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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years ago

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REDACTED verse - Lunch Date

Prompt: Any fandom / any pairing / “i love you.” “i love you, more.” “no, you don’t.” “yes, i do.”

Word Count: 977

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (David Shaw/Angel)

Rating: G

Triggers: NA

Summary: David has a surprise for his Angel but Angel needs to hear those 3 magic words before they get out of bed.

ConCrit: Y

My first ever fill for the Fall Into Fall Festival! I’m hoping to write as many oneshots as I can before the end of November! Well, more than my friend anyway. We have a little bet going on; loser has to buy the winner lunch!

So wish me luck!

For all their boundless energy, playfulness and a Roomba spinning out of control for thoughts, Angel is quite a workaholic.

It's one of their many mysterious hidden sides when David caught them spending a whole Sunday finishing up miscellaneous work reports, documents and presentation slides for next week.

David would've praised their work ethic if it weren't for the ridiculous amount of colourful hair clips pinning their bangs up and wearing nothing but their favourite underwear and his favourite hoodie as they stared back at him. Like a deer caught in the headlines.

That turned out to be a weird Saturday for the both of them.

Anyway, long story short, despite their wackiness, Angel take their career very seriously. Which is why their announcement to have a day off next week is a welcome surprise.

"You've been working hard lately," David commented during dinner. It's Angel's night to cook, and they decided on a simple Japanese cold soba topped with salted okras, grated white radish, cut-up dried seaweed and a side of mushroom miso soup. It's delicious and - most importantly - healthy, so David rewarded his Mate with a kiss on the forehead before they tucked in. "You deserve a break. So what day did you set for your leave?"

Angel mixed their bowl as if it had personally offended them before replying. "Friday and Monday, so I don't have to deal with the blues." They answered before loudly slurping their noodles. David fondly scoffed and polished his bowl of miso soup. Their night ended peacefully.

It's Friday today. Angel's off day from work. His Mate promises not to cause too much of a mess or trouble at home while David's out. In return, David promises to call them as much as he can between managing new clients and sorting out the paperwork. Angel easily gives him two thumbs up and sees his off.

David's day had been going on without a hitch. Asher and Milo manage the teams needed for their new clients, Christian helped him sort out the banking documents, and for the rest of the morning, David got in touch with a representative of the Department to update them on his Pack well-doings.

When the sun reached its peak in the afternoon, David decided to pop home for a bit. It'll be nice to bring Angel out for lunch with him.

"Angel?" David called out, closing the door behind him with his foot. The house is quiet. There's no sound of rushing water from the kitchen's sink. No sound coming from the TV in the living room. So Angel must be in their bedroom.

True to David's suspicion, Angel is having their midday nap. As soon as he catches a good look of his Mate sprawl out on their bed, his heart soften in ways that only Angel could bring. Even with drool running down from their open mouth.

Ever so gently, David brushes his knuckle against Angel's warm cheek. Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, basking his Mate in warmth. David is suddenly reminded of Milo's cat, Aggro, basking in the sun when he and Asher came over to his apartment last week.

"I'm home, Angel." David wakes them up softly. Loathe as he is to wake them up, he has a surprise for them.

Angel groan and attempt to curl into a ball. " Davey...?"

They look so soft and adorable that David can't help but gives in and kiss their forehead. Angel sleepily hum, pleased.

"Rise and shine, Angel. We're going on a lunch date."

Angel yawns and rubs their eyes. "Ok, Davey. Let me just wash up and get change. What time do you have to be back in the office?"

"Not for another three hours," David replied after quickly checking his phone for the time. "Plenty of time for us to go to that restaurant you love so much. So come on, get up." He then lightly slaps Angel's ass to get them moving, but as expected, they just giggle.

"Not until you say the magic word!"

David groans at his Mate's antic, but Angel refuses to budge. "C'mon, Davey... please? Pretty please?" They plead with puppy eyes; Angel's ultimate move and David's ultimate weakness.

"Alright, alright. You win, you snot." David pretended to huff in annoyance, but they both knew otherwise. "I love you. So very much, Angel. You don't know how brighter my... my world is the moment you decide to make yourself at home in my heart." His voice drips with nothing but sincerity and all the feelings he has for his one and only Mate. David might have trouble letting his walls down from time to time, but when it comes to his Angel? They deserve nothing but complete honesty from him.

Angel's eyes are wide at David's words. Clearly, they didn't expect such a raw confession out of the blue, and David secretly relished being able to surprise them. So David smirks when Angel presses their red face onto the pillow in a poor attempt of hiding. "Well, I love you more! So there!"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

David just rolls his eyes, knowing that their banter could go on and on if he doesn't put a stop to it. "Alright, alright. You had your little validation, now can we please get a move on already? I'm getting hungry, and I know you do too whenever you wake up. I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd assumed my Mate has a black hole for a stomach."

Angel laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound that David has ever heard. It never fails to make his heart skip a beat. They then roll off the bed, quickly capture a sneaky kiss from David and hurry into the bathroom before David can tackle them.

Oh, he's so going to make them pay back tonight.

#redacted asmr #fanfic #they/them pronouns #david shaw #angel (listener)

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

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Title: Kismet {4}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation, LOTS OF DIALOUGE

Words: 4k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 |

-Aliya-

You were groggy, and you knew why. Once you got in from your impromptu date, you were so aroused you had to immediately jump into the shower. You’d hoped the water would have helped alleviate the situation, but your multi rainfall showerheads only made your body more sensitive and hungry. So after as much resisting as humanly possible (two minutes), you decided to take care of it yourself. The only problem was once wasn’t enough, twice barely took the edge off, and by the time you made it to your fourth attempt, you were minimally appeased and still thinking about the man with the captivatingly blue eyes that were as deep as the ocean itself.

Sleep was not even an option, so you snuggled in bed wrapped in his sweater that cocooned you with his scent—a scent that you already loved. When you went through your phone, you nearly rolled out of your bed when you saw the four additions he’d added to your gallery. The four selfies were perfection. The lighting was on point, and each and every one of the photos showed how gorgeous he was. He had no bad angles, the sun loved him, the night loved him, and you were sure the rain, snow, sleet, and wind would too. No man should have that amount of gorgeousness. It wasn’t fair.

After spending way too much time gawking at his pictures, you found the pictures he’d had most likely have seen. When you looked through them, you wanted to die. The pictures definitely didn’t leave much to the imagination. You wondered what he’d thought when he saw them or even if he had to do a little self-gratification when he saw them or even when he got home. For some reason, you’d wanted him to have been overcome with desire for you, even though you weren’t sure just what the hell you were doing.

As you sat at your table with your friends for brunch, you tried to ignore the flashes of cameras from the tables within sight of yours. It wasn’t something anyone ever got used to. You always felt like you had to be “on.”

“It feels like it’s been years since we talked,” Amaya whined out as she gripped yours and Alicia’s hand. She was the dramatic one.

“I know. It’s crazy how dependent we are on our cellphones,” you added.

“Leece filled me in and told me everything,” Amaya began. She dropped her jaw and bugged her eyes for emphasis.

“Everything?”

“Yep, now for you to continue,” Amaya steered.

You groaned and exaggeratedly rolled your eyes. “I’m too hungry for this,” you whined as you flipped through the menu. You were starving enough to eat the entire menu.

“Welcome to Blue Café. My name is Will. What can I get you guys?”

The waiter in a blue apron had a great smile and an even better head of curls. He definitely could have been a model.

“I want something heavy. I drank a lot last night. Hmm, the split pea soup to begin, a cheeseburger with the works except for onions and mushrooms. Very well done, please and to drink ummm, a strawberry and mint lemonade,” you listed.

“All right, and you, ladies?”

Your friends ordered as you checked your phone to find Henry calling. It was at this moment you realized he’d programmed himself into your phone even with an ID pic. He’d really gotten comfortable with it. The amusement of his boldness had you smiling to yourself.

“So?”

Amaya’s voice had you putting your phone down after dimming the screen to give them your attention.

“We had dinner,” you blandly announced.

“So, you actually stayed.”

Nodding to Alicia’s inquiry, you continued. “I did. He said if after drinks and appetizers I couldn’t stand him, then I could go.”

“I guess you could stand him,” Amaya sarcastically slid in. You knew just what she was implying.

“Guess so.”

“How’d he look?”

Your smile spread before you could stop it. “Amazing, gorgeous. I have no words for how beautiful this man is,” you practically screeched as you tried to wipe the stupid grin off your face. It was too late to, though, they’d already seen it, and you knew they were judging.

“He’s not a piece of meat, Liya,” Alicia sarcastically chastised.

“Uggh, are you sure because I’d say he’s prime grade A man steak,” you said. As soon as the words were out, your friends laughed loudly, bringing the attention of those around you. Even though you tried not to, you had to laugh as well.

“He is fine. I’ve seen his movies. God him in spandex for Superman did it for me,” Amaya confessed.

You didn’t blame her, that man in spandex would do it for any woman.

“How was the conversation?”

Practicing some etiquette, you cleared your throat and sat back. “Good. Flowing, no awkward pauses except the stares and dirty thoughts that had me sweating like a horny teenager.”

Amaya snorted then fanned herself. “It would happen to me too.”

“How was he?”

Alicia always knew how to ask the right questions. You were convinced it was her superpower. You thought back to Henry’s smile and demeanor last night, and that had you smiling. “Eh-em, he was the perfect gentleman. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, was respectful to the servers, courteous, mannerable—he was good.”

The two of them exchanged looks that said this questioning wasn’t anywhere close to finished.

“What happened after dinner?

“We went for drinks.”

“Ooh, an extended first date,” Amaya sing songed.

“Eh, this wasn't a date. It was an exchange of phones,” you clarified.

“Did you get your phone?”

“I did, after the bar. Turns out, he looked through it and saw my semi-nude,” you announced.

“Which one?”

After showing them the picture, they giggled. “Oh, the suggestive nude, nude,” Alicia joked as she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, now I’m weirded out. Not because I was pretty much naked but because he saw me pretty much naked and--.”

“—There is nothing between you now, and that makes it much harder to ignore because you want to rip his clothes off,” Alicia filled in like the mind-reading Aliya whisperer she was.

You rapidly nodded with your eyes widened; she got it. your laugh slipped out, and it made you feel like a raving lunatic. “Oh my god, this man has invaded me.”

“Sounds sexy,” Amaya said.

“It’s not,” you flatly corrected.

“It can be if you let it,” Alicia suggested.

You rolled your eyes again and fiddled with your phone. “Guys, he’s juggling two women.”

“You don’t know that,” Amya blurted out, the first to come to his defense.

“Explain two women blowing up his phone daily for a week and a half. Explain that. As a woman, I am not going to blowing up any man’s phone like that unless I’m sleeping with him.”

You looked between them and watched as they both came up with their defenses.

“That could be anything. Sisters,” Amaya suggested.

“He has no sisters, four brothers.”

“Brother’s wives?”

You narrowed your eyes and gave them the “do I look stupid” look, but they continued.

“Assistants, he is an actor,” Amaya added.

After kissing your teeth in the loudest way possible, you rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Ask him,” Alicia advised.

“For what? There is no reason to. We are nothing to each other,” you concluded.

The two of them sat there quietly, looking at you as if you were a bold face liar. You didn’t care. It was your truth.

“When you got home, did you touch yourself?”

Your jaw dropped as you gaped at her. “Shut up!”

“Oh my god!” Amaya’s loud ass mouth brought all the eyes. You had to cover your face as they obnoxiously laughed at you.

“Enough. We’re done rehashing this,” you grumbled.

“Wait, one last thing. During dinner, did you ever get the impression that he couldn’t wait for it to be over or that this may be all about a conquest?”

You knew what she was doing. Amaya was not as slick as she thought she was. You rolled your eyes again and sighed before you answered. “No.”

“Okay.”

That was all she came back with as if her hypothesis needed no further defense. They always ganged up on you, and it was clear where they stood in this new situation, and it wasn’t with you.

Shopping followed your brunch, but that was cut short by the paparazzi hounding you after the third store you emerged from. Someone must have dropped the tip to bring them. It was a madhouse and an immediate good time killer. The three of you had to alternate your plan for a day of fun and finished it out with a drive to Santa Monica to enjoy the boardwalk. All in all, it turned out to be a really chill day, one that you’d needed more than you knew.

By the time you got back to your house, it was nearing six. Once in front of your door, your jaw dropped seeing a jaw-dropping floral arrangement sitting there. You didn’t know who it was from, but you had your suspicions. It took some strength, but you managed to get it inside to your kitchen. With it on the counter, you just stared at it. Under the light, it was even more beautiful than outside. After admiring the display for a few moments, you pulled the card from between the leaves and petals then read it.

-Aliya,

I hope this finds you well. I had a great time last night, and it was because you trusted me enough to give me time to prove why I deserve your time. Hopefully, this is just the first of many dates.

-Henry-

What started as a straight face turned to a small smile, which led to a full-on elated, goofy grin. He was unpredictable for sure and so damn polite. Damn the British; you thought as you buried your nose in the bouquet. You moaned and inhaled the aroma of flowers that looked like they’d cost a pretty penny. He was definitely working overtime, that was for sure. The question you had now was what exactly did he want.

Sighing, you took out your phone and opened up your messages prepared to shoot him a quick thank you text. With your finger hovering over one of the letters in your keyboard, you sighed again, feeling the overwhelming urge to call instead. After putting it on speaker, you sat in the barstool and waited two rings until Henry’s deep voice filled your kitchen.

“Hello?”

Your belly did backflips.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Good.”

You were desperately trying to recover from the unexpected reaction his voice had.

“Glad to hear it. I called you earlier.”

“Uh—I must have missed it. I was catching up with some friends.”

“Okay,” he replied.

Silence fell between you as each of you waited for the other to speak.

“Um, I wanted to call and thank you,” you began.

“For what?”

“The flowers I’m looking at. They’re incredibly beautiful.”

“Do you like them? The florist said the day after flowers should be subtle and sincere rather than flashy or extravagant,” Henry explained.

You smiled wider as you checked the mental box for him being considerate.

“Well, the florist knows what she’s talking about. They are perfect; you chose well.”

“Good. I’m glad you like them.” He sounded like he was smiling as widely as you were.

“How do you know where I live?”

He paused for a few moments before he spoke. “I had your phone for twelve days. I probably know more about you than most of the world.”

Those could have been the creepiest words you’d heard in a long time, and it was like your head was trying to figure out if you should take it as a red flag or laugh.

“Have I freaked you out?”

The way he said it sounded like he was finding amusement in it. You snorted and shook your head.

“Why would you say that? Just because you went through my phone and figured out where I lived to send flowers? No, isn’t that what normal men do?”

Henry’s laugh followed your words, and it drastically did away with any awkward tension that was in the air.

“With you saying it out loud, I can see how you’d be freaked.”

“To be honest, my initial reaction was shock, and then, strangely enough, it went away like this was everyday life,” you explained.

“I’m really not trying to freak you out; I promise,” Henry pressed.

“Then what are you trying to do exactly?”

The silence returned, and you wondered if he would even answer the question.

“Right now—I’m trying to ask you to have dinner with me tonight.”

You put your head on the cold granite of your counter and sighed out.

“We just had dinner last night.”

“I’m told, based on human physiology, we actually have to eat three or more meals a day in order to sustain,” Henry explained.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

You smiled again and rested your chin in your palms.

“Don’t you have things to do?”

“I might, but I don’t care. I’d like to have dinner with you instead.” His conviction was so damn sexy. He wasn’t shy about professing his wants.

“What if I have work to do and can’t shrug it off like you, Superman?”

“I’m sure you can if you want to. Guess that’s the question. Do you want to? I take it you’re a woman who does what she wants when she wants no matter what. I doubt scheduling conflicts could keep you away from a dinner with someone you wanted to be at dinner with. Do you want to?”

He probably did well in school with debate. He spoke beautifully and had a way with words.

“I’m going to be at Taylor’s Steakhouse in Koreatown at nine tonight. I’ll wait until nine-thirty. Hopefully, I see you there,” Henry said before he hung up.

Pressing your fingertips to your eyes, you groaned loudly. “Oh my god!”

You stared at the flowers again and toyed with the petal of one of the blush-colored roses. The debate of the night wasn’t if you wanted to go or not. It was if you should or not.

By the time you were dressed, it was close to eight forty-five. You were sitting in your closet in front of the mirror, still trying to convince yourself to go.

“It’s no big deal, Aliya. It’s food, drinks, nothing more.”

Your words sounded sure, but your face looked anything but.

“Then why did you put so much effort in if it’s no big deal?”

You sat there going back and forth with yourself like a crazy person. For every pro, you had you quickly came up with a con. It was endless. When your phone rang, you expected it to be Henry but were relieved when you saw it was your grandmother.

“Oh my goodness, Gramaw. How did you know I needed you?”

“I felt your distress. What’s wrong?”

“I have a date, but I don’t know if I should go,” you blurted out.

“Date with who?”

She sounded shocked, and you didn’t blame her. It had been years since you’d spoken to anyone about a man, let alone a date. You spent the next ten or so minutes explaining everything to her, not leaving out one bit of information. You needed her to understand the situation now and give you the best advice.

“Wow,” she uttered.

“Yep.”

“Why exactly are you debating going? It sounds like this has been decided for you.”

“Uggh! Fate. I hate fate.”

Your Gramaw laughed at you. She was one of those old souls who firmly believed in fate, destiny, and all the hoopla around it. You, on the other hand, had been disenchanted by it all.

“Why do you hate fate?”

“It’s always been hanging around me,” you whined. Again she laughed.

“Oh honey, this is the first time fate has been anywhere near you. Other times has been sheer coincidence.”

“So, you think this is fate.” You’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t flashed across your mind. It had, but you would never admit that out loud.

“It’s not for me to say. What do you think?”

“I think this is very unwelcomed. I think I don’t have the time or the energy for this. I think I don’t want these feelings. I think—I’ve never felt anything like this. I think--e’s beautiful,” you finished with a sigh.

“What is it that you want to do?”

You groaned because if you knew the answer to that, you wouldn’t have been calling her. You cursed and dropped back onto the floor to lay there until you’d gotten your shit together.

By the time you got to Taylor’s, you were late. You were always late. The time on your phone said he would be leaving in fifteen minutes if he hadn’t just gotten fed up and left already.

“Welcome to Taylor’s I’m Kimmie. Do you have a reservation?”

“Um—well, I’m meeting someone here.”

“Okay. What’s the party’s name?”

You looked around, making sure no one was watching then leaned closer. “Henry,” you whispered.

“Ha, yes, he did mention he was expecting someone. I should have put two and two together. He’s a celebrity, and you’re a celebrity. Duh,” she rambled. You didn’t know if she was anxious, nervous, or if it was her normal thing. She cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Right this way.”

It was like she was a completely different person. You followed her through the restaurant taking note of the exits. She lead you through a set of double wooden doors that led to a whole separate side of the restaurant. This area had its lights dimmed a little lower and looked more secluded. As you approached the table, you saw him sitting near a window sipping a drink. He looked nervous; it was adorable. You couldn’t help but smile. It was then he looked your way, and the moment it sank in, you saw him release a breath as if he’d been holding it the whole time.

“Enjoy your evening,” Kimmie muttered. It was then you realized you’d been standing in front of him, not saying one word.

“You came.” He sounded surprised.

“I’m sorry, I’m late. My Gramaw called, and I got caught up in conversation.” It wasn’t a lie per se. You didn’t need to tell him she had to talk you off the ledge.

Henry stood and walked to the seat diagonal from him. “It’s okay,” Henry began pulling out the seat for you. You sat and allowed him to push it in for you. “Truth be told, I would have waited past nine-thirty,” He whispered into your ear, giving you a hint of his cologne and what he was drinking in that glass. Bourbon. As he walked back to his seat, you tried to keep your thirst under control.

“Thank you.”

“You look very fetching,” Henry added.

“Fetching? Oh, the English gentleman is shining through tonight I see.”

Henry smiled widely, showing off his perfect teeth. “I’m always a gentleman.”

“Thank you. You look very striking,” you countered. He began blushing, and that blush had a shiver rushing through you.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Got a chill did you?” You could hear the cocky in his voice. The man had every reason to be.

“Sure did. This is pretty impressive,” you said, motioning to your surroundings.

“You’ve never been?”

“No. I don’t venture out a lot. I find four or five restaurants I like and stick with them.”

“So not so adventurous, huh,” Henry surmised.

“I’m too busy really.”

“Ah, the life of a mogul,” Henry teased.

“I am no mogul.”

“I think you are, someone important,” Henry concluded.

“Oh, I think there is more to the definition than that.”

“Maybe you’re right. What do you call yourself?”

“Aliya,” you joked.

“Cute.”

“Thanks for noticing, you teased. “I don’t think of myself the way others seem to think of me.”

“Welcome to Taylor’s. I’m Sam. I’ll be your waiter. Can I start you guys off with drinks?”

“I’m ahead of you by one, catch up,” Henry said, raising his glass.

“Um, how about a Negroni?”

“Coming up,” Sam said before he walked away.

“Another Guinness?”

“No, Bourbon,” Henry corrected. The way he said it sound so prime and proper. He sounded better than James Bond himself.

“Oh, Bourbon man too?”

“Tell me,” Henry urged as he sat back in his seat.

“Bourbon dry, hmmm. Only rich men drink it like that. Or men who come from money. They say the ice ruins the flavor of it, so they prefer to have it the way it’s intended. You’re sophisticated, fun, intelligent, and you value honesty and things right between the eyes. You don’t like games, and always know what you want. You might even be difficult and used to getting your own way and don’t know what to do when someone goes against it.”

His smile was so telling. You’d gotten it completely right.

“I do like getting my way,” he confirmed.

“I know.”

“What about you?”

“I usually get what I want. I’ve never had anyone not give me what I want,” you said. Henry laughed loudly.

“I bet.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sadly, men do not know how to go against a pretty face,” Henry clarified.

You stifled your laugh, letting out only a snort. “So that’s all you see when you look at me? A pretty face?”

The waiter came back just in time with your drinks. Henry looked speechless. He asked if you guys were ready to place your orders, but neither of you had even looked at the menu. When he left promising to be back in a little while, Henry spoke.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m not offended,” you said before you sipped your drink and moaned as the flavors filled your mouth. “This is good.”

“When I look at you, I don’t see a pretty face.”

“Oh no? So my face is ugly?”

“No!” He cleared his throat, then began again. “You’re very beautiful.”

“So just a pretty face then.”

He looked so flustered you wanted to bust out laughing. The longer you continued this teasing, you knew you’d end up laughing in his face. It was cute how panicked he looked.

“Aliya, you are drop-dead gorgeous. There is no lie about that, no mistaking it or looking past it. When I look at you, I see something I’m drawn to. There is something about you, this aura. I get the sense that you’re down to Earth, kind, smarter than anyone knows and deeply a good person.”

As you sipped your drink again, you smiled on the glass. He had a way with words for sure.

“You are good under pressure.”

“Was that a test?”

You shrugged with a smile on your face. “ If it was, you passed.”

Again Henry laughed and shook his head; he didn’t look angry though.

Throughout dinner, the conversation never stopped. You talked about everything from his family to acting and the experiences you both had in the industry. The longer you talked, the more you realized you had plenty of things in common. You laughed at all his jokes, but not because you felt like you had to, he was genuinely funny. Every time he spoke, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of his mouth, which led you to look at his neck and the peeks of hair on his chest. Your fingers tingled from the want to touch. You could listen to him talk all night. It was an exciting revelation, and you were interested in what other revelations you’d have before the night was through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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dr-nero-is-god · 6 years ago

Note

all of the evil asks (but only if you have the time!!) for wing because he's my favorite son

Good news, nonnie! I am recovering from a twenty-one hour journey yesterday, which leaves me too dead to do adulting but just awake enough to dedicate 46 acres of my mind to Wing Fanchu. (And really, which is the more wholesome task, anyway?)

1. What does their bedroom look like?

I’ll do his pre-H.I.V.E. bedroom, since we’re all familiar with the cells. Tan walls, a large window with a dark pull-down shade, and a large, low bed with a white comforter. Some posters of tricky martial arts positions. A neatly-rolled yoga mat in the corner, and space on the floor to use it.

2. Do they have any daily rituals?

Meditation, for 15-30 minutes every morning, assuming Otto has not set a new harebrained scheme in motion.

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Wing certainly would, even if he didn’t have to. Martial arts, running, swimming, pull-ups, all those things. Probably every day. Maybe many times a day. Can you get paid to be strong?

4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Wait patiently, acting as though he wasn’t hungry at all.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Very neat, but some of that comes from being someone who doesn’t take much stock in an excess of personal possessions. That said, Wing is very good about grooming his long hair, and keeping his notebooks in order, and so on. He makes his bed every morning, too, cuz his mama raised him right.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

Generally lots of vegetables—he enjoys treats but isn’t swayed by food just because it looks fancy. That said, he isn’t a picky eater, either. Whatever is on the lunch menu, he doesn’t mind.

Breakfast: raisin bran and yogurt, or avocado toast

Mid-morning snack: crushed nuts and dried fruit

Lunch: veggie wrap (i.e. tortilla with hummus, bell peppers, salad, tomatoes, cucumber, and cheese)

Mid-afternoon snack: peanut butter and celery

Dinner: Roasted mushrooms, onions, and broccoli with rice and a tofu burger

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Wing isn’t really a time-waster. If he has a few extra moments, he might meditate or sleep. When he can’t focus, he tends to get up and do something else and try again later.

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

As a disciplined person, Wing doesn’t give much thought to indulgence, but he is generally good about restarting his routines after breaking them. Biggest example would be taking a day off from his workout routine.

9. Makeup?

“I am pleased you admire my high cheekbones, Shelby, but I see no reason to do something so frivolous as contour them.”

11. Intellectual pursuits?

Wing occasionally might read a book on strategy or martial arts, but he prefers the practical application in the gym.

12. Favorite book genre?

Non-fiction. He has little to no use for fantasies and make-believe.

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Pansexual. Generally accepting of queer identities, but also considers them to be a very private matter and so can feel uncomfortable when people bring it up.

14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Allergy to strawberries and a bad knee from an accident that will probably need to be replaced later.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest: get out of H.I.V.E. alive

Smallest: beat Shelby at literally any competition

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest: keep one (1) otto malpense from getting beaten up, burned, assaulted, kidnapped, brainwashed, bullied, bruised, cut, crushed, killed, maimed, and/or otherwise damaged

Smallest: visit his mom’s grave annually

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Simple, non-dramatic garb. I have always imagined that Wing would be his best self in business casual sweaters. He is also very particular about the shoes that he wears, but I don’t know enough about shoes to comment.

18. Favorite beverage?

Water.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

He doesn’t.

20. Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Nothing much worse than the common cold, but he still has fond memories of his mom stopping in to check on him and give him soup, and his dad checking in on him before bed.

21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Turn-ons: Sarcasm, which makes living with Otto and Shelby nigh unbearable.

Turn-offs: people who use the word “like” as a filler too much.

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

He would set them neatly to the side and then put his head down and take on his chainsaw persona.

23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Wing is very neat, but not entirely organized. In particular, he isn’t always good at keeping track of assignments for school, so he has gotten marked down a few times for not paying attention to dates and times, much to his disappointment.

24. Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Wing has a modest success with almost all of his classes, but he is really good at strategy. If pressed, he could be a one-man armada. (That said, it isn’t like he considers intellectual things like math his beloved.)

25. How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

I don’t think Wing knows, but he would certainly hope to be partnering with one of his friends from school. If not, perhaps finding his place after going through his mother’s belongings.

26. Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t work out?

No, in part because H.I.V.E. doesn’t exactly cater to someone with his particular ethical framework. Wing wouldn’t want to exploit people for money, fame, or love, but he would find it just as tasteless to contract with a government to expose these deeds. Wing would feel most satisfied in a career where he has a personal connection—for example, running security in Laura’s tech company, or working as Otto’s personal bodyguard. Until Wing can get some life experience away from the island, he won’t have a clear idea of where he belongs.

27. What is their biggest regret?

Losing Otto to H.O.P.E. and allowing him to be brainwashed and taken advantage of in the worst of ways.

28. Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Best friend is Otto, obviously. Though their friendship was kind of manufactured by their close proximity, Wing finds Otto to be inspiring, trustworthy, and relatable.

Wing disdains all people he considers dishonorable, but he particularly loathes people who abuse their authority, like Dekker.

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (e.g. The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Action! If there are people and pets involved, then he saves them! If there is critical information that is needed, he makes that a second priority! He gets people to safety, calls for help, and continues to risk life and limb to make sure the people he cares about are okay.

30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Well. It can be hard to tell, at first—Wing isn’t an entirely expressive guy. But, unsurprisingly, his pain has to come out in other ways. Lashing out, making rash decisions, losing motivation… all of these things are his way of not-coping with disaster because he struggles to express his emotions in a healthy way. (Many thanks to his dad for making him respond this way.)

31. Most prized possession?

His mom’s yin/yang necklace, although that is a gimme.

32. Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Not particularly concerned. Though Wing is not immune from sentiment, as in the case of his mom’s necklace, Wing’s strongest responses are for people and situations, not lifeless objects. It isn’t true to say that you could just pick Wing up and drop him anywhere, because of the social loss, but you could certainly burn his house down and he would be able to move on.

33. Concept of home and family?

Wing makes very deep bonds with the people who are emotionally open with him and who he spends a lot of time working and playing with. His mother (and father, to some extent) gave him that familial care when he was very young, but after Xiu Mei’s death and Cypher’s withdrawal from his home life, Lao became that staple of home love, a bond made strong by commitment and involvement. The same occurred when Wing came to H.I.V.E., and found a small home group in Otto, Laura, Shelby, Franz, and Nigel, who formed reciprocal relationships and made him feel like he belonged through the time they spent together.

34. Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Super private. He doesn’t mind sharing personal things with his nosy friends, but the rest of the school? If he had his way they wouldn’t know his eye color, much less the status of his feelings or relationships.

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Puzzles, parkour, and frisbee.

36. What makes them feel guilty?

The times he has let down his friends, either by wrong action or inaction. Not taking care of himself. Lying by omission about his thoughts and feelings that he is not confident enough to share with people he respects. Leaving behind Lao, who might not know where he is.

37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Analytical, but with emotional motivations. Wing will bide his time bemoaning the loss of his best pal, very emotional and sad, and then assess the situation and jump into a helicopter when the time is right to save that pasty best friend’s ass.

38. Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

Type B, which is not a usual thing for Alphas, let me tell you.

39. What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Sleep, meditation, working out, snuggling, listening to his friends have brilliant ideas (but only if he has been drained by hard and/or boring intellectual work), sleep.

40. Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Maybe a slight inferiority complex that doesn’t show. In the wake of Xiu Mei’s death, Cypher made his son feel completely unimportant. Lao did the important work of rebuilding Wing’s self-esteem, but that sense of abandonment and unimportance can return in dark moments.

41. How misanthropic are they?

Not very. True facts, Wing could probably work for Greenpeace or a humanitarian aid society after school and feel very fulfilled defending ordinary people from corrupt militias and other dangerous things.

(Side note, Laura and Nigel would be my other contenders for humanitarian/charitable work, but Laura needs a greater intellectual challenge and Nigel would probably get overwhelmed and get back into evil botany.)

42. Hobbies?

Martial arts, sand art, yoga

43. How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Wing received the best education his parents could get him as a young boy, but after his mother’s death he didn’t feel involved or interested, and his only interest became the passion for martial arts that he received from his mentor Lao. He quite admires self-education when it is done well, because it demonstrates high motivation and a deep passion for a subject of study.

44. Religion?

None, but he respects those who have one.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

Nothing major, but he does sometimes get the impression that his mother might be looking out for him, or reappearing in his life in small ways. Maybe in the way a flower blooms, maybe in hearing a familiar laugh. Or just good things happening.

46. Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Usually deeds, because it is easier for Wing to step up to the plate and help his friends in whatever way they need to be helped without their asking. But nor is Wing embarrassed to admit it when he cares about people, and when he says those things, he means them.

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Brilliant smile. Someone he can enjoy a little competition with, but always in a friendly way. Someone who balances his quiet nature and composure with eagerness and ambition. Soft. Enjoys snuggling. Someone he can be honest with, but also someone he doesn’t completely understand. Someone who makes him laugh. Someone who makes an effort to understand him, even when it is hard. Hard worker. Talented. Smart. Someone who doesn’t allow him to take himself seriously. Someone who meshes with his friends, or bare minimum won’t take those friends away from him.

48. How do they express love?

In the dramatic ways, like risking his life. Also in mundane ways, like kissing on top of the head, or running errands on a busy day, or making sure that the beloved who fell asleep doing homework gets all the way into bed with a warm blanket.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

… at this point, I am going to defer to the master and tell you to just re-read the books. Like damn what do you want me to SAY.

50. Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

No, but he would prefer not to. He doesn’t lose sleep over the inevitable, though.

#wing fanchu #evil asks #headcanon #otto malpense #laura brand #shelby trinity #nigel darkdoom #franz argentblum #i hope you're happy nonnie #headcanons #long post

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delvvsional · 2 years ago

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I'm back over 180, which makes me feel like a piece of shit. I'm so pissed at myself for letting myself get this bad again. I got lazy and lost my focus and gained back 20 pounds.

Journaling helps so here's my plan for getting ✨️skinny✨️ again:

- bring a water bottle to work and drink at least 100 oz of water a day. When I was doing this a year ago I lost like 5 pounds immediately

- restrict sodium intake. use less salt and don't eat processed foods - only fresh veggies, fruits, low sodium soup, etc.

- start exercising again. my chronic pain is not so bad right now so I could actually work out again if I wanted to so I'm going to make my lazy fat ass get up and MOVE to burn more calories

- track every single crumb that I eat. tracking alone helps me be more accountable to myself because if I wanna eat something not safe I just think about how embarrassing it will be to have to record what I ate

- only 1000 calories a day AT MOST. I've done this before for EXTENDED periods so I know it's possible I just have to stop being a baby about being hungry sometimes

- walk as much as possible. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Park farther away in the parking lots. Make myself walk more to burn more calories

- intermittent fasting. Only giving myself an 8 hour window to eat. This helped me loads last time I was cutting weight

- keep a list of safe foods and low cal recipes that are quick and easy to make

- also, keep ingredients on hand for low cal foods. like potatoes and cottage cheese for a low cal dinner. Or mushrooms and green onions and chicken bullion (low sodium) for quick and easy low cal soup. low cal bread and rice cakes. And COFFEE

- drink energy drinks/coffee/water when I'm craving flavor but don't want calories

- post a food diary daily along with any work outs I do so I can look back, keep track, and stay accountable

- bully myself if I have to. Take unflattering pictures of myself so I can be motivated to STOP looking like this

- keep my goals in mind. Stay focused. No cheat days and no going easy on myself.

#diary #inspo #thoughts #safe food #tw

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winterblues · 7 years ago

Note

hey i rlly love your writing sm!! could you maybe do an andreil one for this prompt: imagine person A knowing person B hasn't been eating properly for the last few days so person A makes them a proper meal from scratch that they can both eat together to make person B feel better? thank you!!!

[Thank you for the lovely prompt & I apologize in advance for the Angst™.]

Neil wipes a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist and bares his teeth. He’s got that acute glimmer of feral aggression behind his eyes again, Andrew observes, dully.

The sort of expression often native to a prowling jungle cat attempting to intimidate a potential threat into premature submission. Andrew can’t help but see it as a phenomenal waste of energy, getting worked up over a stupid practice scrimmage, at Kevin Day of all short-fused idiots.

No matter how close Andrew allows Neil to get, he will never be used to his exhaustive thirst for victory.

How many more goddamn exy-obsessed morons do I have to babysit in this lifetime? Across the court, Kevin’s got a firm grip on his racquet as he glowers behind the netting at Neil as if through the barrel of a gun. It’s a late fall evening and the sky is a patchwork of pink-gold clouds, the moon sits a shrivel of a crescent in the rapidly darkening distance.

Andrew watches his teammates with his characteristic lack-of-character, expression neutral as he remains stationed in position, racquet balanced on his shoulders like an afterthought.

He can hear Nicky whinging to Matt about something inconsequential Andrew doesn’t care enough to inquire about, Renee and Allison have been exchanging subtle glances across the court for two-and-a-half hours now.

During their last sparring session, Renee mentioned in passing that she’d found another sparring partner in Allison. “She wants me to teach her how to fight. Says she wants to be prepared for anything. It’s like she doesn’t trust the world as much after everything that happened with Seth and Neil’s consequent revelation. It’s sad but I think it’s awfully brave of her, don’t you?” Andrew had merely blinked at her, unamused, before grappling her into a headlock she hadn’t seen coming and raising a knife to her throat. “Oops,” he said. “You’re dead.”

It isn’t until Andrew hears Kevin strike that he notices the hesitation in Neil’s jaw just as he slams the ball with lethal force and his knees buckle. He stumbles not even half a second after and Dan grabs ahold of him before he can crumple to the ground. Andrew feels his heart skip a couple of paces just as Wymack blows his warning whistle, calling a timeout. Kevin gawks in mystification for a moment before breaking into a disapproving scowl.

“The hell was that, Josten?” Wymack snaps, striding over to Neil and crossing his arms over his big chest. “I’m fine,” Neil grunts. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” Wymack replies, with a smile that’s at least two-fifths deliberate condescension. “It won’t, because right now you’re about as useful to me as a vegetable. I’m benching you for the rest of today.”

“Come on, Coach!” Nicky shouts, jogging up to where everyone is now crowding around Neil like he’s some kind of a helpless dog they all accidentally ran over with their cars. “Let’s just call an early mark. Please? We could all use a break!”

“I don’t,” Neil spits, balling his fists to his sides; eyes rapt on Wymack’s. Idiot. Wymack shoots a steely glare right back at him. “You play in peak condition or you don’t play at all. I won’t tolerate this half-assed bullshit. You hear me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Now go pick a cozy corner to sulk in and don’t return to my court until you’re bleeding stamina or I will knock you flat on your ass myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“But—“

“I said,” Wymack’s tone becomes dangerously taut. “Do I make myself clear?”

At this point, even Nicky shuts his trap and takes an obedient step back, his expression pleading at Neil to do everything within his power to not trip on the Coach’s last nerve.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Neil growls, lowly. Nicky shakes his head in exasperation, just as Dan smoothly interjects, “I think what Coach is trying to say, Neil, as that you seem a little under the weather today. Maybe rest up a little and take it easy for the evening so that you’re better equipped for practice tomorrow?”

“Yeah, man,” Matt chimes in. “We’re just worried about your health.”

Andrew brings his racquet down and leans his body weight against it, still watching quietly from the sidelines. Renee shoots him a concerned glance and Andrew pretends not to notice.

“It’s insulting,” Kevin cuts in, with eyes only for Neil as he crosses the distance between them and parks himself merely inches from where Neil is standing. Andrew can’t say he envies Neil. He knows firsthand Kevin’s tendency to invite himself into one’s personal space whenever he gets cranky. “You’re insulting us all. I don’t know what the fuck’s been going on with you, but you better get your shit together because your breakdowns have no place on the court. Now do as Coach says before you waste any more of everyone’s time.”

Kevin and Neil spend a solid minute exchanging mind-imploding death glares at one another before Neil caves. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he flips Kevin off, turns on his heel and trudges off the court. Andrew watches Neil carefully. The fight is slowly pilfered from his shoulders and he lets his chin droop against his neck. There is something volatile about his defeated posture as he ambles right past the stands and towards the showers. Wymack turns to Andrew, expression irked but knowing.

“Goodbye.” Andrew says, before casually trailing after Neil.

“There isn’t enough whiskey in the goddamn world to put up with you ungrateful asshats on a daily basis,” Wymack mutters, under his breath before blowing his whistle again. “That’s enough dilly-dallying, maggots! We can practice without Tom and Jerry for now. Drop the long faces and give me forty-five laps. We’ll reassemble then. Go, go. Fucking go.”

“Crowdpleaser,” Andrew mumbles, coming up behind Neil.

Neil looks up at him without meeting his eyes. “Agree to disagree.”

Andrew joins Neil in the shower and they kiss until their mouths are numb and then Andrew drives them back home. They’re barely halfway through the door when King Fluffkins trots up to them and curls himself, not unlike a clingy toddler, around Andrew’s boot. “Get your cat off my foot,” Andrew mutters, at once. Neil shrugs off his coat, shuts the door behind them and smiles faintly. “And deprive him of cuddles? That’s abuse. Plus, he likes you.” Andrew groans and has to peel the feline off himself as he cradles King Fluffkins in his arms and deposits him on the couch next to a lazing Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. “Do that again and I won’t hesitate to turn your furry ass into a winter coat.”

King Fluffkins looks unfazed at this remark, but a short laugh escapes Neil.

Andrew will never admit it, but Neil’s laugh sends a jolt of spring warmth up his spine. The kind that wedges itself in between shoulder blades and seeps into his ribcage. It is so full of raw, fleeting feeling that it fills every gap inside Andrew to a brimming point.

Andrew sourly notes Neil hasn’t laughed like that in a week.

“What did we discuss about threatening our cats at every given moment?”

“Your cats.”

“Right. Whenever they piss you off they’re my cats.”

Neil follows the cats’ bad example, dropping dead on his back on the lounge room sofa and allowing the pests to crawl up onto his chest. Andrew empties the litter, brings them fresh water and fills their bowls to the top with food before wandering into the kitchen.

The weather grows worse within the span of the hour. The rain is loud as fuck outside. The wind droning on like the hum of a distraught choir. He chops a fresh batch of mushrooms, carrots and green bell peppers. He separates all the vegetables and leaves a stockpot of water to simmer. The oven is preheating. He cooks in mindless silence, all the while wondering why Neil isn’t venturing in to watch him like he usually does. There is something upsetting fizzling beneath his skin, like an itch he can’t scratch. He has this shitty gut feeling—hot and incendiary; an interloper awaiting recognition. He spends longer than intended in passive contemplation and his stockpot begins to overspill.

Andrew lowers the temperature of the gas and yanks the lid off the pot, swatting the steam away as if it were a school of flies.

He finds cooking less boring than he finds most activities in his daily life. Bee says it’s because cooking is an act of creation, which makes it a common stress reliever. People feel better about themselves when they’re creating.

Andrew doesn’t know about that, but it’s a layman’s job to follow a recipe.

There is something vaguely satisfying about it, he thinks. Cooking is meticulous and straight to the point. It doesn’t take thinking if your hands know what to do and your mind’s prone to estimate. If the recipe demands half a slab of melted butter he won’t add a pinch more or less. He’s fairly adept at following instructions and doesn’t feel the need to experiment.   If nothing else, cooking is a way to pass the time and is vital to survival.

Eventually, Neil does float into the kitchen, looking jaded. Andrew keeps himself busy with seasoning and pays him no heat. “I’m going to bed,” he says quietly. Andrew halts, grabs a wooden spoon and dips it into the pot nearest to him, still hot off the stove. “Come here,” he replies. Neil joins his side as Andrew blows softly on the liquid before holding a spoonful up to Neil’s mouth.

“Taste.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Taste.”

Neil pouts a little, but obediently leans in and takes the smallest sip. “Mm,” he nods. “What is it?”

“Hot and sour soup.” Andrew says.

“Will it taste better off of your lips?” He leans in questioningly but Andrew neatly sidesteps, leaving Neil fumbling. “Sorry,” Neil remedies, quickly.

“I didn’t mean to—“

“You’ll consume it directly first.” Andrew answers, in lieu of an explanation.

“It’s really good. I’ll uh… Have some tomorrow if there’s leftovers.”

Neil is about to turn when Andrew wraps cold, gentle fingers around his wrist. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Go outside and take a seat on the dining table.”

Something dire flashes in Neil’s heady blue eyes. “Andrew—“

“Don’t argue with me.”

It’s a full-fledged three-course assortment of homemade meals and Neil stares at it like it’s making him nauseous just to look at it. To Andrew, it smells heavenly: steaming hot-sour soup and chicken à la king with a side of sweet potato wedges. Andrew feels a pang of something irritable inside his chest. He doesn’t quite care whether Neil likes it or not. He isn’t allowed to be a baby about this. Not any fucking more.

“Eat,” he prompts. “Eat or I will force feed it down your gullet, yes?”

Neil sighs and begins to scoop an insufficient portion onto his plate, rather halfheartedly. Andrew snatches the spoon from him and begins to serve Neil himself, making sure to get an equally ample portion of each item available before helping himself.

“You will explain as we eat.”

“What?”

“Drop the clueless act and stop being this pathetic.”

When Neil merely blinks at him Andrew scoots closer to Neil in his chair, making it creak in protest against the wooden floor as he grabs Neil’s chin in his hand. He lowers Neil’s head and allows his eyes to bore into Neil’s. He’s lost every remaining morsel of his patience. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No.”

“You’re treating me like one.”

“I’m not trying to. Fuck. Everyone’s just constantly on my ass about everything all the time and so what if I have a bad day or two. Am I not allowed the privilege—?”

“Fuck everyone,” Andrew’s voice is dull and combustible. “Do I look like everyone?”

At this, Neil lowers his gaze to Andrew’s lips, back to his eyes and something within Neil’s own softens.

“Of course not,” he replies, voice more subdued now.

“I’ve had enough of your mopey bullshit,” Andrew says, letting go of Neil’s chin.

“Explain.” Andrew demands.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Everything inside Andrew knots up like curdled milk. There is a visible tension in Neil’s shoulders that is no doubt going to escape in a torrent; without a moment’s notice. Andrew doesn’t even have to prepare himself for it. He just wants to face it headfirst.

Andrew draws his mouth into a thin line. “If you lie to me again I won’t sit here and tolerate it.”

“It’s not something you’ll want to hear.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew snaps. “Tick tock.”

Neil takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose and the words tumble out of his mouth like bullet shells. “I know that it’s naive but I thought he wasn’t going to be a problem, at least not for the foreseeable future. I will keep playing Exy until there is none of me left. That’s the deal. That’s how it goes but there are things I can’t control—if something happens to me? Something that makes me incapable of playing and—and then, he’ll turn the Foxes into collateral damage in my war.” Neil glances up to meet Andrew’s unflinching gaze. “Ichirou,” he says, the name sounding like a strained chord on a busted up guitar. “He flew down for a meeting and paid me a visit on a whim. He said things. He fucking—“ now there’s a keen rage seizing him. “He fucking threatened your life!”

“He’s threatened my life before.”

“Exactly! He’s made his point. I get it. We get it. This time, he was doing it to taunt me, to remind me that we’re all ultimately just pawns on his sick little chessboard. He’s screwing with me.”

Andrew leans calmly back into his chair and says nothing, waiting for Neil to calm down. At this point, Neil is seething, his breath choked out in rattled gasps. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on either end of the table.

“That wasn’t something I could stand. Listening to that bastard pompously claim all the things he could do to you, count off the ways he could make you disappear without a trace. Why should I have to put up with this crap? Why do I have to keep living beneath the Moriyamas’ shadow? Sitting there, listening to him recite what he’s capable of—hurting you. It reminded me that I’m still the Butcher’s son, that I should be raining hell down on anyone who even thinks of touching us—Touching you.”

Neil is shivering now, his words coming out in escaped sobs. His entire body’s a wreck. He’s a wreck.

Andrew’s stomach twists as conviction stronger than anything Andrew’s ever felt burns in Neil’s voice.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Andrew asks, promptly.

“I—“

“What did I tell you?”

He watches the muscles work under Neil’s clenched jaw.

“To bury Nathaniel in Baltimore with his father.”

“Neil is your only truth from now on, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t.”

“You cannot object what is irrefutable.”

“I won’t let them, Andrew. I can’t… Because that would be pathetic.”

“If there is a single part of you that is still Nathaniel, I do not want anything to do with it. Are we clear?”

Neil is at an utter loss of words before he attempts to gather himself, something unsteady flashing in his eyes. Andrew does not care if his truth is a harsh pill to swallow. Neil will learn. This is the man he chose to protect, the man he sleeps with, the man who is his.

Another irrefutable truth—Neil Josten; not some phantom burnout son-of-a-killer. 

“Are you digging him back up?”“No. What’s dead is dead.”

“Good,” Andrew won’t admit the relief his words warrant. “I want you to remember you said that.”

“It’s just—“ Neil sighed. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since talking to him. I keep seeing your dead body at my feet or— or worse and I feel like throwing up. It’s that same, ringing sense of dread all over again. The dread I felt when Riko threatened you, before I made my decision to go to Evermore. All I can think about is the need to eliminate the threat. I want to kill him.”

“Don’t be irrational.”

“I can’t just let him get away with this.”

“That is exactly what you’re going to do. Neil,” Andrew says. “Yes or—?”

Bright eyes sharp as stained glass. “Yes.”

Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his own and presses it to the side of his neck, just beneath his jugular vein so that Neil can feel Andrew’s pulse beating underneath the skin there. “Not to indulge your creepy neck fetish or anything but,” he cups his own hand over where he’s holding Neil’s. “I’m here.”

“Whenever—if anything happens, I’ll still be here.” Andrew says. “Nod if you understand.”

Neil lets out another shaky breath and nods slowly, eyes steady on Andrew’s. Watching him unravel on his bad days is always somewhat of a stale realization. There is a part of Andrew that thinks it isn’t fair. When did things become this critical? Before… He wasn’t feeling unless he was feeling empty, the only time the world felt real was when he was standing at the edge of it, staring down at what could quite possibly be a bottomless death. He never used to know what to do with his hands, not until Neil had reminded him, anyway.

“They’re your hands,” cigarette lounging lazily at the corner of lips chapped stupid, eyes so wide they could be confused for open sores, hair ruffled in the wind.

He’d wanted nothing.

Now he is surviving on that very nothing, cultivating a life from every breath that leaves nothing’s lips.

Careful what you fucking wish for.

Neil’s fingers are warm as they curl up to grip the back of Andrew’s neck. He still looks shaken, furious; as if he wants to turn the world on its head and fight it. There’s still an unkempt tenseness to his posture. Andrew hates it.

“I don’t care,” Neil announces. “I don’t care if they kill me. Ever since I was born I’ve been ready to die if it comes down to it. That’s the philosophy I was raised on.”

Andrew reads the implication on his face even before he has to make it clear.

“They can’t have you.”

You think it’s cute throwing my own words back in my face?

“Still playing at rabbit?” Andrew says, after a pause. “You know better than to waste energy fretting over shit that you can’t control, or have you not learned anything?” “My learning curve’s a horizontal line, remember?” Neil replies, a suggestive hint in the twist of his lips.

“Coincidentally the position you’ll be lying in your coffin when I’m done with you.”

“Death kink or neck fetish. Which one’s weirder? We should ask Nicky.”

“I hate you.”

“Me too.”

“I mean it.”

Neil’s fingers against his skin. Alive, alive.

“That’s what I love about you.”

Andrew scoffs and pushes Neil’s hand off before turning back around in his chair. “Your food will get cold,” he mutters, tone finite.

“Okay.”

“The next time you skip a meal you can sustain on whatever the cats are having.”

“Thank you.”

They eat in the sort of silence that swells over a small town after it’s been ransacked by a hurricane but still left standing. It’s a dizzying, electric sort of silence. The sort you can feel in your bones. When they’re done, Neil helps clear the plates away and they pad up to their bedroom.

King Fluffkins follows as Sir Fat Cat McCatterson continues to doze in his delegated spot.

“That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. I’ll starve myself all the time if that means you’ll cook for me more often.” That dark look in Neil’s eyes has dissolved into something clearer as he rolls over onto his side and begins to press kneading kisses down the side of Andrew’s jaw.

“Shut up.”

“It’s true,” Neil’s words are muffled against Andrew’s heated skin. “You know last week, Nicky was treating all of us to dinner and he asked me what my favorite dish was and I told him I didn’t actually know. Dan and Matt totally freaked out.” Neil’s hand stills over Andrew’s cheek for a brief moment. “My mother never used to cook. I know how to whip up your standard meals. Enough to keep me going. Omelettes, sandwiches, breakfast burritos. You name it. I’ve pretty much got microwaving down to an art form too, but I’ve never eaten anything like… This.”

Neil leans over and presses a soft kiss to Andrew’s lips, the kind that spreads out like the petals of a flower.

“It tastes like real home food,” he smiles against Andrew’s face before gently meeting Andrew’s unwavering gaze.

“You can touch me if you want.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse.

Neil looks slightly hesitant as he lets one of his hands gently slip beneath the hem of Andrew’s shirt.

Andrew closes his eyes at the contact. Neil’s touch is respectful, delicate, debilitating. Andrew’s skin is fever-warm against Neil’s cool fingertips. Andrew doesn’t want Neil to be able to detect the shortness of his breaths but he can bet Neil feels them.

“I’d like to extend my compliments to the chef,” Neil says, fingers faltering along the waistband of Andrew’s sweatpants. “Properly.”

Andrew grunts a quiet affirmation and Neil slides down, pulling the covers over his head.

He pushes the covers away in quick retaliation.

Eyes intent on Neil’s.

“I want to see you.”

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