A/N: Wow this one only took me three months! This is not at all what I had planned to happen in this chapter, but it's what came out and what flowed the best, so here we are. I'm not super happy with how it turned out, but I can't look at it anymore. Next chapter will finally see some more banging and have interactions with the rest of the guys, and should be up very soon, as I have most of it written already.

Small content warning for mentions of self harm and csa.

"Oh my god…"

Pickles laughed, breathless, at Olive's satisfied proclamation, his limbs lifeless and tingling as he laid on his bed next to her, eyes closed in content as he waited for his heart to calm and his breathing to even out after the heavy orgasm. They laid there in silence, naked, fingers intertwined, allowing their bodies to relax and calm.

Until a loud rumble disturbed the peace.

Giggling, Olive lazily turned her head to him, "You hungry?"

Pickles laughed, green eyes meeting black, and placed a hand over his grumbling stomach, "I could eat."

"Wanna go to Taco Bell?"

Grinning wide, he sat up, stretching his arms above his head, "Hell yeah, dood."

Olive smiled, standing and gathering her strewn about clothes as Pickles hopped back into his jeans, forgoing underwear, and rummaged around in his dresser. With an aha! of victory, two black hoodies were unearthed from the drawer, and he tossed one to her as he yanked on the other, the nights having turned colder as autumn approached.

"Thanks."

Pickles grinned wide as she tugged on the fabric, the old Dethklok hoodie dwarfing her small frame despite only being a large. It was well worn, the logo across the chest an old design, the sleeves hanging long over her hands, only the tips of her fingers visible, the hem long enough to cover her shorts entirely, leaving only her tights covered thighs visible.

Cute.

The pair meandered into the hallway, starting their trek to the garage, and Olive slipped into her room as they passed, jingling her keys as she rejoined him.

Pickles raised a pierced brow, "Yer drivin'?"

Olive raised a brow back at him, "That a problem?"

"Nah," he shook his head, surprised that she would choose to take the wheel instead of letting a chauffeur escort them, his loose plans of fooling around in the back seat dashed, "jest, yanno, we have people who can drive us."

"Yeah, but that's not nearly as fun."

Pickles blinked at her, then grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulders and ruffling her hair.

"I like da way you think, dood."

Olive scowled and swatted his hand away, fighting back a smile as he laughed at her, and leaned into his embrace, their steps synching up easily.

The walk to the garage was uneventful, and soon they were at her car, a blacked out Nissan Leaf.

"Isn't this electric?"

"Yep."

"Nice."

Pickles opened the passenger door, scooping up the cd case out of the seat with an excited grin.

"Didn't think your generation still used cds."

"Caught the tail end of it."

Pickles flopped down on the seat, propping his feet up on the dash and cracked open the case at random, only buckling in after Olive gave him a look.

"Heh, MC Lyte? Ain't ya a little young fer that?"

"Aren't you a little old to be putting your feet on the dash?"

Pickles snorted, the impish smile on her face inspiring one of his own as she churned the car to life, her phone connecting to the bluetooth, picking up where she had last left off on some playlist of(what he assumed was) Korean hip hop, though he honestly couldn't tell which language it was. Not his first choice, or even his second or third, but he found himself enjoying it more than expected, even if he couldn't understand the lyrics.

Silence settled over them as she backed out, long enough for Pickles' attention span to wane, the topic of conversation slipping his mind as she began the long descent down the driveway, a Klokateer closing the garage door behind them.

"Most of them were my mom's."

"Huh?"

"The cds."

Pickles didn't know how to address that, you know, the whole dead parent thing. So he just hummed and flipped to the beginning of the case as she turned onto the road, using the soft blue glow of her stereo and flickering light from the street lamps they passed to read the various album titles. As he began to move through the sleeves, Pickles grinned to himself, eager to pin her music taste. It was all over the place, an amalgamation of genres ranging from jazz to rap to metal to kpop to grunge to classical and everything in between, including quite a few in languages he didn't recognize. He was unsurprised to find she had every Dethklok album, but was a little shocked to see every Snakes N' Barrels album as well, the sight of the old disc art bringing a nostalgic smile to his face, and he idly wondered if they were hers or her mom's.

With a start, it hit him that they had never even talked about music. Now that he was thinking about it, they had never really talked about, well, anything . Olive hung out with them, bullshitted and piped up with her knowledge of morbid trivia when relevant, but she rarely offered details about herself unless forced. The closest she had come with him was explaining her tattoos, and then that tidbit about her yakuza involvement.

Pickles frowed to himself, realizing for the first time just how little he knew about this girl. Wracking his brain turned up few details; she had been working in a morgue before coming here, in New York, maybe? That sounded right. Before that, she'd (obviously) been in the yakuza, she had that crazy brain surgery when she was a teenager, and she'd been adopted by some rich guy as a kid.

What he knew of her story was… weird. Abnormal. Interesting . Why had he never asked her more about her life?

He already knew the answer to that, though he didn't particularly want to start ruminating over his attachment issues. Still, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, and he fiddled with the corner of a sleeve, mind drifting despite himself. It made him feel like a douchbag, that he had never asked. She had never inquired about his life, either, though he had assumed she knew the basics, being a fan and all. After all, most Dethklok fans knew more about him than he did about himself.

"Here."

Pickles was yanked from his thoughts, reflexes lagging as he stared with confusion at the phone being shoved towards him.

"Wuh?"

The light they were stopped at turned green, and Olive's eyes turned back to the road, dropping her phone in his lap.

"Pick what you want."

Blinking at the comparatively bright screen, Pickles gave a small oh as he saw a Taco Bell app pulled up for mobile ordering, Olive's choices already added to the cart.

"I didn't know yeh could order ahead."

"Yeah, I do substitutions for meat, so it's easier for everyone this way. "

"Huh."

Scrolling through the menu, Pickles' mouth began to water as he considered all the options. And, fuck, there were so many options. He didn't even know some of this stuff existed! As he went to order, he hesitated, and chose to follow her lead and sub in black beans in place of meat for her sake, figuring he didn't need the extra calories anyway. She had never said as much, but it had to bother her that they all ate meat in front of her all the time, right?

As Pickles hit submit, the click of a lighter caught his attention, and he turned to her with a wide, crooked grin as she sparked to life a joint, trading it to him for her phone.

Soon enough they were rolling through the drive thru, the joint having been quickly consumed, leaving both of them eager for their food, overpowered by the munchies. As soon as the bag hit his hand, Pickles was tearing into the package of little cinnabon balls, giving a satisfied groan of content at the first bite. Olive grinned over at him, stoned and silly, as she pulled out of the parking lot, heading back onto the highway. Feeling bad for eating while she wasn't, Pickles plucked up another sugary ball, leaning over with a here, Olive's lip brushing his finger as she took the bite with her teeth, sending chills up his arm.

Spying a sign for a state park, she considered for a moment before turning onto the exit, rolling into an unlocked entrance and parking, Pickles eyeing her quizzically as the engine cut off.

"What're we doin' here?"

Olive gave him a, frankly, terrifying look, eyes dark and surprisingly serious, opening the door and stepping out, drink in hand, "Gonna kill you and bury your body in the woods."

Pickles blinked at her with a shocked face, taken aback, slowly beginning to smile as her farce broke, face melting back into high silliness, laughing, "Oh my god, man, your face. Did you think I was serious?"

"Shuddup. Yer really good at lookin' murderous."

"Yeah, well, I've had lots of practice."

"Right, right. But, really, though, what's with the park."

Olive shrugged, smiling, and took a sip of her drink, "Picnic."

Pickles raised a brow, grabbing his drink and the bag, and followed her to the map at the mouth of the trail head, a small wave of affection flowing through him at her spontaneous plan.

Fuck. It was dark . The moon, though nearly full, was covered by thick, heavy, clouds which cast eerily moving shadows over the trees as they were blown by the fast wind. The stars twinkling brightly in the gaps between the clouds did little to provide any useful illumination, and Pickles started to doubt this little adventure as Olive headed for the dark, ominous opening of the trail.

"Uh, dood, I don't know, ain't it kinda dark to be goin' inta the woods?"

Olive turned back to him, grinning mischievously, "What, scared of the dark?"

Pickles pouted at the jab, but still refused to move forward.

"What if we get lahst?"

"We won't."

"But what if we do?"

Olive rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her drink.

"I can see in the dark, remember? And I've memorized the map. We won't get lost," seeing his hesitance, she reached out toward him, making a cute little grabby motion with her hand, "I'll hold your hand the whole way, promise."

He looked at her for a moment, standing small in front of the thick trees, their height dwarfing her. The impenetrable black of their shadows loomed sinister with the late hour, and he swallowed, every instinct in him screaming to turn around and get back in the car. The way she was reaching out for him, beckoning him with that soft hand and pretty smile and playful eyes, his mind unwillingly turned back to her violent joke. He felt like a child, lured by a witch with promises of candy and sweets and all things good, with only death and heartbreak awaiting him.

"Pickles, come on. You know I won't let anything happen to you."

Right. She wasn't a witch, and he wasn't a child, and she wouldn't hurt him. At least, he didn't think she would. It was just the weed making him paranoid, right? That happened sometimes. And so, inhaling a shaky breath, he walked forward, taking her proffered hand, and allowed her to lead him into the dense woods.

The path was barely visible, but she guided him well, leading him over rocks and around treacherous roots as he tried his best to ignore the sound of animals skittering through the underbrush, of the wind rustling the fallen leaves and creaking the branches above their heads, of the dark, imposing trees surrounding them, their shadowed shapes morphing and twisting in the corner of his eyes, taking form of any number of malevolent beings ready to snatch him up.

"How, uh, how much farther?"

"There's a turn off for a picnic area not far, maybe another 10 yards."

Olive, for her part, seemed utterly at ease, hand warm and comforting in his, and she walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the crisp air and leaves crunching under their feet.

"Don't spend much time in the woods, huh?

Pickles swallowed, taking a sip of his drink.

"How'd ya know?"

She just laughed, and they continued to walk in silence, Pickles still tense and watchful, fingers drumming nervously on the back of her hand. Olive regarded him from the corner of her eyes as they neared the clearing, trying her best not to giggle at his plight; he looked ready to jump out of his skin at the first sign of another living being.

The sight was incredibly cute and endearing, but, still, she should probably comfort him.

"I worked search and rescue in a few of the national parks in New York for a while, after I retired from the yakuza."

Pickles paused his next sip, straw halfway to his mouth, surprised by this freely offered piece of information.

"Search an' rescue? Like, findin' lost kids?"

"Lost kids, injured hikers, tourists who went off trail, kidnappings…"

"Kidnappings?"

"Yeah," she stared ahead as they walked, face turning pensive, mind drifting back to the past, "It was rough, sometimes. Finding dead kids, seeing their bodies just laying there, knowing what they probably went through before they were killed…" she trailed off, shaking her head, "But it was especially hard when they had been lost for a long time and decomposition had set in. Animals picking off the corpse, maggots eating the flesh away… the parents always held up hope since a body was never found, but the look on their faces when all that was left to bring back were bones and scraps of clothes..."

"Jeez…"

Olive grimaced, snapping back to the present, realizing she had, once again, turned the conversation morbid.

"Sorry. Too heavy?"

"A bit."

"Right, sorry," sighing, she gave his hand an apologetic squeeze, "Well, anyway… the point I was trying to make is that I know my way around nature. So… there's no reason to be afraid while you're with me, ok?"

Pickles blinked at her, then gave a small smile, touched by her protective words, squeezing her hand back, "Okee."

He felt safe with her. And not just because she was much, much stronger than he was.

"We're here."

Pickles sighed in relief as the clearing came into view, the clouds having dispersed with the wind, leaving the moon to shine on the handful of tables arranged about the small area. Olive chose one close to the center for his sake, as she saw him still warily eyeing the treeline. Sitting down across from her, he opened the bag, handing her her crunchwrap and quickly unwrapping his quesarito, taking a large bite and willing himself to calm down.

Silence enveloped them as they ate, Pickles finally able to let himself relax, beginning to enjoy the sounds of the nocturnal creatures puttering about around them, going about their little lives. Olive was gazing into the treeline, seemingly deep in thought, and Pickles took a moment to observe her. She looked… sad. She kind of always did, now that he was thinking about it, when not being actively engaged, and he found himself wondering, again, what her life had been like, to make her so sad, so death obsessed.

Well. Best time to plant a tree is now, or whatever the saying was.

"So why'd yeh retire?"

Her eyes turned to him, surprise on her face, and she bit her lip.

"Oh, you know… it was just a lot of work."

Pickles raised a pierced brow at her, seeing straight through her lame excuse.

"Yeah? Dat the only reason?"

"...part of it."

"An' the rest?"

Balling up her wrapper, Olive removed her burrito from the bag, and she glanced around, shrugging as she fiddled with the corner of the paper.

"It's… complicated. For it to make sense, you'd need a lot of background info," at Pickles' shrug, she reiterated, "Like, a lot a lot."

"We gaht time. I don't mind ta listen." In fact, he was becoming more and more curious as the night went on.

Looking back at him, she opened her mouth, then closed it.

"It's a lot to get into. Just, it's kind of…"

Noticing the hesitance on her face, her fidgeting hands, her teeth sinking into her lip, he pieced it together.

"Heavy?"

"Yeah."

"Thets okee. Yanno, if yeh wanna talk aboot it."

Olive sighed, running a hand back through her hair, considering. Every part of her was screaming to not talk, to just brush him off and keep the conversation light, to not give too much of herself away. Pickles had been nothing but kind and understanding in the time she had known him, but there was still that deep rooted anxiety, that unrelenting fear that he would look at her differently once he knew, that he would think her a monster and want nothing to do with her. And it would be right of him to think that. She didn't deserve his kindness, his empathy, his comforting hugs and soothing words, not after all she had done. But, fuck, she wanted it, craved it so badly, so desperately. Pickles was so, so good to her. It had been so long since someone had been so good to her.

The truth would come out eventually, she supposed. Pickles was much more observant than he let on, and she couldn't evade his curiosity forever. May as well get it over with, rip the bandaid off now.

"Ok, just… don't say I didn't warn you."

Taking a deep breath and begging the universe to be kind to her, just this once, for Pickles to not hate her after this, she began.

"My mother was a mercenary with the yakuza before my sister and I were born. One of the best of her time, partnered with a woman named Atsuko. She met my father on a mission in Korea, and they married fast, and had Clove and I only two years later. She couldn't bring herself to go back to the lifestyle after her maternity leave, so they packed up and moved to New Orleans soon after we were born."

Pickles finished his quesarito, dropping the wrapper in the now empty bag, propping his arms on the table, surprised she was starting at the very beginning of her life, but excited to know more about her.

"The yakuza is all about loyalty, and there were those who saw my mother's retirement as a betrayal to the organization. The mercenaries they sent were no match for her, though. There were few alive who were. But eventually..."

Olive, paused, closing her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I was five and at home, my sister at a birthday party, when they broke in. My dad wasn't a fighter, and went down quick. My mother took two of them out with her bare hands, but she was outnumbered and unarmed, and eventually… eventually she was overpowered. I…" her voice hitched, and Pickles reached forward, taking her hand in his, "...I was forced to keep my eyes open as they slit her throat."

While she took a moment to collect herself, breathing deep and controlled, Pickles struggled to process her words.

Five. Five years old and saw her parents murdered. Forced to watch.

He felt sick.

"Yeh… yeh don't hafta keep goin', if ya don't want. It's okee."

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat.

"No, I'm fine. It's fine. They…" she took a breath, shaking, as she always did when she thought about what came next. Those hands on her, ripping off her favorite green dress and holding her down and covering her mouth and hitting her when she cried, telling her none of this would be happening if her mother wasn't such a slut, that she was no better, it was her own fault for tempting him, looking like that and wearing that short little dress, you know what you're doing, you little whore .

But she wouldn't tell Pickles that, not now, not ever.

"...they knocked me out, and set the house on fire. I managed to wake up in time to get out, and they were already long gone. Firefighters and police came and asked me what happened, but I couldn't say anything. I didn't speak at all for six more months."

"...fuck, dood," Pickles squeezed her hand, getting a small, sad smile in return.

"We spent some time in foster care, and then got adopted by Alastair. He wanted company for his only son, a child prodigy, Damien, and adopted the five highest intelligence orphans he could find. He asked me, soon after we moved in, what had happened. Turns out he knew my mom, not well, but they had worked together once or twice, when he had done mercenary work. I told him everything, and he asked if I wanted revenge, and…" she ran a hand back through her hair, an expression of deep, painful memories crossing her face, "...and I was seven and angry so I said yes. He started training me, and helped me track down the group who had killed my parents."

Pickles furrowed his brow, stopping her.

"Wait, wait. Dis dude started teachin' a seven-year-old to kill people?"

Olive nodded, and Pickles fumed.

"What a fuckin douchebag, jeezus christ."

"Yeah, he's… a real piece of work," she gave a strained smile, continuing, "I spent a few years doing select missions for various agencies, honing my skills. After getting my first phd, I went to Japan and picked them off one by one, then infiltrated a clan head meeting to finish off the man who had sent the kill order. I snuck in, and decapitated him from behind in the middle of the meeting. His head rolled right down the table," Olive gestured, mimicking the motion with her finger, "and landed right in front of Atsuko, who had worked her way up to clan head since my mom left."

"Whoah."

Olive grinned, seeming to recall the memory with fondness, "Going in, I was expecting it to be a suicide mission..."

Pickles' smile(which had formed at the mention of decapitation, as it should) dropped into a concerned frown at that comment.

"...that they'd kill me on the spot. But she recognized me, and insisted I stay and train under her. She was the closest thing I had had to a parent since…" she cleared her throat, "anyway, under her, I became the best, and she rose in the ranks as well. We were pretty unstoppable, at one point. But… it takes a lot out of you, mentally, killing that much, that often. And my mental health wasn't exactly stellar to begin with… the missions I was sent on were getting more and more grey, and I started having trouble justifying it to myself."

Sighing, she stared off into the trees, expression the most troubled he had seen it all night, "There was one, in particular... I was sent to take care of a traitor, someone who had ratted to the police and caused a big upset, leading to the deaths of some people I worked with. He was easy, but his wife and son were also in the house, and I... I couldn't leave any witnesses… and…" she took a breath, blinking as tears welled in her eyes, "I ended up losing my temper, and killed her right in front of the kid."

Olive sighed, shaky and deep and guilty, and looked away, tears quickly spilling over.

"Shit, hey…"

Pickles hopped the table, landing on the bench next to her as she began to tremble with restrained sobs, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head to his chest.

"Shh, hey, its ok... yer ok… shh, I gahtcha, I gahtcha."

Tears began to soak through his shirt, and he rested his cheek on top of her head, rubbing over her arm, muttering more words of comfort into her hair. After a while, her breathing began to calm, tears no longer flowing, and she sniffled.

"...the way the kid looked at me… I'll never forget it. It's burned into my fucking eyelids. I still see him in nightmares," she choked on a sob, burying her face further into his neck, "my memory was great even before the accident, but with my implants… I remember everything in perfect, excruciating detail."

Pickles gave her a squeeze, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, his heart aching for her.

"I realized I had become exactly what I had sought out to end. I was causing the same heartbreak and devastation, ruining lives in the same way mine had been, just perpetuating the fucked up cycle."

"So ya quit?"

"I didn't, for a while, I didn't want to disappoint Atsuko. But I… I was deteriorating pretty quickly. I was…" she swallowed heavily, and Pickles made a sound of encouragement, to which she shook her head against him, "...it's not important. But she caught on that something was wrong and drug it out of me, and after I spilled my guts, she told me to retire." she took another deep breath, inhaling the scent of smoke and alcohol comingled with expensive cologne, the musty scent of his dreads and the sweat of his skin.

Pickles had no right to smell this… comforting. It was so strange.

"Then what?"

Olive sighed, shrugging.

"Well, I hadn't planned on living past 19, so I didn't really know what to do with myself for a while." Pickles hummed, understanding that sentiment more than he cared to admit, "I went back to New York and crashed with my sister Violet until I got my own place, then moped around and stayed drunk and high for a few months. I put fifteen hundred hours into Skyrim, learned a couple new languages, wrote a book on chess strategy… anything to not think about it."

"Yeh wrote a book on chess strategy?"

Olive laughed, strained and small, but a laugh all the same.

"Yeah. I used to play competitively when I was younger."

"Fuckin' nerd."

Olive gave him a half hearted smack on the chest, grinning as Pickles chuckled, the rumble of his laugh making her realize she was still clinging to him. Sniffling, she reluctantly pulled away from his warm embrace, scrubbing her palm harshly over her face to wipe away her tears, coughing a bit. Pickles left his arm around her, resting his hand on her shoulder, taken aback at how tight her trapezius was, the muscle strained and tense with her anxiety.

"Gahd, dood, yer so tense. Here, turn around…"

Olive furrowed her brow, but did as he said, turning to face away as Pickles sat on the table behind her, caging her between his legs as he began to dig his fingers into the stiff muscle.

Blushing at the intimate action, Olive attempted to protest, "You don't have to-"

"Nah, it's cool. Yer shoulders are like fucking rocks, dood, yeh need this."

"Oh, um. Thanks."

Pickles hummed in acknowledgement, kneading the tissue of her shoulders and upper back, murmuring a soft relax as he guided her rigid muscles to ease. Olive groaned as he hit a knot, and Pickles doubled down on the spot, working his thumbs into the solid ball. Her head dropped forward with a soft sound of content, and Pickles grinned to himself, happy to share his talent for massage with someone who hadn't intentionally guilted him into it.

"So, how'd yeh end up rescuing kids?"

Olive blinked her eyes open, not having registered they had closed in pleasure.

"After a while, I thought I should start trying to make up for all the bad karma I had accumulated, so I did volunteer search and rescue, took E.R. shifts at a busy hospital, even filled in for paramedics sometimes. But…" she sighed, "this might come as a surprise, but I'm not the most socially adept person. And after being in underground crime for so long, I couldn't adjust back to a normal job, couldn't handle the social aspect of, you know, normal society, upstanding citizens…" she trailed off, whining as Pickles hit a tender spot in her shoulder, "Fuck you're good at that… but, yeah, so when I saw a listing for a crematory operator, I jumped on it, and ended up liking it so much I got a degree in mortuary sciences. And a few months later Charles found me."

Olive's breathing had long since leveled out, her sobs reduced to occasional sniffles, the muscles in her shoulders beginning to feel like flesh instead of stone. Silence fell over the pair as Pickles continued to knead into her, mulling over her words.

If she hadn't already killed those men, he'd do it himself. Er, well, he'd have Charles hire someone to. Maybe he could send a hit on her asshole of a dad? But he didn't know if she even hated the guy that much. Maybe she liked him? Though from the way she spoke, he doubted that to be the case.

It was all so fucked up, and honestly, he kind of regretted asking. Pickles felt anger churning deep inside him at the injustices done to her, surprising himself with how protective he felt over this chick he had barely known a month. But, hey, it wasn't because it was her, right? Like, what guy wouldn't want to rip to shreds the douchebags responsible for hurting the pretty girl crying in his arms? Right? Right.

Totally just instinct.

Definitely.

Derailing that train of thought before it could go too far, Pickles turned his mind back to processing the heavy load of information. All of it was so much to think on, but he chose to focus on a few less tragic things that had piqued his interest. She had worked in an E.R. She played, what was it? One thousand hours of Skyrim? Jesus, and he had thought Toki was intense with video games.

Sighing as Pickles finished, rubbing softly over her shoulders a couple times before combing his finger through her hair, Olive finally began to realize just how long she had been talking.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on like that…"

Olive wrung her skirt in her hands, tongue ring compulsively scraping over the back of her teeth, embarrassment and shame and regret of oversharing creeping in now that she had calmed down. She hadn't planned on telling him that much- just the basics, enough to satiate his curiosity- but he was so easy to talk to, and once the words had started they just kept coming, spilling up out of her throat like bile.

Apparently, she had needed to let this out more than she had realized.

...but why did she always have to lose her cool around Pickles? God, it was mortifying.

"Ya ain't gotta apologize. Don't worry aboot it. I asked, remember?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess. Still though… sorry."

"Hey, cahmon," Pickles leaned forward, draping his arms over her shoulders in a rough semblance of a hug, "I just said naht to apologize."

"Right, sor-" Pickles clicked his tongue, and she grinned sheepishly, "um, yeah."

Pressing a quick peck to her temple, the drummer backed off of her, plopping back down into the bench at her side, stretching his legs out in front of him and watching the trees sway in the soft wind.

"So, why'd ya say yes?"

"Hm?"

"T' Charlie. To workin' fer us."

"He's very…" Olive smirked, giggling to herself, "persistent, I guess is the best word. He wouldn't leave me alone until I accepted"

Pickles snorted.

"Yeeeah, sounds right," eyeing her from the sides of his eyes, Pickles' lips quiped up into a mischievous, lopsided smirk, "yeh sure it wasn't jest to meet us, though?"

Olive's eyes widened, cheeks heating at the accusation, "I- what? No, of course not."

Pickles' grin only grew, "Uh huh. Yeh don't hafta lie, I saw yer cd case. I know yer a fuckin' fangirl."

Olive gaped, blushing hard, and looked away, "...don't be ridiculous. If I wanted to meet you guys so badly, I would've just bought backstage passes instead of uprooting my entire life."

Pickles raised a brow at her, "Yeah, but could yeh have afforded them?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not exactly a budget hitman, you know."

"Right," another thought occurred to him, "yer dad is like, super rich too, right?"

Olive's face turned sour at the mention.

"Alastair is, yes. Old money, and all that bullshit. I got cut off a long time ago, though."

"Oh, uh. Sahrry."

"It's fine."

Silence settled over them, and Pickles jiggled his leg, drumming his fingers on the bench as he warded off the thoughts of his own family, of being young and out on his own.

"So, uh…" he was grasping for a change of topic, the serious tone of the night making him desperate for something to lighten the mood. A lightbulb went off in his head as he backtracked their conversation, recalling the Snakes cds in her car. Grinning, he propped his elbow on the table, leaning his cheek on his fist as he turned to her, "So which one a' us was your favorite?"

Olive hesitated, and that was all the answer he needed.

"Um, I, uh, didn't have one."

Grinning knowingly, Pickles slipped his arm around her waist, leaning close, "Yeah? So those Snakes cds in yer car were yer mahms and naht yers?"

Olive swallowed, caught, "Um..."

"Think I didn't notice I was the first one ya looked at when you met us?"

Oh, god, he had noticed that? He had known this whole time, right from day one? The realization was mortifying .

Curling a lock of blue around his finger, Pickles' gave a soft tug, grinning mischievously, "So… ya ever touch yerself to my pictures? My voice?"

"Oh my god."

The flesh of Olive's face was going to melt right off her skull with how hard she was blushing, she was sure of it. Refusing to dignify his obscene inquiry with a response, and unable to believe this conversation was actually happening, she remained quiet, crossing her arms and glaring into the trees. Pickles just grinned and squeezed her side, having way too much fun riling her up.

"Dats a yes."

Olive made a small sound of discontent, mumbling, "You're so mean."

"Aw, hey, c'mahn, don't be embarrassed. It's cute, yanno, flattering and shit. I don't blame yeh."

"Ugh, shut up! It's not my fault you're irresistible."

Immediately, Olive smacked a hand over her mouth, eyes bugging, shocked she had let that slip. Pickles laughed at the horrified expression on her face, wrapping his other arm around her front, giving an affectionate squeeze to her middle.

"Irresistible, huh?"

Groaning in embarrassment, she hid her face in her hands, wishing with all her might for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

Pickles expression softened a bit, and he gently took her wrists, easing them down away from her face, "Hey, c'mahn, don't do dat."

Olive shrugged, not looking at him, face still on fire, and Pickles felt a pang of guilt course through him. Maybe he was being too hard on her, considering her opening up to him.

"Hey. Lookit me?"

Steeling herself, Olive turned her head to him, eyes following soon after.

"Yeh know I'm only teasin', right?"

"Yeah."

Pickles smiled at her and softly tucked her hair behind her ear, cupping her face.

"Good. Don't ever take me too seriously, okee?"

Olive couldn't help but grin, giggling a bit, and Pickles felt his heart rate pick up at the sight.

"Hey, there's a smile."

Rolling her eyes, she made to turn away, but Pickles gently held her face in place. Swallowing thickly, Olive bit her lip as his bright green eyes bore into her, seeming to almost glow in the moonlight. His gaze was drawn to the motion, and he grinned, leaning in and pressing his smiling lips to hers in a feather-light touch.

One hand slid into her hair, brushing it back out of the way as the other cupped her jaw, thumb rubbing over her cheek as his lips met hers in slow, soft movements. Olive made a small, embarrassing sound, which was met with an amused one from Pickles as his warm hand settled on the back of her neck, calloused fingers playing with the baby hair at her nape, sending tingles coursing through her.

This kiss was nothing like the ones he had given her before; where Pickles' previous affections had been hot and heavy and full of need, this was gentle and soft, so tender that it almost hurt, and Olive was left melting. Pickles pulled back, just barely, bumping the tips of their noses together as he stared into her eyes, grinning fondly at the dazed expression on her face.

"Yeh look like yeh never been kissed before."

"Not-" her voice was weak, breath shaky, and she cleared her throat, "not like that."

And she hadn't. That was so- she struggled to place a word to it, to the way he was looking at her, eyes sparkling and soft, handling her so gently.

Romantic. It was fucking romantic.

Olive's heart was pounding so heavily, so loudly she was sure Pickles could hear it, could definitely feel it where his hand was pressed against her external jugular. Green eyes were searching hers, though what he was hoping to find was lost on her. And suddenly, he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, that warm, comfortable affection leaving his eyes, her brows furrowing as he leaned away, removing his hands from her. Pickles cleared his throat, kicking himself for getting so caught up in the moment as he stood, snatching their trash from the table.

"C'mahn, we should get going."

"Oh, um, yeah, I guess."

Did she miss something? What had just happened?

"This fucking blows."

Olive rubbed a hand across her face as Nathan slumped forward in his chair, behemoth form doubling over as his forehead plonked against the textbook in front of him.

"I feel like I'm not even learning anything."

"Come on, that's not true. You did that whole page of equations on your own."

"Yeah, but… I can't remember any of this shit."

The table was littered with scientific textbooks, and Olive sighed, placing his failed practice test on the pile of others next to her. Nathan groaned and propped his chin on the page, red mark on his forehead, and peeked up at Olive forlornly through his dark lashes.

"Why is this so hard?"

Olive slouched back in her seat and pursed her lips, knowing exactly why they were hitting such a snag here.

Because she, herself, had no fucking clue how to study. Her excellent memory recall had allowed her to glide through traditional education, and she had never needed to learn studying skills. But Nathan didn't have that, and she had no idea how to help him.

Not to mention that her mind was elsewhere. Namely, on Pickles' strange behavior the night before. The drive back to Mordhaus had been quiet and awkward, and the drummer had retreated to his room with only a peck to her cheek and a small g'night. Olive was left fretting over what she had done to make him react in such a way, scared that she had overstepped some invisible line, overshared too much, that he thought she was too much of an emotional burden.

Whatever the cause, she was finding it incredibly difficult to stay focused on the task at hand, becoming increasingly frustrated with herself for her inability to get past this snag in Nathan's curriculum.

Math had been surprisingly easy; it was just a matter of explaining how the equations functioned in a way that got Nathan interested, and then walking him through step by step until it clicked.

( "If you decapitated someone in a battle, and wanted to find their head to mount on a spike as a warning to future enemies, you'd need to use the, force, velocity, and angle of your swing to calculate the distance it would have soared." )

But now, try as she may to explain the concepts of biology and chemistry, Nathan was struggling, not only with wrapping his head around the processes, but with memorizing the terminology.

"How do people even learn this bullshit?" Nathan's eyes shot up to hers, "how did you learn this bullshit?"

Olive shrugged, sighing again, "I just… got it, I guess? I don't know. Science is my best subject, it just comes naturally."

"So I'm just a fucking idiot is what you're saying."

" No . Man, you have to stop calling yourself stupid," another sigh, "Look, I'm sorry. It's my fault you're struggling so hard with this."

Nathan scrunched up his nose, confused by her words, and her heart fluttered.

Adorable.

"Uh, how?"

"Because. I never had to learn how to study, so I don't know how to teach you to."

Nathan straightened back up, staring at her for a moment.

"How do you not know how to study? You're Asia-" Olive stared expectantly as Nathan stopped short, stumbling over his words, "...uh. I mean. Uh..."

Olive crossed her arms, brow raised, "Asian? I should know how to study because I'm Asian?"

Nathan flinched a little at her tone, shoulders hunching under her gaze,"Well. That's- it's just that- uh. I mean, you know… smart Asians, that's, like, you know, a… thing..."

"A 'racist stereotype' is the term you're looking for."

Nathan blushed, looking away with guilt, "Uh. Yeah. I didn't mean it like, you know, that. Like a bad thing."

Olive was quiet for a moment, watching as Nathan looked anywhere but at her. Being shoved into the stereotypical Smart Asian box was nothing she was unused to- plenty of kids at her time in public school while in foster care had made her the butt of their jokes over both her race and her smarts, often in tandem, and she had faced it on numerous occasions while attending college and working in the medical field in the U.S.

But she hadn't expected it from Nathan .

"...has anyone ever judged you for your ethnicity?"

Nathan finally looked at her, lips pursed, nd nodded. His mind turned to being called Tonto , being mocked for being a dumb savage in high school for his size and proclivity for violence coupled with an inability to think or speak as quickly as his classmates, and his stomach twisted, that familiar gross feeling of shame bubbling up his throat.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"No."

"Ok then. So maybe, even if you don't think its a bad thing , don't do that to other people."

"Right," he nodded again, hanging his head and pretending to read the book in front of him.

An awkward silence hung over them as Olive fiddled with the edge of a book, words of old classmates ringing in her ears.

How long do your parents make you spend studying every night? Five hours? Six? I bet you already have all the work done for the next month, don't you?

You're, like Chinese or something, right? You'll definitely get the job, everyone knows Asians make the best doctors.

Her blood boiled just thinking about it, and she had to make a conscious effort to unclench her fists.

Clearing her throat, she pushed it down, turning back to the topic at hand.

"Anyway, like I was saying…"

Nathan looked up at her, face apologetic though he still hadn't verbalized as much.

"I understand these concepts easily, and my memory is, well," she rapped her knuckles against the glass of her skull, "it was pretty damn good even before this. So I never really had to try."

Nathan grunted, eyes shooting to the side.

"Must be nice."

Olive ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it back out of her face.

"I mean, in a way, I guess. But it kinda sucks, too."

Nathan gave her an incredulous look, and she raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Seriously! Like now, for instance. I can't help you as much as I should be able to. I'm a shit teacher," he was still looking at her disbelievingly, so she went on, "and, like, since I never had to try, I don't know how to try. It's way harder to learn as an adult."

"What do you mean, you don't know how to try?"

"Just that. I don't know how to put effort into learning something. If I'm not immediately good at it, I quit."

Nathan scrunched his nose up cutely, "Like what. What are you not good at?"

"Well, I suck at anything music related, for one."

Nathan sat farther up, interest piqued, "You, uh, ever try any instruments?"

"A girl I was sleeping with in med school tried to teach me guitar once. But, like I said, I wasn't immediately good at it, so I didn't stick with it. Just, you know, felt like an instant failure."

Nathan's eyes widened a bit as the image of her naked and making out with another girl popped to the forefront of his mind, and he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, choosing to not address it.

"You, uh...y ou felt like a failure?"

"Well, yeah."

"But…" Nathan's nose wrinkled again, "you're, like, the smartest person I've ever met. Uh, you know. Aside from like. Charles."

"Being intelligent and having a good memory only gets you so far, though."

Nathan considered her for a moment, brows furrowed, then shrugged.

"Yeah. Well. It got you to us, didn't it?"

Olive bit her lip, smiling, heat coming to her cheeks.

"Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Their eyes met, and Nathan's face began to color as well.

"Uh. Yeah. Uh…" he quickly turned his gaze back to the textbook in front of him, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand, the silky shadow of his hair falling around him, "so, what do we do now?"

"Hmm…" Olive tapped her pen thoughtfully against the tabletop, eyes darting around in contemplation as she ran through possibilities. The others surely weren't proficient enough in chemistry and biology to be any help, and even if they were, would probably just be more of a distraction, so they were out. She didn't know if Charles was adept at the subjects since his specialty was obviously more on the financial end, and he probably wouldn't have the time to help anyway. She knew they employed many scientists for their strange research, but doubted Nathan would be open to their help.

If only one of her siblings were here…

Wait.

Nova was coming next week for Murderface's first therapy session. It wouldn't be a stretch to ask Violet to tag along, would it? She had been out of school for even longer than Olive, but was devastatingly type A. She had done tutoring for extra cash then, and had always put much, much more effort into school than Olive herself. If anyone could help set Nathan up with a study plan, it was her.

"I think I have an idea."

Nathan perked up a bit, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, uh, my therapist is coming to see Murderface in a few days, and, um, long story, but she's also my sister-in-law. Her wife, my sister, Violet, she's, like, the most organized person I know, used to do tutoring as a side job in college. I could ask her to tag along and help us set you up with a proper study plan. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Nathan was sitting there wide eyed, a bit taken aback with the influx of information.

"Wait, wait, wait. That's... Hang on. Back up. You got Murderface to agree to see a therapist?"

"Yeah."

"William Murderface. As in, Dethklok bassist, William Muderface."

"Yeah?"

" You- he- but- how?"

Olive shrugged, "We just, um, had a heart to heart."

"A heart to heart."

"Uh huh."

"With Murderface."

"Yes."

"And he, like, y'know. Actually listened to you?"

"It took a while, but yeah."

Nathan stared at her like she had grown a second head.

"...what did you say?"

"Hm?"

"To get him to agree? What'd you say?"

"Oh. I um…" Olive paused, considering if she should tell the truth, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth lying over. If she was going to go back on medication, they'd notice the initial side effects and question her on it, anyway, "...I told him I'd start taking my meds again if he started seeing someone."

Nathan regarded her for a moment, not knowing what to say to that. Of course he had noticed how anxious she was all the time- everyone had- and that she was a little fucked up in the head. But that wasn't something that was talked about in Mordhaus. So he feigned ignorance, not wanting to admit to paying that much attention to her, giving her a chance to back off the topic.

"You, uh… need medication? I, uh. Never would've guessed."

Olive deadpanned, "Nathan. Dude. You don't have to pretend you haven't noticed. I won't be offended."

Well. Shit. He had no clue what to say here. He wasn't good at talking about things like this.

"...right. Well, uh. Thanks. For, you know. Doing that. For Murderface. He, uh. He needs it."

Olive gave a soft smile, nodding.

"Yeah. I hope it helps."

"Yeah. Me too."

Pickles was stewing, and he knew it. He had been sitting here on the couch for hours, tossing back bottle after bottle of liquor in an attempt to drown out his racing thoughts. Thankfully, his bandmates knew to leave him be when he got in a mood like this, and, luckily, Olive had taken their lead. After breakfast, she had hesitated as if she wanted to ask him what was wrong, but had ultimately left him to his devices to start Nathan's study session.

"Hey."

Green eyes met green, and Pickles grunted, relieved that it was only Nathan, and not one of the others. Nathan wouldn't pry, wouldn't tiptoe around his mood, for which Pickles was always grateful.

"'sup."

Nathan grunted, dropping down on the couch like a sack of bricks, shaking the drummer slightly with the force. Pickles wordlessly offered the bottle of whiskey in his hand, and Nathan took a hearty swig, a companionable silence settling over the pair. Minutes ticked by as they passed the liquor back and forth, zoning out to the brain rot on the tv, until Nathan cleared his throat.

"So, uh… you really uh. Like her, huh?"

Pickles pulled the bottle from his lips, handing it off with a raised brow.

"Wuh?"

"You know. Olive. You really, uh, like her, or whatever."

Pickles blinked, not following Nathan's line of thinking.

"I mean… yeah, a'course I like 'er. Yeh say thet like you don't."

Nathan shifted, finishing off the last of the bottle and setting it on the floor with a *clink*.

"No. No. I mean… like, you like her like her."

Pickles froze at the accusation, heat pooling in his cheeks and a lead pit settling heavy on his stomach as he answered cautiously, "Nah, I mean, she's cool and all, but yah know I don't date."

"Oh, uh. Yeah. I know. But, like...", Pickles trained his eyes on the screen as Nathan continued, hoping the darkness of the room was enough to hide his fiery face, "you're always, you know. Sitting next to her. Looking at her and touching her and stuff. And you guys hang out alone a lot."

Pickles shrugged, surprised that Nathan had been paying that much attention, and attempted to play it off, "Well, yeah, dood, I mean, I was trying to fuck her."

"...but you did, already. Like, a couple weeks ago. And you're still doing all that stuff."

"Well, thets…" Pickles was wracking his brain for words, for some easy excuse to placate Nathan, anything but the truth, but there was none to be had, "Look, Nate'n, dood, 's naht like that. She's just, yanno, fun to hang out with."

"Right. But you're hanging out together and fucking. That's, like, basically dating."

Pickles scoffed.

"Riiiight. If thet's what yeh consider dating, then you an' me are too, pal."

Nathan's face flushed at that, and he turned away, hair obscuring him from view.

"That's… it's different. We're guys. She's, you know, a chick. It's different. Girls are, you know… its not gay to like girls."

Pickles laughed, the simple explanation tickling his intoxicated mind in just the right way.

"Yeeeah, no shit, dood!"

Nathan soon joined in, chuckling at his own phrasing, the two feeding off each other's laughter, Pickles slouching down further in his seat as they caught their breath, an easy calm settling over them despite the awkward topic.

"So, uh. What's she like in bed?"

Pickles blinked, having been yanked from his thoughts, but grinned a bent grin, sitting up a little straighter.

"Oh, dood, she's reaaaal cute. Yahknow how she gets all flustered and shit all the time? She's like that, but times a hundred."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why, you wantin' to…?

"Uh, I mean. Yeah. Yeah . Maybe. I uh, I just wanted to. You know. Make sure you were ok with it first or whatever."

"Yeah, dood, it's cool, I sweer. You'll have a lot of fun wit' her."

"You think?"

"Yeah," grinning and cupping his hands up to his chest, Pickles made a crude groping motion, "Gaht the most perfect pair a' tits I've ever seen."

"Huh, that's… huh. Cool. And uh, you're sure you don't..?"

"Nate'n, dood, stahp. I don't fuckin' like 'er."

Nathan held his gaze for a moment, searching, "Ok, you just seem like…" he trailed off as Pickles raised a brow, silently daring him to keep up the topic, "...nevermind."

Nathan soon retired, leaving Pickles to contemplate his own feelings.

He had been telling himself to slow down with Olive since that first morning after, since that first alarming wave of affection when he saw her laying there blissed out and glowing. Because, fuck, he had always been one to fall hard and fast, and he knew, he knew that those butterflies in his stomach spelled trouble. But Pickles had never been good at self discipline, at telling himself no, at holding back from something he wanted, and, god, he wanted Olive bad . She was so cute, walking around in those short little skirts and tight little chokers, blushy and so eager, always making him feel genuinely wanted, and he would be lying if he said seeing her handle that sword hadn't been a hell of a turn on.

And she was fun, not just sexually, but in a palling around, high as fuck, laughing at silly shit, 3am Taco Bell run kind of way. And she was nice, too, if a little cocky and standoffish at times. She was helping Nathan get his GED, had talked Murderface into therapy, never seemed to get irritated with Toki's endless questions, and smiled at him like she was genuinely happy to see him every day.

But he should stop. He really should. Especially if he was being obvious enough for people to take notice.

Each desperate touch and lovesick giggle and adoring press of her lips was a red flag, the warmth bubbling in his chest when she whispered his name alerting him to pull back, to step away, because he was getting too attached. And the previous night, how his chest had been filled with that wonderful, terrifying warm feeling, how he had kissed her like that. Things were getting too far and he needed to pull back, needed to distance himself from her, needed to stop giving in to the urge to have his hands on her at all times. Because it would be so, so easy for Pickles to let himself fall for her, and he couldn't bear the thought of giving his heart to someone only for it to be inevitably shattered, as it always was. The last time had nearly killed him, and he wore the reminder of that on his wrists every day. If it were to happen again… he wasn't so sure he could survive it.

So Pickles the Drummer didn't do relationships. It was a strict rule, one of his only two rules, along with not touching heroin again. A rule he had held to since his shit show of a divorce from his ex-wife Tara at the end of his Snakes days, the only exception being whatever that was that he had had with Magnus right after joining Dethklok. But that hadn't been a relationship, really; they were never, like, exclusive or whatever, it was only a volatile friendship with (mostly) aligned sex drives, and some weird possessiveness on Magnus' end. It had been a companionship of convenience and drug dependence, an excuse to have a familiar, warm body to sleep next to some nights. It was nice, at first(weren't all things like this at the beginning?) but had turned into a bad, bad thing, another self destructive coping mechanism for Pickles to add to his ever growing list.

And for the last decade or so, he hadn't considered letting someone even that close again, other than his band mates; they were family, and even if they did all fuck each other on occasion, none of them were dating . They kept their distances in that regard, keeping any feelings squashed deep, deep down. It had served him well enough over the years, and he wasn't about to put himself through all the trials and tribulations of a, ugh, relationship again.

So what if Olive was pretty, and smart, and a badass? So what if she had a phenomenal pair of tits, and they were perfectly sexually compatible? So what if she got along with his friends? So what if his fingers itched to hold her hand? So what if his heart wanted to thump out of his chest every time she smiled at him? So what if the sight of her crying made him want to beat the living shit out of the person who hurt her?

None of that meant that Pickles liked her liked her, right? Right.

And, anyway, it's not like she was exactly pressing for any kind of commitment. Yet, at least . Pickles had no idea what her feelings for him were beyond surface level attraction; it was hard to pin point what exactly she was feeling at any given time. They hung out together, he made her blush and laugh, but so did everyone else. Pickles prayed the casual, playful affection that seemed to be her default state wouldn't evolve beyond feelings of friendship. Toward him or any of them.

Because Pickles really, really didn't want to have to break another heart.

It was fine, for now. But it wouldn't last. Things like this never did. So there was absolutely, positively no way that Pickles would admit to himself, or anyone else that he might, maybe, possibly, have the teensiest, tiniest little baby of a crush on her.

He was happy like this. He was fine alone. He preferred it this way. Free to bang sluts and drink as much as he wanted and stay high out of his mind and not have to worry about hurting someone else because of it.

Pickles wasn't meant to have a happy ending, to have love. He didn't deserve it. He never had.

And the world had made that very, very clear.

Olive was wandering the halls, slowly heading in the general direction of the living room, debating with herself on if she should check in on Pickles, as he was in an obviously bad mood, when Nathan found her.

"Uh, hey."

Coming to a stop, Olive nodded at him, "Hey."

"So, uh... I guess I never, y'know. Said thank you, or whatever. For helping me study and shit. And, uh. For saving me from that guy," Nathan rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side, a cute little pink flush coming to his cheeks, "So. Yeah. Thanks."

His large hand came down on her head and ruffled her hair a bit, and Olive giggled, swatting him away.

"You're welcome. Glad I could help."

He grunted, an awkward pause settling over the pair.

"Do you wanna, like, I don't know. Come to my room sometime or something? So I can, uh, y'know, thank you. Like. Really thank you."

Olive blinked, scrunching up her nose as those intense green eyes trailed her body, and his meaning hit her.

"Oh- you mean- oh," Olive's face heated to a fiery inferno, and Nathan smirked, knowing and suggestive, "um, yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Yeah?" two large steps was all it took for Nathan to close the space between them, and Olive had to crane her neck back to maintain eye contact, "what else would you like?"

Mouth suddenly dry at his suggestive words, the deep rumble of his voice, his large form towering over her own, Olive swallowed thickly, arousal pooling between her legs, "I, um, I like a lot of things."

"Yeah?" Nathan's eyes nearly glowed in his shadowed face as he loomed over her, inky black hair curtaining down around them, tickling against her cheek, his warm breath fanning over her. Pickles was right, she was really fucking cute like this, and Nathan couldn't deny her small form and flustered reactions were riling up his more dominant side. Itching to just toss her over his shoulder and take off to his room right this instant, or even just fuck her right here against the wall, Nathan settled for placing his hands on her waist, pulling her a step closer.

"Y-yeah," Olive was melting into a puddle, mind racing with the thoughts of what Nathan could do to her, and she rubbed her thighs together as she felt herself get wet, dying to find out just what those big hands were capable of, "Are you busy tonight? Like, right now?"

Nathan's eyes practically sparkled at her words, "There's, uh, some groupies waiting in my room."

"Oh," Olive's heart dropped at that, disappointed to be so worked up and then turned down. But Nathan seemed to sense her dissatisfaction, and was quick to dispell her worries, "I'll just have them sent away."

Olive bit her lip, not sure how she felt about him canceling his plans and letting down a room full of women for her sake, "Oh, you don't have to-"

"I want to. I'd rather be with you." Both their eyes widened, Nathan not intending to let something that sentimental slip. Choosing to be with one chick instead of having an orgy was decidedly unbrutal. Clearing his throat, he straightened back up, soft pink blush on his cheeks as he averted his gaze to a torch lining the hall, "Uh. I mean, uh. It's, you know. No problem. I can sleep with groupies whenever."

"Um, yeah, that's, that's fine. If you're ok with it, that is."

Reluctantly removing his hands from her, Nathan pulled his Dethphone from his pocket, pulling up the contact for his personal klokateer and typing a quick message with instructions for the girls in his room to be rescheduled, "Well, duh. It was my idea…"

"Right."

Pocketing his phone, Nathan focused his attention back on her, a large hand cupping the side of her neck, tilting her chin up with his thumb, "They'll be gone soon."

Olive nodded, breath hitching as Nathan leaned down, pausing to allow her time to pull back if she wished, then proceeded forward to press his lips to hers. Butterflies erupted in her chest, fluttering erratically as his warm, smooth lips greeted hers in deep, slow kisses. Whimpering at the gentle passion, Olive wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to pull her flush to his body, one hand roaming her waist and back as the other tangled in her hair, pulling softly to better angle her as he guided her into opening her mouth, his tongue grazing softly against her lip before delving in to taste her.

God, Nathan was so warm, and so big, and his hands were so strong. Olive felt her knees going weak, and she was left both relieved and aching as he pulled back.

"You ready?"

Breathless, Olive nodded, heart pounding in her chest as Nathan took her hand, leading her off down the hall.

A/N: Sorry for the spicy clifhanger, but this was getting so long already.

A big thank you to everyone who has left comments! They've all been so sweet, and I'm so glad you all are enjoying reading. Don't worry, Nathan, Murderface, and Toki will all get some action in the coming chapters. I'm feeling very inspired with this again, so expect more frequent updates.

Also I realized I never put content warnings on previous chapters for violence, gore, an excessive amount of sex, casual polyamory, references to childhood abuse, discussions of mental heallth, and canon typical things like mild homophobia/racism. Sorry! I cross post this on AO3, and the tagging there has me so spoiled that it completely slipped my mind that I needed to write those in here. I'll be putting chapter relevant content warning at the beginning of each chapter from now on, because some things will start getting heavy as the story unfolds.

Also a special shout out to whitneygreen48 for leaving a comment on every single chapter, your reviews always make me smile :)