#and he looks at her with the coldest anger and goes “What? Lost your taste for this kinda thing?”

[corpocyborg]

me, in a video game: *chooses the bad option* NPCs: good god! how can you say that? you don't mean that! me, who's been consistently choosing these options since the start of the game: -_-

[brooklynislandgirl]

The best otp Z and Beth. I'm not biased.

This Meme|Accepting

who wakes the other one up with kisses

He could just shove the curtain open. Let the sun stream over her, refracting off the clear crystal vase on her nightstand until it pries open her eyes with fractions of rainbows, but that means something else would fill them with light. He could just pull the covers down off the gentle slopes of her skin ~a hint or two darker than his, though she says the opposite, says they are gold and bronze~ but that would mean something else would caress her in warmth while she stretched catlike to greet it.

Instead, he starts the coffee with a single spared thought. Reaches around to cup her chin and chases away the shadows that have no right to be there on her lips. Beth, as she always does, smiles into the curve of his mouth. As always, presses herself as close to him as she can without sharing his own body.

They don’t need to sleep, but he knows she’s never rested so well as she has since he invited her into his bed.He could almost tell her the same thing.

He won’t.She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t need to.

who cooks for whom

She looks like a half-drownt rat.She’s cold and she’s wet and she clearly doesn’t have the sense of a rock. So he makes her sit in a chair and begrudgingly, he makes her soup and sandwiches. Doesn’t want the responsibility of having to dispose of her body.That was the first time he cooked for her.The second time had her up against the wall, tension all but violating them both.

He lost count of all the in-betweens and all the afters.It’s become a habit now. He tells himself its because she would otherwise starve. She doesn’t eat much to begin with and sometimes she never finishes. It borders on affront. She doesn’t think and he dampens that biting anger.It’s been eons since he’s had to scrape and scramble for anything, but that particular remembrance has never left him, any more than his scars can. 

He chalks it up to disgust when she threatens to make oatmeal for breakfast that he goes out of his way to make something {anything} else.

Feeding her has nothing to do with the way she hovers near him, picking at things until he’s forced to slap her hand away and growl. Then the game changes. Beth is easy to distract.She doesn’t understand what food means to someone who never really had it. It’s genetics that he’s built the way he is, not because he’s ever been nourished and nurtured.And he’s not about to let her go without, despite the lack of self-preservation she has going on.

who is the morning person/night person

He noticed the change soon after she’d died in his arms.She started to creep closer toward the windows long after the sun had set. Once or twice she’d gone out and stayed until the darkness had completely embraced her and her heart hammered in her chest, rabbit-like, before she came back inside as fast as she could do without drawing attention to herself. Pressed into him until he reached up and stroked her throat.Night is still his, but she’s learning to accept it. Her willingness to try and not fear it.

And he still thinks morning belongs to her. If he were a jealous man, he might almost be inclined to murder the sun and the way it chases through her hair and glitters off each poised muscle when she’s swimming or surfing. He won’t. Because he’s not a jealous man, and has no reason to feel threatened by anything less than the small woman who steals his clothes and drinks her coffee on his porch.And he certainly doesn’t smile when her back is to him and that light warms the coldest places in his depths.who is the romantic one

Tickets from the first movie they saw together in a theatre are tucked haphazardly inside of a book. Fighting with a large army under your command is nowisedifferent from fighting with a small one: it is merely a question ofinstituting signs and signals.

Dried roses from the first bouquet he offered her frame her side of the mirror. 

He keeps a stand he carved from cyprus wood by the door for her shoes.When she works overnight shifts, he curls up with a good book in the tranquility carved out of the space where she isn’t, and her pillow takes up the room where she should be.He remembers their anniversary and keeps tokens around his houses. If she ever doubted he was a romantic, Zarek has proven Beth wrong at every turn, and she can’t help but wonder if he didn’t actually mean forever. Even if he didn’t, she sees it in all the little things he does.

who is the top when it comes to sex

She doesn’t know when the exact moment was that she realised she’d break every one of her precious commandments for him. Perhaps the most egregious example of the depths of her blasphemy is when he’s wringing every last desperate cry of ‘oh God’ that she can bother to vocalize before he breaks her down into whimpers and keening little moans.His hands, his mouth, every part of him invades her senses and her body with equal aplomb and the way she writhes even she can’t tell if she’s moving away or trying to get closer still.

And here he’s at his worst, his most unrestrained. There’s no forgiveness as he crashes into her like waves on the shore.There’s no mercy and no salvation when his teeth graze her and her nails dig so deep that his blood practically drips down her arms the way sweat sheens between them.

This isn’t punishment, though it could be if she wanted it to.It’s not quite attrition, though that’s exactly what it looks like.No, he’s claiming what is his after lifetimes and he only takes what she’s willing to give. It’s always been by consent.And when they’re both exhausted and sated he rests on his back, his arm curled protectively around hers. Her palm wide-spread against the scar that mars the skin at the center and just a little left of his chest. The only sound is their panting breath.

She can’t do anything about the one who put it there, but she won’t let anyone else come that close to him ever again.who would lead in ballroom dancing

It was the key, he learned that afternoon on the rooftop and in the rain.

The way she smiled and listened to him not with her brain but with her body, her heart. Instinct moved them as one as she picked up the steps. He guided her, told her the story of how he’d learned, though some of the blood-drenched details he kept to himself. She was still soft, he told himself, still innocent of his darker nature.

Frenetic movement became smooth and still like glass, obeying his commands without question, without hesitation.

It became easier after that. The grace and beauty of dancing translated directly into teaching her how to better protect herself. A time or two he actually had a challenge defending himself from the feints and the strikes.Even he had to admit, if to himself, she was radiant. If he ever were inclined to see her on a battle field, she would have been beautiful to behold.He’s not inclined.He’s sooner throw himself on his own sword than let her come close to getting hurt.who is the more cuddly one

“You do realise we have furniture, right, Beth?””Yes.”

”Just checking.”

”You have excellent taste.”

”Not talking about that furniture we have, are you?”

”Not even a little bit.”

”Five more minutes and then I have things I need to do.”She opens her mouth and-

”No. You are not on that list, piccola.”He grins when she sighs and tries to bite his shoulder.Tries.who is the one to most likely pick the movie they watch

It fascinates Beth, the range of his tastes. And she’s more than content to let him pick them out because she’d learned long ago that movies tended to be avenues of connection. She supposed acting was fundamental across cultures, from the first stories told in the firelight inside damp caves to avant-garde kids these days with phones and dreams and the will to make art.She also wondered if he’d learn some of his traits that way, expressions that occasionally didn’t sit completely right on his features. If he sometimes shut his mind off and let the story wash over him. She had learned to be a little stealthier watching him watching a movie but she was sure he felt the pull of her curiosity.

And almost like second-sight, he learned how to fix that.He started putting the closed captions on for her.who is the one who would pay for dates

It’s infuriating, no matter how hard he tries there’s something broken about Beth. He’s almost starting to wonder if she’s being insulting on purpose. The way she says ‘his’ when he insists it’s ‘ours’. The way she tends to forget his credit cards when she goes out shopping. His donations done through a series of shell-companies, wire transfers, and third parties that can’t be directly connected to him. It’s like she had a need to make him jump through hoops and he’s not a circus performer, not even for her.It makes no sense. Of course he’d run a background check the first time he had put space between them. He wasn’t stupid and it all seemed like too much of a coincidence to be real. Her family were once in the hierarchy of the elite and even after Black Tuesday in ‘29, they were heads and tails above the population in terms of financial stability. There were allowances for her paternal grandparents {still alive in Florida as far as he could tell, though she didn’t talk about them}. And for her father {she talked about him even less}. But the bulk of the monthly stipend had been shared between herself and her sainted brother.

She poured those resources into charity work. Commendable. Foolish, perhaps, but exactly the kind of thing he’d come to expect of her. Beyond that, she made decent living off her nursing skills, until she took her extended stay and came crashing into his life.

“Beth. It’s dinner. At a restaurant ...not the National Debt.”“I know...but...”“But...what?” Barely a growl, his patience slipping.“I don’t want...”He could feel his fingers tightening out of frustration. 

“I don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t ever want you to feel used.” 

He counts to ten. Pushes down the flare of his temper. She’s being silly. She was often just that. At the same time his anger isn’t entirely directed at her. A good part of it was directed at whomever treated her like so much dirt that his Beth felt like she didn’t deserve the best he had to offer her.

“If I felt that way, we would not be here.”He can tell just by the way she looks down that she doesn’t believe him. And he doesn’t know how to make her change her mind.

who is the one who would initiate a quicky during classes

She can’t. Try as hard as she wants, she can’t ignore the way he’s looking at her, that dark hooded gaze that makes her feel like prey. And the worst part about it is he knows it. He knows that look alone is enough to excite her beyond any reasonable hope.

She’s splitting her attention between the instructions and the way he’s leaning in the doorway. Watching her hands, judging just a little that she’s adjusting the grip she has on the knife.

The way she slides it between skin and flesh. She sets it down. Even if she can heal herself she doesn’t want to lose a finger. Beside she needed to...

He’s suddenly beside her, reaching around slowly to grab kitchen wipes off the counter.

“Kealoha...if you want to eat dinner like...ever...”He takes one hand and begins cleaning it for her, tracing slow circles against her palm.

“Seriously, Z...”“We can order out.”Truth be told, he didn’t mind so much that she couldn’t cook.