H-Hey?" She says as I push past her and go to the phone, opting to change my answering machine. 

"Hey, it's Nikki." I say. "I'm not here because I'm dead." 

Karen just looks at me, astounded, and I go to my room, slamming the door. 

I was good and tired and glutton for punishment because I got home that night and loaded up the biggest shot of smack I could muster and pulled the trigger.

I wake up with a sharp pain in the crook of my arm, a needle still in my skin as blood trails my forearm to collect in my palm...Jesus fucking Christ, I've officially lost it. 

I take the needle out and force myself up to trudge to the living room to check my messages. 

Things like, "You're an asshole," and "that's not funny," tend to be the common theme. 

I guess I need to change my answering machine. 

I comb through to see if I have anything from Viv. 

Now would be a good time to hear her bitch me out for almost making her kill herself--because, lets face it, she's gonna blame it on me, anyway. 

Nothing's found, though. 

"Fuck, Vivian." I sigh out, sitting on the carpet in the living room, rubbing my forehead as a new message comes on…

"You fucker, you would be the one to fucking OD and die and then get up right after and file for divorce as if she doesn't have enough shit going on, already." 

I furrow my brows at the voice. 

"Axl the Twat?" I say aloud, confused, as he finishes with, "fuck you, you fucking fuck." 

He hangs up and I raise my brows. 

Did I die and wake up in a parallel universe? Axl defending Vivian? 

Is this hell? 

It cuts to the last message. 

"Hey, umm...I don't know if you'll get this or not or if…" Vanity. "...I don't know what's going on but I heard something terrible on the radio and I suppose it was true--well, kind of, um…" she sighs. "We're not together anymore and I get that I just hope you're o--"

"Fuck that." I grumble, hitting delete. 

I fall back and I look up at myself. 

It's fucked that I bought this fucking house for Viv, and she's not even staying in it anymore. 

I feel like I promised her so much and haven't given a damn thing to her except reasons to want to throw herself off of balconies.

I look down at my arm, dried blood still on my skin. 

I'm fucking tired of this shit. 

I let my complete exhaustion of being sick fuel me to dig through everything I own and throw out all of my rigs, any other drugs in my path, and even pour everything to get drunk off of down the sink--even the fucking cooking-wine. 

Vivian's somewhere catching the holy spirit, probably, just sensing I'm finally fucking done. 

Or she's somewhere in tears over me finally taking the final step to end our relationship. 

I feel like it's dead in every way aside from legal. 

Whisky's laying by the door, whining when I step over him to go throw the big garbage bag out. 

I'd get down there and whine for her, too, but I know this is what needs to be done. 

Our entire relationship has just been one giant clusterfuck, and I don't want to put her through the bullshit of having to try to forgive me and trust me, again. 

I think I've already stolen enough of her peace of mind. 

She'll be happier with Duff, anyway. He's a good guy. A hell of a lot more suited for her than I am. 

My hand rubs the back of my neck and I realize I'm still wearing the small crucifix of her's. 

I'm tempted not to give it back. 

I just sigh and throw the trash out and get back in the house, getting in the shower. 

When I get out, I ruffle a towel through my hair, seeing the light blinking on my answering machine. 

I go over and try to keep myself from getting too excited at the thought of it being Viv before I hit play on my messages. 

"Nikki, it's Doc. I know you feel like horseshit right about now but I need you to come down to the office at 5:00p.m., we're getting you guys together because we need to talk. See you then--preferebly kinda sober and coherent." 

Turns out I'll have my ass chewed by Doc before Viv, after all. 

I know he came down to the hospital and tore Slash and the guys new ones while I was unconscious. 

I'm digging in my garbage for a couple pills to dull down my future shakes that I just know are gonna be coming before sundown. 

Despite being not in shape to fucking drive anywhere, I still go because I know if I don't go, Doc will come here and I don't need him here. 

It's morbid walking into the office to see Vince, Tommy, and Mick sitting and waiting for me while Doc sits behind his desk. 

"Fuck me." I complain out loud, dreading what Doc's about to go on about. 

"Sit." Doc tells me and I plop down beside Tommy, sighing, and Doc waits a minute before saying, "I canceled the European tour."

"What?" Vince asks and Mick furrows his brows. 

"What the fuck, Doc--"

"--Shut the fuck up and listen." He cuts me off while Tommy nervously shakes his leg. "If you bastards go to Europe, one of you will come back in a body bag. And I'm not gonna be the fucking manager that runs Mötley Crüe into the ground." He states harshly. 

"That's a fucking first." I laugh out, meanly, and Doc glares at me. "Guess dead rockstars don't make as much money as alive ones, huh? I coulda told ya that after Razzle--"

"--Nikki." Mick states. 

"Where's my wife?" I snap next. 

"Oh, the one you so stupidly filed for divorce from without giving me a heads up first? Probably with her friends that haven't put her through the ringer and fucked her over time and time again." He states. 

"I didn't know I needed permission to make decisions in my personal life--that have nothing to do with Mötley Crüe." 

"Are you two just gonna argue or are we gonna actually talk about why we're here because I have things to do." Vince grumbles. 

"Tommy came to me and told me he's thinking about rehab." Doc tells us and I glance at Tommy, who's avoiding looking at anybody. "I'm not taking Mötley Crüe on tour again, in a studio, whatever, until you guys get your act together." 

We all look at each other, exhaling, and I rub my lips together. 

"Fine." Vince sighs, and Doc looks at Tommy.

He nods. 

"Nikki?" Doc asks and I just stare at him. 

The guys are gone in a few minutes, leaving just me and Doc and I stand up. 

"I wanna see Viv." I tell Doc as he digs through some files, and he looks up and blinks from behind his desk, 

"She said she's not seeing you until you get help." Doc states. 

"She says that but I bet I could find her tonight and still get her under me in less than three minutes." 

"Assuming she's not still under Duff." Doc says and I tense up. "You think I didn't notice how questionably close they got on tour?" He adds. 

"She's going through a crisis." I reply. 

"Can't imagine why." He mumbles. 

"Just tell me where she's at, Doc." I snap. 

"You look like shit. You need to go home and get some fuckin' rest because you're all checking in tomorrow afternoon." He adds. 

"I'm not going anywhere until I see my wife."

"You mean the wife you filed for divorce from?" He questions and I roll my jaw. "Your wife is resting. You should, too."

1981

I fumble for my key to the apartment, cussing under my breath when I can't get the door opened. 

"Motherfucker." I hiss, finally getting it unlocked and shoving it open…

I slam it shut and toss my keys across the room, hearing Tommy and Vince's room door creak open. 

Vivian crosses her arms, a scowl on her face, her hair tousled from sleep. 

"Could you be any louder?" She snaps, shutting the door behind her, going to the kitchen.

My eyes run up and down her long legs as she heads that way, only in one of Tommy's t-shirts and panties. 

Fuck. Me. 

I go to grab the bottle of Jack on the counter, taking a sip as she gulps some water down, a droplet escaping the glass as she drinks, rolling down her chin to her neck and I watch it, my burning throat getting dry as I try to pull myself together, my prick starting to push against my pants. 

Damnit. 

It's like the sane part of myself is trying to slap the hopelessly horny part of me. 

She's fucking evil, dude, fuck off, I tell myself. 

She's hot. 

You hate each other. 

I wonder what weird shit she's into in bed. 

She's a bitch. You know she's a bitch. Leave her alone. 

Oh, I forgot she's supposedly a virgin.

Go to bed, dumbfuck. GO TO BED. 

That means I get to watch her experience stuff for the first time.

I end up chuckling, amused at the thought of seeing her pretty eyes roll in her head as pleasure bombards her for the first time. 

"What?" She snaps, and I realize I've been staring at her. 

I'm about to answer until I get caught up at the sight of her nipples peering through her shirt...fuck me. 

"Nikki," she shoves at my shoulder, making me take my eyes off of her chest.

She just scoffs. 

"Go touch yourself in the bathroom or something. Jesus." She puts the glass down and walks past me to go back to Tommy's room.

See? Evil. 

I ignore the voice of reason and I catch her wrist and stop her, yanking her closer to me. 

She looks like a deer in headlights for a minute before I'm grabbing at her hair closest to her neck and pulling her to me, kissing her. 

It's a pretty clean kiss, no tongue, no mess, just testing the waters. 

She doesn't push me away or beat me up like I always thought she would do, instead, when I pull away for a moment, she takes a breath, wide eyed, before grabbing me by my jacket, pulling me back in. 

I'm surprised but I don't let it get in the way, taking lead a little to guide her. 

For someone who's never been kissed before (again, allegedly) she's not awful at it like I expected--well, I didn't expect her to be awful because she's never kissed anybody, I expected her to be awful because she's so mean to me. 

Her hands push my jacket off my shoulders and I push my tongue past her lips, coaxing a quiet moan from her. 

Holy shit. 

My hands go to her ass and she grasps at my hair as I pick her up, her legs wrapping around me. 

Just to see if we're on a standard starting basis of common interests, I lift one of my hands and bring it back down, not too hard, but hard enough, and she hums, fucking biting my bottom lip and grinding into me a couple times. 

I have to keep from creaming my pants just by her moving against me. 

You're being stupid, I tell myself, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone now. 

She's been the forbidden fruit or whatever for months now and I just gotta have it. 

I take her to my room and kick the door shut with my foot, taking her to the shitty mattress on the floor. 

I drop her onto it, seeing her in the glow of streetlights. 

"Take your shirt off." I say, lowly, and she rubs her lips together and slowly pulls it over her head, her bare chest exposed and my dick's practically throbbing at this point. 

I take her crucifix in my hand, and she looks down at it as I lick my lips. 

She unfastens it and throws it aside. 

I lean down and kiss her again, trailing down her neck, my tongue against her skin and she gasps out a sharp breath, her hands pulling at my shirt. 

I take it off and she's sitting up and running her palms over my shoulders, down my chest, and I grasp her around her throat, pushing her back to the mattress and I feel a little shiver go up her spine. 

My tongue circles one of her nipples and she lets out bated breaths as I take it between my teeth. 

She moans, loudly, and I move my hand to her mouth. 

"Shh!" I say. "You're gonna wake them up." I add and she nods. 

I do the same to her other breast, with my hand over her mouth, but then I get an idea. 

A glorious, completely selfish idea. 

I take my hand off of her mouth and smirk before kissing the middle of her chest, one of her top ribs, biting into it, hard, making her scratch at my shoulder while covering her own mouth as a sharp moan is forced from her.

I run my tongue over the bite mark and continue down her stomach, stopping at the top of her panties, glancing at her. 

She's still breathing heavy, hands covering her chest, tilting her head to see me. 

I run my hand over her clothed core, a little noise coming from her throat, feeling a big wet spot over her cunt. 

She lifts her hips and starts pulling them down and I take them and discard them, running my fingertips up the inside of her thigh before I rub my thumb around her clit that's slickened wet. 

Her hands jolt to mine between her legs, her back arching, trying her hardest not to be loud. 

I tug her to the edge of the mattress, and grab one of her hands, replacing mine with it before I'm looming over her for a moment. "Touch yourself." I tell her, my lips brushing against hers and I can tell she's blushing under the dark of the room. "C'mon, it's hot, just do what feels good." I add, my lips pressing against hers for a moment before I feel her hand move, a delicate gasp coming from her and I pull my lips from hers to watch her face. 

Her eyes close, her head tilts back while her other hand tangles in her hair. 

I stand up to take my pants off, grabbing at my painfully hard cock when she bucks her hips against her frail fingers. 

"Nikki," she says, eyes still shut, head back, and I rub my hands down my face. 

We haven't even fucked yet and I can already tell she's gonna make me a fucking idiot. 

I get my pants off and run my thumb over my tip and get some precum on it, leaning down and holding it up to her lips. 

"Hold your tongue out," I tell her and she opens her eyes and looks at me, before doing as I say. 

The pad of my thumb rubs it over her tongue and she lets out a satisfied sigh, looking up at me as I lick her spit off my thumb. 

I get back up on my feet for a moment and she gets up and crawls to the foot of the bed, her eyes on my prick, hunger in her eyes…

Nice try, evil bitch, you're not stealing my soul by sucking it through my dick. 

I grab her hair and make her look at me. 

"Lay down." I tell her and doesn't argue, eyes still ravenous…

I kiss up her kneecap to her thigh, sliding up and up until--

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpers out when my tongue swirls her clit around, getting the first taste of Saint Viv. 

My eyes are the ones to roll back, now. 

Holy shit. 

It's good because she's Satan and needs something to trap you with, that little voice comes back. 

Her hands find my hair, her lips find my name and if I don't get ahold of myself, I'll be finding God based on this experience alone.

Apparently she's finding him right now because all she can muster out is, "oh, God." 

I find a good rhythm with my tongue, her pussy starting to grind against my face as teasing, little sultry moans flutter through the room. 

After a minute I feel her body tense up, and I pat myself on the back as she comes, my tongue lapping at her entrance to get drunk off of her, my hands running over her stomach and thighs. 

Vivian claims we just went right into sex without doing anything aside from making out before hand but I distinctly remember going down on her. She must've blacked out once she realized we were about to fool around or something but I remember that happening because it was something I'd dreamed up doing ever since I met her, creepy but honest.

I pry myself from her to grab a rubber behind the head of the mattress, the both of us pulling ourselves up there.

I get it on and turn over, getting on top of her. 

She's already hooking her legs around me before I even line myself up with her. 

She looks like she's high or drunk, eyes nearly shut, her lip between her teeth, her head tilted slightly, exposing her neck. 

I lean down and kiss her neck, her skin damp with sweat and she sighs. 

I rub my tip against her opening and she closes her eyes. 

I push into her, having to coach myself through because fuck her pussy is tight, and she winces, her mouth opening but nothing coming out. I'm about to ask her if she's alright when she speaks first. 

"Take it off." She tells me. 

"What?" 

"The condom, take it off." 

"Are you trying to trap me or something?" I snap at her. 

"I wanna feel you." She tells me softly, and I guess it's kinda sweet, or primal, whatever. 

I pull out of her and take the condom off, dropping it by the bed before I'm pushing back into her. 

We both moan, and I can feel her body stretching to accommodate my entrance, her face showing pain. 

I pullout again, but before I can get out completely, she pulls me back in with her legs, letting out a high pitched breath. 

More of her juices coat over my cock. 

"Fuck, Vivian," I say it, thrusting into her again and she wraps her arms around my back, hugging me to her, and my lips find hers as I push into her again, and again, roughly, the feeling of heaven washing over me each time I go back inside her. 

I make her take every inch, forcing myself to fit the last inch and a half despite her body not having room, and she writhes underneath me. 

"I think I'm bleeding." She tells me breathlessly and I think she wants me to back off or get off her, but when I go to, she says, "No, keep going, it feels good." 

The look on her face is a clear indication that she's into it. 

I'm kind of shocked that churchy Vivian is into the same shit I'm into, and I grab her throat, again, and kiss her, our tongues moving together. 

"I wanna get on top next." She tells me through moans. 

"Why?" I ask. 

"I wanna see it." She says and I furrow my brows for a second before I catch on. 

I'm rolling off of her and onto my back, my hands running up her thighs and waist when she gets on top of me, and I grab myself as she straddles me, pushing it against her before my hands pull  her down onto me. 

She screws her eyes shut, as she sinks down to the hilt, her thighs shaking, and I hit her ass cheek as hard as I can and she gets so tight around me I can't pull out until she relaxes. 

"You can't do that shit." I tell her harshly, biting back my urge to go ahead and come, and she relaxes a little more as my hands hold at her waist, guiding her movements since she's never done this before. 

"Does it feel good?" I ask her, her little moans and whimpers getting me even more hot and bothered. 

"Yes," she nods, tipping her head back. "So good."

I look between us, clear view of her pussy taking it, and I sigh. 

"It looks good, too." I tell her and she leans down over me, her forehead against my chest as she watches me fuck her for a moment before looking at me, kissing me sloppily, her chest pressing against mine making her sigh when her nipples brush against my skin. 

When she pulls away, I'm sticking two fingers in her mouth, taking her by surprise but she starts sucking on them in a second, and I force them down her throat, making her gag, as I start pounding into her, making her nearly shriek out but I gag her with my hand around her throat. 

"You're so pretty." I tell her, spit all down her chin from choking on my fingers, eyes nearly shut, my hand around her throat, and I glance down between us, licking my lips. "That pussy's pretty, too." I add and she cries out when my other hand starts rubbing at her clit. 

I take my hand from her throat and she gasps for air. 

"Nikki, I'm--" 

She can't finish. 

I roll onto her again, getting on my knees and lift her hips, continuing to hammer into her roughly and her eyes go to the back of her head, as her cum soaks the both of us. 

Why the fuck didn't she tell me she can come like that? 

I feel myself reaching my own end and go to pull out but she tugs me onto her, kissing me, her legs snaking around me. 

At first I don't think she realizes I'm about to blow my kids everywhere, then when I try to pullout, she says, "do it in me, I've heard it feels good."

I look at her like she's crazy because it's something I'd never expect her to say. 

"Please, Nikki, let me have it." 

I don't have time to argue because I'm finishing with a grunt and a satisfied smile at the sight of tears of pleasure in her eyes before her lids screw shut, her mouth open as a moan leaves her, her body sparking off with shivers. 

I let her have it.

"You're a slut." I tell her, thrusting into her a couple more times and she hums at my words. 

"Shut up." She says next and I kiss her one last time before rolling off of her. 

She pulls the covers over her chest and closes her eyes, tired, and I watch her for a moment. 

Okay, she may not be a slut, but I know she's gonna be able to get away with murder and I'm gonna let her because she's fucking Vivian. 

I ran myself into my own grave, but heroin and Vivian were major catalysts, but I know I was a catalyst for her own rock bottom, too. We were just too fucking young to know better, I guess. We fell in love and got hooked on playing house without actually stopping to think what all it would look like. Of course, neither of us expected me to be on smack, neither of us expected me to reach the level of stupidity that I reached with Vanity, and neither of us expected her to be conceiving a lovechild while I was next door dying, and I certainly didn't expect to file for divorce first, if at all. I remember that first night together in that shitty apartment got me hooked on her. Not just sex, I actually started listening to what she had to say after that, and wanting to have conversations, and hangout...I fell in love and she made it easy for me to. It was like boiling a frog. Things got worse and worse slowly overtime until BAM! I had Vanity, crack, and junk, and Vivian had Duff and a secret savings account she didn't think our lawyer would get record of. I was pissed, but I knew it was my fault. 

All of it was. 

I had promised her the world and instead stole everything from her like a life-sucking demon. 

She wasn't the evil, manipulative bitch. 

I was.

[moonstruckholland]

Sober (t.h)

Word count: 1,918

Warnings: drinking, fluff, tiny bits of angst

A/N: The second oneshot for Cosmic Souls! I really hope y'all like this 💕 let me know what you think if you do and if you want, you can find the first oneshot in my masterlist 🥰 also, as always, shout out to the amazing @fangirlwithasweettooth for reading this over

It was obvious by the way you were dressed you hadn't originally planned on having Tom over.

Usually, you didn't care much for getting dressed up when you hung out with Tom at your place, opting for a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Not that he ever minded, he loved that you felt comfortable enough to be yourself around him.

Tonight though you had on a pretty floral dress that complimented your skin and more makeup than you usually cared to put on, pops of color and shimmer on your lids that added to the natural sparkle in your eyes.

Tom thought you looked beautiful.

Though, to be fair, there hadn't been a moment since he met you three years ago, in the music history class the both of you were forced to take, where he hadn't thought you looked absolutely stunning.

"So, what exactly happened tonight, love?" He looked up to where you were sitting next to him on the couch, hoping he didn't seem too eager to hear your answer, "You were pretty vague with the details over the phone."

"Fuck, Tommy, it was horrible," you took a sip of your cup, that was mostly filled with vodka, scrunching your nose as the liquid went down your throat, "I had a date tonight with that dude I was telling you about the other day, from my child and family development class."

Tom felt a pang in his chest as he remembered exactly who you were talking about, recalling how you fawned over him while the two of you were having lunch together, mentioning something about wanting to jump his bones.

He felt just as jealous then as he did now, wondering if you'd ever noticed the fact that he would literally do anything for you.

"Not only was he almost an hour late, didn't even bother to warn me, by the way," you rolled your eyes, bringing your cup to your lips again, "He wouldn't stop talking about his ex the whole time, but I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start from when he finally picked me up."

You continued on, taking large gulps of your drink as the details of the story got worse and worse.

Tom followed in your footsteps, drinking more from his cup than he had originally planned when you first handed it to him, each sip helping him refrain from blurting out what he actually wanted to say to you.

It was safe to say by the time you were done talking, the two of you were definitely tipsy.

It was safe to say by the time you were done talking, Tom was definitely buzzed. You on the other hand were on a completely different level, taking shots in between drinks, going harder than Tom had ever seen.

You had just finished your third cup, already working on your fourth one, while Tom had barely taken sips of his third one, figuring it'd be best if at least one of you slowed down.

"How do you manage to find the worst guys to go on dates with?"

You sighed, "I don't know, I just want one actually nice guy to want me, that's it."

'I want you,' is what Tom's thoughts were begging him to say. Instead he gave you a sympathetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "You'll have that some day, darling."

You leaned back on the couch, sadness overcoming your features, "I wish there were more guys like you, Tommy."

He barely had time to register your words, his head fuzzy from the alcohol, before you distracted him with an awkward cough, mumbling something about it being too warm.

"Maybe you should take that as a sign to take a break."

Just like that the sadness washed away, replaced with a wicked smile, "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm only getting started."

Tom rolled his eyes, getting up from the couch with a groan and walking over to the fridge to get a couple of water bottles and the bag of chips on the kitchen counter, knowing you'd have the worst hangover if he didn't get some food and something non-alcoholic in your system.

He brought them over to you, handing you the bottle and putting the chips on your lap, "Eat something please, darling."

"Don't wanna eat," you shook your head stubbornly, "I wanna dance."

Before Tom could protest, you downed the rest of your cup before jumping up and grabbing his hand, pulling him up with you. "C'mon, dance with me, Tommy, please."

"But there's no music."

Tom expected you to do the easy thing and connect your phone to your Bluetooth speakers and play one of the dozens of playlists you had on Spotify, instead you caught him off guard by belting out the lyrics to What Makes You Beautiful.

He couldn't help the laughter that bursted from him as you started swaying and twirling while you sang.

It was totally ridiculous, but Tom found himself singing along with you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close so you could sway together.

After a while you stopped singing and put your head on his chest, making his heart hurt. He wished this was more than what it was, more than him comforting you after a bad date.

Tom tried not to dwell on his negative thoughts, deciding to just close his eyes, lay his head on top of yours, and enjoy having you close to him like this.

He got lost in you, the feeling of your hands in his and the way your body was pressed against him, so close he could smell the scent of your favorite perfume.

He'd been close to you so many times over the years, but something about this was inherently different, more intimate than you'd ever been before.

There was nothing he wanted more than to stay in this moment, in your embrace, for the rest of the night and honestly he would've if you hadn't somehow tripped over his feet, resulting in the two of you falling back onto the couch.

You landed on top of Tom, drunken giggles escaping your lips, "Are you okay?"

"I'm cutting you off for the night," he huffed, making you laugh even more as you attempted to apologize.

You rolled off of him after a moment, your chest rising rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. It took everything in him not to pull you back, his body aching for your warmth as soon as it was gone

"I think...it's time for bed."

"Good idea," Tom stood up, holding out his hand to help you do the same.

"Will you pretty please carry me? I have jelly legs."

Tom couldn't help rolling his eyes at you, "Jelly legs from what? You're the one that fell on me."

"Please?" You pouted, "Because you love me?"

'I really do.'

If he had wanted to, he would've put up a fight, but deep down he knew he would do anything you asked of him. You had him completely wrapped around your finger.

"Fine," he said, pretending to be annoyed, as if he hadn't already decided he would carry you the second you asked him to.

He hooked one arm underneath your legs, the other under your back, holding you close to his chest as he carried you to your bedroom.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Tommy," you said softly as he laid you down, pulling your blanket over you and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'll always be here to take care of you."

'I'd do anything for you.'

He was about to leave your room and pass out on the couch, when you grabbed his arm, "Stay with me? Please?"

He nodded, wordlessly crawling under the covers beside you.

You turned over so you were facing him, your hands in between you, just barely touching Tom's, an unreadable expression on your features.

"What are you thinking about?"

You shook your head, "It's so dumb."

He gently nudged your leg with his, "Tell me, darling."

"I-fuck, okay," you looked down, suddenly very interested in the pattern on your blanket. "I swear there wasn't a moment tonight where I hadn't wished I was with you."

"After what you told me, I wish I was there too."

"No, Tommy, you don't get it," you chewed your lip nervously, looking everywhere but at him, "I don't just feel this way about this date, it's every date."

Your words weren't really clicking in Tom's head and he was starting to think the alcohol was having more of an effect on him than he originally thought.

"I want you to be the one to pick me up and take me to dinner. I want to hold your hand when we go to the movies," you voice got lower the more you talked and you shyly peeked up through your lashes to gauge Tom's reaction, "I want to kiss you and murmur how much I love you against your lips."

Tom's heart was beating hard against his chest, the sound so loud in his ears he could barely hear you.

He couldn't believe it. Were you really saying the words he's been wanting to hear since the day he met you?

If his head wasn't buzzing with a million different thoughts, he probably would've kissed you or at least said a few coherent sentences but all he could manage to blurt out was, "You love me?"

Something in you seemed to switch, your words stuttering and your eyes widening with shock as you realized exactly what you just said to Tom.

"Shit. I-I'm so drunk," you turned over, your back now facing him, "I, um, I'm tired. I need to go to sleep."

"Y/n-"

"No, Tom, it's okay. Please just Forget I said anything."

He laid there in complete silence, his eyes glued to your back as he contemplated what he should do, if he should say anything or do as you said and put tonight behind him.

'Don't be an idiot, tell her.'

"Y/n?"

You didn't say anything for a moment too long, making Tom's stomach clench. What if you were asleep and he missed his chance completely?

"Yeah, Tommy?" You said so quietly Tom could barely hear you.

"I love you too."

He felt like he was going to be sick as he waited for you to say something or just do anything to let him know you hadn't suddenly changed your mind.

Tom was starting to wonder if you heard him or maybe you just didn't care when you reached behind your back and grabbed his arm, pulling it towards you. You laced your fingers through his as you brought his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

He let out a breath of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding before hesitantly scooting closer to you, closing up the little space between you.

Once again Tom found himself in a position he'd been a million times, wrapped up in you, but the air had changed and it was almost like it was the first time.

In the back of his mind he knew there was a chance you were only saying this because of the alcohol in your system, but he pushed the thought away, and nuzzled his face into your hair before closing his eyes, hoping you'd still mean what you said when the sun came up.

Tagging: @fangirlwithasweettooth @bravest-at-heart @hollandsamor @constellatinq @aidiastyles @ravenclawmarvel @cosmicholland @sleepyhollands @devildisguiseasangel @fairytaleparker @hollandsosterfield @now-imagine @officiallyunofficialperson @stealth-spiderr @xxxxdelenaxxxx @its-the-aerieljeane @petersstarcadet @babebenhardy @antoouu @lovinnholland @kxrtwxgner @sleepybesson @awkwardfangirl2014 @brookeelee98 @nedthegay @petersmparker @parkeroffline @snjms02 @the-queen-procrastinator @tomhollandsumbrella @spideyosterfield @thollandx @styles-balor4eva @80sthottie @marvelobsessedteenager @marshyrebelcloud @sixwyrxstuff @itscaminow @tomshufflepuff @jillanaholland @howdyherron @undiadeestos @quaksonhehe @theslytherinwarrior @itstaskeen

[itsmyara]

About That Night... (Hisomachi Fanfic)

Note: Another translation, though my English is not that great ^^’. It’s 3532 words NO SMUT! I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Pairing: Hisoka/Machi

Summary: Hisoka realized that he was still analyzing her for a reason other than trying to investigate the possible sources of her drunkenness. He was mesmerized by the way emotions were running free in her face, something he had never seen before.

Warning: Drunk!Machi, Jealous!Hisoka, Alcohol, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Getting Sick, Passing Out, Hangover, Mild Language.

[Link to AO3 in English] 

[Link to AO3 in Brazilian Portuguese]

Her body moved insanely under the colorful lights of the room to the sound of a repetitive and irritating electronic beat. Although she was dressed much more discreetly than the other girls in the club, wearing simple jeans and a black tank top, she drew attention and caused a small audience to gather around her. Dancing with a big, strong man covered in tattoos and looking like a local crime boss, she moved boldly and sensually, with a loose laugh that occasionally lit up her face.

"Is this just alcohol effect or did she use something else?" Hisoka questioned the man standing next to him, without taking his eyes off Machi on the dance floor.

The tattooed man's hand slid down her small body and slipped under the black tank top, pressing her waist against him while his mouth whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Hisoka's fists clenched hard.

Illumi shrugged before answering the question in a monotone voice:

"I don't know, she was already like this when I arrived, so I called you. She's dancing with my target and it doesn't look like she's going to leave him anytime soon. So I called you. I figured you wouldn't want it to be me taking her out of there."

Hisoka moved his eyes to face the ever-so-cold colleague. He was right. If he used his methods against Machi, even if it was just to get her out of the way, he would have to make a little reckoning with him. But the assassin was smart. Illumi decided to turn the situation around and, by calling Hisoka, he won himself a favor to collect later.

When the magician looked back at the pink-haired woman, he saw the tattoed man leading her towards a door in a reserved corner of the nightclub.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Illumi observed the scenario calmly and then turned away, unconcerned.

"Just remember that no matter what he does to your girl. He is my target and I need him alive. I will wait outside."

Hisoka responded with an annoyed snort before walking in the opposite direction of his friend. The bloodlust that exuded from the magician made people open the way naturally, looking suspiciously at the strange man who carried a macabre look on his face.

He unceremoniously kicked down the door to the private room, much to the surprise of some people who ran away, but not Machi. She has been waiting for him, even though she was pressed against the wall by the other man's body. She could be intoxicated, but her perception would never fail to notice Hisoka's bloodlust.

Hisoka leaned against the damaged door frame, crossing his arms casually as he faced the scene in the room by the half-light.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" He asked wryly.

The tattooed man immediately released Machi and faced him without fear.

"What's up, clown? This one is mine now, if you want the leftover you'll have to wait outside."

Hisoka laughed shortly. The man had given the worst answer he could when he was so obviously in a risky position. He was nothing between the two nen users — even though one of them was intoxicated — and the only difficulty the magician faced was being forced to use only his fists to bring down the thug. He didn't like having to control himself that way, not when he wanted to end the existence of someone so weak and unwary, but he would have to leave that to Illumi.

Machi only seemed to understand the situation completely when the man was already lying on the floor unconscious, and Hisoka was heading to her with an enigmatic smile.

"You could have chosen someone stronger, you know? This is almost an insult..."

"What are you doing here? After everything you’ve done, you decided to follow me?"

Even though the place was dark, Hisoka could see her cheeks flushed. Her eyes shone with tears and her lips swollen, red, and moist; probably as a result of the kisses she shared with that useless guy. He took a long time to analyze it, for a moment believing that it was because he had to determine if she was under the influence of a drug other than alcohol.

His hands grabbed her face, and the only reaction she had was to hold his arms as if she was going to try to stop him, but she didn’t actually apply enough force to it.

"I'm too busy to follow you, ok? But when a little bird tells me that you're out there screwing up, I have to act, don't I?"

Machi laughed sadly, her chest shaking almost quietly between them, and Hisoka realized that he was still analyzing her for a reason other than trying to investigate the possible sources of her drunkenness. He was mesmerized by the way emotions were running free in her face, something he had never seen before.

"You think I'm weak, Hisoka..." she murmured under her breath, and then in a burst, she pulled his hands away from her face and pushed him away. "Do you think I need you to defend me from this ?" She pointed to the dead weight on the floor and then laughed sadly again.

Actually, he was defending her from Illumi, who wouldn't be so patient with her drama, but Hisoka resigned himself to smile in response, making her snort.

"I hate you!"

There was a very sincere feeling in those words, which came out of her mouth as if they were ripping her up. This made Hisoka lean his head in curiosity. However, Machi simply looked at him from head to toes in disbelief before turning away and stumbling out of that room, pushing one or the other person off her way and randomly stealing a drinking glass from one of them as she headed to the exit.

Hisoka sighed, grabbing the unconscious man by the hair and dragging him along while he went behind the woman. He caught up with Machi near the door, where even the security guards had already moved away. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off the floor, carrying her out despite her protests.

"This is yours," Hisoka declared as he threw the unconscious body at Illumi’s feet.

The body that writhed and struggled, trying weakly to attack Hisoka without ceasing, was his.

"Do you want some help with her?" Illumi offered, watching the woman's wildness with some curiosity.

"No, she has the right to protest. When she gets tired, she'll see that this is in her best interest."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, you wretch! Fight me like a man! I'm going to kill you with my bare hands!"

Between punches and kicks, Hisoka just waved a greeting to Illumi and went on his way.

[...]

When he crossed the threshold of his hotel room, Machi was less savage in his arms. In fact, at some point along the way, she had given up attacking him and started just pouring out words about him being a traitor, about Chrollo, and even something about Pakunoda's death. Some of her words actually made sense, but the state she was still in, which seemed to get worse by the second, made any response from him useless.

Therefore, in the face of silence, Machi finally burst into tears before reaching their destination, and Hisoka thought it was best to cradle her properly in his arms so that when they crossed the door she was being carried like a bride, but a tearful one against his chest.

When he tried to accommodate her on the couch, she clung more tightly to his shoulders, as a clear sign that she didn't want to part at that moment.

"Oh? I thought you hated me," he declared with a playful laugh.

"Why do you have to be like this?"

Her voice was so heartfelt that he couldn't help but sigh before settling on the couch with her in his arms. Machi wouldn't remember any of that the next day, which is why he stopped to think for a few seconds about what she just said. He knew that she was not referring to his jokes, but to the fact that he had lied for years and, in the end, revealed a goal that clashed with her own completely. If it weren't for that, maybe she wouldn't have to hate him that much.

She finally looked up and, not without effort, focused her reddened eyes on his. Hisoka looked at her expression legitimately surprised. He could expect hatred and tears on her part, but the way she looked at him now was... sweet. For some reason, he was sure that if he kissed her now, despite anything that preceded this moment, what he would taste on her lips would be something so deep and meaningful that, yes, it scared him.

That's why he didn't kiss her, allowing her to break the silence:

"You're spinning..." Machi murmured, and then laughed in a silly way, breaking the magic as well. "You're spinning and you're not going to tell me anything, are you? You're not even here, I'm imagining you," she put her face back on his shoulder. "At least you smell good…"

"Machi, what did you use?" Hisoka knew he probably wouldn't get a coherent answer, but that doubt had haunted him since the moment he saw her that night. It was hard to believe that only alcohol would do that to a woman as strong as her. There had to be some other chemistry influencing her altered state.

"What did I use?" She asked, confused, and then looked up to him again. "Ah… you wanna know if I did something," she approached his ear and whispered: "Maybe…"

Suddenly she let go of his shoulders and stood up, staggering a little and cleaning the tracks of the tears on her face with the back of her hands. She walked a few steps erratically and looked around in amazement before looking at him again.

"Do you pay to sleep here?" Machi asked in surprise and laughed right away as if it were really hilarious. "You pay ! You're such a fancy-pants."

Hisoka just settled down more comfortably on the couch, watching the scene. On several occasions, he wished to see her acting more spontaneously, freer, but this situation was just sad. He didn’t even want to take advantage of it or tease her about it — at least not until the next day.

He watched Machi shrink into herself again, leaning against the wall and letting the weight of her body drag her to the floor. She crossed her arms very specifically over her stomach, and he knew it was a sign that something rather unpleasant was about to happen.

"You’re feeling sick," he declared, standing up to meet her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" Machi flinched a little more, however. "I just miss them..."

Ignoring the way she was closing herself off, Hisoka lifted her from the floor by the shoulders, as if she were a small child. He looked at Machi’s eyes seriously, while pinning her against the wall.

"I know you miss them, but acting like this is stupid. I can't believe you're the same Machi I know."

"Pakunoda was the first person who cared about me in this world," she declared and then swallowed hard before continuing: "she was my family and now she’s dead. Chrollo is my family and now he's far away, unable to use his nen, and I know you had a part in it. The chain guy..." Machi closed her eyes briefly as if to take his name from memory, "Kurapika, you sold our secrets to Kurapika because you wanted to, didn't you? He didn't do to you what he did to Paku, you don't have a fucking chain in your heart. You don't even have a fucking heart! You are a..." eyelids closed again, this time, however, she couldn't remember the word. A single tear streamed down her left eye. "Damn it…"

"You talk as if you have a heart," Hisoka interrupted her coldly, which made her look at him with a sharp look, a faint bloodlust pulsing from her intoxicated body. "You don't feel anything for anyone but for a few of your friends. You're not much better than me."

Machi struggled in his hands for a fraction of a second, resigning herself to kill him only with her intentions when she was unable to leave. She looked a little more like who she really was now.

"You have no idea, you idiot."

Those words were followed by a few seconds of silence in which the blue of her eyes became indecipherable. That was when he remembered who she was and why he cared so much. Machi was the lady of the labyrinth, and he had never managed to get out of her tortuous paths because, very wisely, she had never given him her threads, leaving him lost forever in her maze.

"When I fight Chrollo, who do you want to survive?" He didn’t know where this question came from when it left his mouth, but the reaction it had caused in the woman justified it.

Machi blinked a few times, as if trying to calculate the seriousness of what he had asked, and then closed her eyes with a certain solemnity.

"I don't want you to fight Danchou. I don't want either of you dead."

Perhaps the answer was more than enough, but she had also progressively got closer to him, so much so that her lips touched his lightly at first, completing the touch quickly in a kiss. Without so much lightness, he finally advanced against her mouth, pressing her against the wall now with the weight of his own body.

Machi moaned at his advance, embracing him with arms and legs irresistibly, making him also express the delight that took his body and his aura when, suddenly, she stepped away from him, with such assertiveness and urgency that he couldn't stop it.

And he was thankful for that when he saw her turn and lean her body, finally fulfilling the omen he had moments ago, throwing up on the floor of the hotel room.

Hisoka gave a disappointed snort, but the way her back curved with each spasm of her stomach made him quickly accept that this night would really be unique in his life.

The night he would spend taking care of someone's booze.

[...]

Machi opened her eyes, but the ambient light hurt like a razor and she hid her face in the pillow by reflex. Both her head and stomach were aching with an intensity that made any thought difficult, but when she smelled Hisoka's scent on the pillowcase, she knew something was very wrong. She fought the pain and opened her eyes at once, sitting on the bed and trying to identify where she was. A messy double bed, a hotel room lit with curtains open. Then she found herself wearing only a stretched, cropped T-shirt with playing card suits printed and panties that she at least recognized as her own.

Her nightmare was completed when she heard the magician's happy voice humming at the bedroom door.

"Good morning sunshine!"

There he was, holding a breakfast tray and wearing nothing but one of his ridiculous pants.

Machi wanted to disappear, but the best she could do was cover herself with the bedsheets.

"Don't worry, I saw all this and much more last night," Hisoka stated at her gesture as he left the tray on the nightstand and sat beside her on the bed.

She wanted to emanate bloodlust to let him know it wasn't funny, but the pain in her body prevented her, so she just squinted, watching him pour coffee in a cup and hold it out to her.

"Take this, it will make you feel better."

Machi held the cup suspiciously, without bringing it to her mouth, however. The smell of the drink, which at another time would be inviting, made her stomach turn.

"What's going on? What did you do to me?"

"Now, now, don't you remember anything?" He lay on his stomach beside her, looking at her in that paradoxically, uncomfortable and inviting way.

Machi vaguely remembered some things, but none of them made sense. So she let Hisoka continue:

"I saw you at a party yesterday by chance, you were already… happy… so don't ask me anything before that. You were dancing with a man who is dead now. I got him out of the way because he wasn't treating you like you deserve. So we danced, I made you laugh a few times, I brought you here, we made many, delicious things on the couch, and then against the wall, but unfortunately, you got sick and, by the way, that's why I pay to stay here, they clean up this kind of a mess," the smile broke with malice on his lips, while she tried to assimilate everything he said. "Now you, I was the one who cleaned you up. We took a hot shower together and you fell asleep in my arms soon after."

The sharp pain in her head seemed to create a wall in her own memories and in her ability to distinguish, in his words, what were lies and what were truths. Machi knew he was lying; it was too perfect a situation for him. Too easy. But the way she found herself left her without arguments.

"Well, I don't feel like we did anything much last night," she tried to fish, her voice cold, but he just laughed briefly.

"I was gentle with you this time. Believe it or not, I care about you."

"Liar," Machi accused him coldly, and then abandoned the cup on the nightstand beside her, making an effort to get out of bed, despite the pain.

It was incredible how she, always so resistant, was now suffering just because of a headache.

Machi looked for her clothes in the room, finding them folded on a chair, and began to dress while her other headache who was lying on the bed brought to him the cup she had abandoned — using nen, most likely — sipping and mumbling something about how she really should have drunk the coffee to feel better. Her eyes looked at Hisoka briefly. From her position, she had a wide view of his back, and the absence of the spider tattoo there, which was no longer needed because he was no longer keeping cover, seemed to make her a little dizzy.

How had she not realized before that his tattoo was nothing more than his Texture Surprise? How had her intuition not warned her that he was lying all the time? And why was the real Hisoka — well, at least, the Hisoka who no longer had to pretend he belonged with the Troupe — bothering to bring her coffee in bed?

She shook her head, with the excuse of trying to fix her hair, when in fact Machi was trying to put away those pathetic thoughts, even if the gesture caused her more pain. As soon as she buttoned up her jeans she headed to the bedroom door, stopping in her tracks, however, by his words, or by the unconscious desire to hear them.

"You should stay, you're not completely recovered and it's cold outside."

Hisoka sat on the bed but just looked at her with that serenity of someone who knows what they want, and knows that the object of their desire wants them in return. But it wouldn't happen today, and possibly, on any other day after he revealed his betrayal, Machi tried to conclude.

"I know how to take care of myself," she replied, determined to continue on her way.

"At least get a coat before you leave..."

"Stop pretending that you worry, you know you don't have to fake it anymore!" Machi declared, like an outburst, and finally left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Alone, Hisoka deposited the cup on the tray and lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath when feeling its comfort. He had missed it after spending the night on the couch.

He had obviously intertwined lies and truths in the story he told her. After Machi felt sick, he had actually called the room service to clean up the mess while he undressed and bathed her in the bathroom; she was so lethargic that she didn't even protest. Nor had she protested when he dressed her in his t-shirt and left her sleeping alone in his bed. Just that, and nothing more than that.

Still, he knew that last night had been very interesting and revealing in many ways, and he was satisfied with that.

He looked to the side and found a pink strand of hair on the white pillow. He took it between his fingers, bringing it to him as if it were a beautiful and precious memento.

"You have no idea, do you?" He murmured to that tiny part of her she had left behind. "You have absolutely no idea..."

[adventuresloane]

"i know it hurts, i'm sorry" or "look at me- you're safe." with taako and lup??? theyre v e r y good siblings and thats a relationship that doesnt get explored as often in fandom as it should

((F*ck it I know it's late but I wanna post this now.))

"I know it hurts," Lup says almost at the same moment he lets out another pained hiss. "I'm sorry." Both of his cheeks are scraped, and the disinfectant turns the constant dull burn into a sharper sting. This wouldn't be the first time his face has gotten scraped up like this. It isn't even the first time he's gotten his face scraped up after being dragged around by the hair by someone who'd caught him red-handed in a con. He knows it's got to feel worse before it feels better. That doesn't stop the tears from rolling down his face, mixing with the gritty dirt and the blood and the stinging stuff.

She's saying something else now. "Sorry," she whispers with every other dab of the cloth. "Sorry."

"I know you're hungry," Taako murmurs as she feels the familiar scrape inside her belly. The hurt is low and deep, like shame. Lately, she's been turning tail on more fights than she would have liked--or, rather, Taako's been dragging her out of every potential scrap, even when she's primed to charge in screaming. It's terrible. It's humiliating, to receive parting blows to her back as they run away, and she sulks at Taako for it every time. But she knows he's right even in those moments. She couldn't very well fight when sometimes just standing up made her vision go dark.

He's sitting with his back to the fire, hunched over and turned away from her. She knows what he's doing, though, because it's the same thing he's been trying to work on for weeks. It makes her feel useless just lying there, but all the same, each one of her exhausted limbs anchors her to the ground. He's brandishing a scavenged wand that he threw together from a broken yew branch and a tiger's-eye bead that had "fallen" (been knocked) from a jeweler's stand. If he can just get the gesture right, the precise flick of his fingers, he could use transmutation magic to turn the bark in front of him to a meal for them both. She knew he could do it. She hoped.

In the past, he's succeeded some. The food he crafts from magic fills her. That's all it has to do at this point. But that doesn't stop him from doing what he can to make it taste less like cotton in her mouth. Wild onions and berries that they'd found in sparse patches, not nearly enough to make a meal but suitable for flavoring. Grasses and herbs from the roadside. A single acorn. He tries it all. They both do whenever they're able, stirring ingredients in shoulder-to-shoulder. They dip small fingers into pots together, making faces at each other in unison when the experiment ends up tasting like shit, relishing quietly when it doesn't.

"I know when you're cold, Taako," she says with not a little exasperation. For probably the eighteenth time that night, she's just asked him whether he needs to share the blanket with her, and he's promptly denied it.

"What part of 'Taako's good out here' didn't you get?" he grumbles. She doesn't have to be so insistent. He hasn't even been shivering--he learned long ago how to stop himself from doing it. It pisses him off, sometimes, how she just assumes shit about how he's feeling all the time. It pisses him off more that she's usually right.

"Yeah, sure." She pulls the thin wool blanket over to where he lies on the floor of the abandoned house that they've found for the night. Then she lies down and pulls it over the both of them before wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing up against him. The wool cloth is barely enough to fully wrap around one of them. The cold starts to lose its teeth, though, pulling away from his chilled skin.

Only the warmth isn't coming from the blanket. It's too immediate. It soaks into him and settles somewhere deep inside, like it's making a home, like it's always belonged there. It's centered on his belly, where her hands rest. He looks under the blanket, and it's only because of the darkness underneath that he can see her fingers, just faintly, glowing. "Lup?"

"Something new I'm working on," she says quietly against his back, and even turned away from her, he can hear the smile in her voice.

"Dope," he whispers back. On the other hand, it isn't always bad, her assumptions.

"Okay, I know you're tired, but listen, I finally figured it out." The slap of books on the table echoes through the floor of the library, earning him several shushes that he ignores.

"You'd better have," she groans, forehead still pressed to wood grain. "If I spend another hour staring at this equation, I'm going to meld with this chair." It feels ungrateful even saying that. The IPRE Academy's dorm is both the most permanent and the most comfortable of homes they've had in years, and even if they've taken to doctoring up the bland cafeteria food with magic, they wouldn't trade their meal plan. The least she can do is put more effort into keeping the scholarship they've earned.

"Don't worry, I'll walk you through it, since as we're all aware by now I'm a goddamn genius. Hey, by the way, you look like death."

"Thanks for that," she mutters.

"You should skip class tomorrow. I'll tell the professor you were puking or something."

She sighs and finally lifts her head. "No, I should go, I'll just..." She trails off when she sees the cardboard Fantasy Starbucks cup that had been silently placed beside her. It smells of caramel and just the right amount of whip. She doesn't have to take the lid off to know that he got her order right.

"Koko...thanks."

"What?" he says, though she knows he heard her. "Here, let me show you how to solve this."

I know you want it, is what Lup says with the look she gives him. Her brows are arched and there's a smirk on her face and that's all the prompting he needs. He pulls the furry, five-colored, gloriously hideous jacket off the store rack and adds it to the heap he carries in both his arms. It's not like they'll have much time to shop for the two months that they'll be in space. Might as well get it in now.

Their coworkers at the IPRE will poke fun at both of them later for blowing their money on ugly crap. Let them. The only thing that matters is that the pair of them get it. Lup never asks why he needs a third pair of holographic pants. The whole point is that he doesn't need them at all, the same way she doesn't need a sequin dress she'll likely never wear--it's novelty, still, buying what they don't absolutely need. They'll surround themselves with absolute unnecessaries, to assure themselves that they're really and truly here, that they've made it to this place.

Lup also doesn't ask why he mends the same holes in shirts four times in a row, when he has so many others and it would be far less of an effort to just throw the old ones out. She doesn't ask why he saves everything, just like he doesn't have to ask why she dives for change she sees on the sidewalk. Nothing needs to be said.

I know you're out there, he thinks as he and Barry search yet another dripping cave. She's not here. He knows that they have to check anyway, leave no stone unturned and all that, but his gut tells him that it's yet another waste of time, that they'll hit the stone wall before long and find nothing. He would know if she were near, the same way he knows that she's not gone forever, yet. He thinks he would know right away if she were. He would cease to exist in his current form as soon as she left this world.

I know you're out there, she does not so much think as feel, because complete and coherent thought has not yet returned to her in this black place. She's a planet at the time of its birth, still formless and shifting unshaped in a lightless and soundless void. She doesn't know much yet--so little she knows, so little has come back to her--but she knows that she isn't who she was. She can't be, out of context. She can't be who she's supposed to be when she's not part of a system, when she's alone. The rest of her is somewhere among the stars that she can no longer see.

These people just don't get him. This old dwarf and beefy human he's traveling with, they ask him why he's so hellbent on stealing and raiding all the corpses for goods, why he needs to sleep near the fireplace even though the Bureau's rooms are well heated. He doesn't like questions, especially when they're about himself. He can't answer them. Why should he have to answer them? He doesn't have to explain himself. He's Taako, From TV. He's got needs.

He shouldn't get mad at them. It's not like he knows them either, or cares to. It's wrong, maybe, to expect that they should anticipate his needs, or that anyone should. But he feels like someone should. Just once, he thinks, he shouldn't have to ask before someone knows what he needs.

I know you, comes a voice from some dark place. Taako, I know who you are.