#Took a lot of power to not start reading episodes aloud in public

[coconut530]

Bump in the Night & Sleeptober Day 25: Icy Breath & Ritual

Ritual:

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: In The Act {3}

Chris Evans x Famous OFC Cassia Drake

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Plenty of Words

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: After the release of your hit movie “Roman Holiday,” you’ve become Hollywood’s new “It Girl.” Everyone wants a piece of you. While at a Hollywood event, you get pulled into an epic selfie similar to the one from the MET Gala with the megastars of Hollywood. The next day all anyone can talk about is this epic picture but not because of the star power in it, but what was happening in it.

Note: Yep, another one. 

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

**Heavily Interactive**

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Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 

Thank god for slow mornings. You couldn’t think of the last time you were able to wake up without Pieter either standing over you or walking into your bedroom. He was the only one your mother trusted with you, and he just so happened to be a big shot entertainment manager. When you told your mother that you intended to pursue a career in acting, she was livid. She went on a tirade of the number of black actresses who either had to do questionable things to even have a minor break and those who just were used and turned away. She stressed the vast inequalities in the entertainment industry and worried for your mental and emotional health in the cruel industry. She didn't want you anywhere near the entertainment industry. She wanted you to fall into her second career field and be a lawyer.

 It took months of you doing it on your own before you got your first role, it was small, but you played the shit out of the third black friend to the white lead actress then did it again and again and again. After your fourth role, your mother came around and brought Pieter into the mix. You knew of him from the industry. He’d been in a few tabloid magazines standing next to a few actresses. Your mother introduced him as her school friend from back in the day. You wanted to question her, but you knew better than that and just accepted the story she fed you. You always suspected there was more to it. The two of them sat you down for three hours to have a meeting on your goals with the industry.

After you went on and on for an hour, they went on and on for the next two outlining what needed to happen, how you needed to take things seriously, and put thought into the roles you auditioned for and so on. By the end of the meeting, you were on information overload, and that was when your mother told you the only way she’d be okay with you in this cutthroat town was if Pieter managed you. There was nothing in you that wanted to say no, so you said yes. That was two years now, and it had been a rollercoaster from the beginning.

 Once in your kitchen still in your bra and panties, you perused the shelves in your fridge and took out the huge fruit salad you found there. After smelling it, you settled that it was still good and hopping onto the kitchen island and turned on the TV. As you ate, you flipped through the channels determined not to go to anything that required a brain cell. After a few moments of searching, you decided to finish the episode of Castlevania you’d started weeks ago.

 You got lost in the lore of the Dracula themed animated series and the deliciousness of the fruit you were eating. You’d tuned everything out so well that you didn’t even hear anyone approach.

 “Cassia!”

 “What!”

 You looked back to see Tiffany with her head poked around a corner looking at you.

 “I think you’re gonna want to come out here,” she said with a look on her face you didn’t recognize.

 “Uhh—why?”

“Just come look.” With that, her head was gone. Sighing, you pressed pause on the show, hopped off the counter, stabbed a piece of honeydew, and walked to where she’d disappeared. When you walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to your foyer, there sat a rather large floral arrangement.

 “What the fuck is this?”

 “What does it look like?”

 “Flowers,” you answered before you shoved the fruit in your mouth to stand beside Tiffany.

 “Duh.”

 “Who are they from?”

 You both stood there, just staring at it. They were gorgeous.

 “I don’t know. I have been trying not to grab the card,” tiffany added. You looked at her; there was a wide ass grin on her face.

 “It’s probably from Vouge thanking me for the photoshoot yesterday,” you surmised as you approached the arrangement. The scent of roses was powerful but not overwhelming.

 Grabbing the card, you glanced at the front to see your name written across it. You didn’t recognize the handwriting. When you opened it, you scanned the words written, expecting to see “thank you.” Instead, you saw the words, “I’m sorry.” Bringing the card closer to your face, you read the words. Each word you read, your eyes bugged out even more and more until your jaw had dropped.

 “What? Who’re they from?”

 “Not Vouge.” Tiffany walked to you and took the card from your hands and read it aloud.

 “Cassia, allow me to begin by extending my most sincerest apology to you for first my behavior the night of the fashion event and second the position I have put you in with the press. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my actions and behavior,” Tiffany began before she looked at you with eyes wide.

 “Is this who I think it is? Oh my god, Cass!”

 She dropped her eyes back to the card and continued. “I am embarrassed and ashamed of my actions and behavior, and I deeply regret them. I am very sorry, and I want you to know that in no way did I mean to objectify you or your body. I have two sisters and a strong Italian mother, and I was not raised that way at all. I hope that you can forgive me and my actions and not hold it against my family. Please accept these flowers as a token of my most heartfelt apology. Sincerely Chris Evans,” Tiffany finished with the squeal of his name.

 “Oh my god! Cass!”

 You’d been frozen in place for the last two minutes as she read the card. There were a plethora of things running through your head. One of which was the number of formal words he’d used.

 “Oh my fucking god! Cass, is this his handwriting? It looks like it could be, it’s legible. Oh my god.”

 You heard Tiffany reread the card, and as she did, you turned back to the flowers and observed them. You took notice that the flowers were all in your favorite colors. That made you wonder if he knew your favorite colors, or this was just a florist’s decision.

  “Why are you so quiet? Why aren’t you freaking out?”

 “Do you think he knows my these are my favorite colors?”

 Tiffany looked back to the arrangement then let out a “hmm.”

 “Do you think he specially researched you in order to send these? It is possible. this card sounds like he put a lot of thought into it.”

 You took the card from her and reread it for yourself. She was right; the handwriting wasn’t horrible, by no means was it gorgeous, but it was nice. You began to wonder if he had, in fact, written it himself.

 “Are you going to reply?”

 That was the million-dollar question. You didn’t see a need to. Even if you did, what what you say? Thank you, Mr. Evans, for apologizing for looking down my dress. Though I enjoyed the attention, and I am flattered, It was highly inappropriate? Somehow that didn’t seem right.

 “No need,” you answered before you walked away toward the kitchen and your fruit salad.

 “What!”

 Tiffany’s footsteps were loud as she trudged behind you.

 “Why wouldn’t you reply? This could be one of the cutest meet-cute stories for your grandkids.”

 “Oh my god, Tiff, grandkids? Are you insane right now?”

 “Girl, don’t even try and lie and say you don’t think the man is fine.”

 “I never said he wasn’t attractive.”

 “Attractive? Cassia Anjelique Drake, you know you a damn liar. The man is more than attractive. He is gorgeous,” Tiff corrected.

 “And he knows it, Tiffany. You can tell. I bet part of him thought he could have gotten away with x-ray visioning me, and no one would have called him out for it.”

 “Cass,” Tiff began before you cut her off.

 “—We’re not responding,” you finished turning back on Castelvania.

 You knew Tiffany did not approve and also knew you hadn’t heard the end of it. You tried to focus on the show, but it was useless. Your mind only wanted to think of one thing—or person. Chris Evans.

 Your day was just for meetings. Pieter had set you up with six meetings for the day. The first three were about movie roles he thought would suit your brand. They were all varying roles, one the lead in an action flick, another the love interest in a rom-com, and the third in a sci-fi type dramady. He said the worst thing in the world was being typecast. With Roman Holiday being a romcom, you knew he’d want your next role to be on the far opposite side of the spectrum.

The roles sounded exciting, and the scripts intrigued you. When they began talking about the expected salary for the films, you were impressed. They were practically throwing their money at you. You couldn’t believe the money actors actually received for a few months of work. Yeah, the schedule could be daunting and preparation never ending, but millions of dollars for maybe five to six months of work was just fine by you.

 After the three movie meetings where you agreed to take the scripts and reread them before you got back to them, you moved on to a meeting with your team to discuss the next three months for you while going over the last three months. This happened quarterly, and you found the meetings insightful. They kept you on track with your goals and kept things in perspective. Your mother always said you are only as good as a capable team around you.

Your team comprised of your agent, Eduardo, whose job was to hunt down all the roles he could for you and field calls and interest from anyone and everyone in the business. Second, your publicist Julez, her domain was everything concerning your PR. Her job was to make sure that everything about you in the public remained favorable. She was good at what she did, and took her job seriously. Then was your lawyer, Martin, who was the second-best entertainment lawyer in the business. The best as far as you were concerned was your mother. His job was to keep everything legal and make sure no one tried to take advantage of you business-wise. Fourth, was your accountant, Greg. He was your money man. He made sure every cent you agreed upon with your contracts, was sent to your bank account and that every dime in your account was accounted for at all times. He even helped you invest that money, so it always grew. Then came your part-time stylist, Frenchie. Her job was to keep you looking incredible when she was needed. Finally, there was Pieter who oversaw them all. Tiffany nicknamed them Star Team, in honor of your name.

Though you’d learned to listen and follow along when they talked, you had to admit most of the information was boring to you, so you often drifted off. You never felt guilty about it because Tiffany was always recording the meetings and inventorying them for you if you needed to reference them later.

 “Okay, is that all?” Pieter looked around at their faces around the conference table.

 “One more thing, Julez began. “Have you decided how you’d like to move forward with eh-em, Boobgate?”

 The murmurs around the desk picked up before Julez went on. “The media seemed to love your snarky, comedic comeback, Cassia. They are now doing most of the work for us by calling you good-spirited and easy-going for shrugging it off. A lot of the comments since are in good fun. I don’t see anything negative to come through, so I’m going to say we’re staying in good parameters. I have noticed though a great increase in searches about you and your overall name being mentioned. People love talking about you and Chris,” Juelz finished.

 “Why wouldn’t they? They look gorgeous together,” Frenchie added.

 “That seems to be the overall consensus. It is fascinating even those in his fandom do not seem to be spinning this negatively, which is always a concern with him and his team,” Juelz informed.

 That was not news to you. When you had yet to make your big break, you followed celebrity discourse, and the Chris Evans fandom was insane. It seemed any little thing set them off, and once a fire was sparked, it would burn for weeks. With your rising fame, you worried about things like that on your end and being swept up in someone else’s insanity.

 “So let’s leave it there. Let the media run with it where they will. We’ll do and say nothing on it. We’ll let this work for us,” Pieter finalized.

 Everyone nodded before he called an end to the meeting, and everyone began to leave the room. Before you left, Pieter took the time to remind you about your last meeting of the day and share the news about a few other side projects he’d been working on for you. He shared that within a week or two, he hoped to be able to share the full news but that he was excited at the turn talks had taken today. You were curious but knew if you asked him to elaborate, he would only shoo you away, promising it would be a good surprise. He had your mother’s trust and had earned yours, so you allowed him to keep his secrets—for now.

 After your last meeting, you found yourself home alone before midnight. This was the first time you'd been able to get any alone time. As you made it in your bedroom, you realized the flowers were now perched on your bedside table. They were even more beautiful in the glow of the moonlight that was shining through your balcony windows. Tiffany must have sent a message to the housekeeper to move them there.

 You took up the card and reread it, all the while smiling. It was a sweet apology note and a kind gesture. You were surprised Julez didn’t bring them up in the meeting until it dawned on you that either she didn’t know which meant they came directly from him and not his assistant or team or she didn’t want to put you on the spot. While she technically answered to Pieter, she knew your money was what paid her salary. That meant you and her had an understanding about your PR needs. You liked discretion on things that no one else needed to know. This—you didn’t want Pieter knowing about. There was no need for him to know. It meant nothing.

 The next day before you left your house, there was yet another bouquet and the card that accompanied it read; “Just in case you didn’t believe the first card I sent with the first arrangement I wanted to double down to make sure you knew that I am very much sorry.”

 Tiffany didn’t say one word, all she did was give you a look, and that one look said plenty of things in one. “Heifer, you better reply to that man and live your life while swinging from his chandelier butt ass naked.” You had no intention of doing anything that look said.

 The next day, another bouquet was waiting for you. this card was a little more amusing. “The first bouquet I could say you possibly didn’t receive. I know your life is busy, and anything can happen, but the second one, eh, less believable that you didn’t get no matter how much my pride is screaming at me that you didn’t just to save face. This one, I am sure you got, I had my assistant take care of it and attach a delivered and received receipt. So you responding is a purpose thing, and that makes me think I fucked up really bad, so bad that flowers won’t fix it, and you don’t forgive me. So I propose an alternative option. Allow me to apologize in person and explain myself. You pick the time and the place, and I’ll show up.”

 When Tiffany saw this one, she lost her shit. She went on a full twenty-minute speech on why you should respond and accept his proposal. She went through exhibits A to Z as to why this was a good idea. She conveniently skipped the letter P knowing damn well the only thing you both could think of was Pieter. You knew that if he knew about any of this, he would flip his lid. When she included in her argument that you could make all of his dreams come true that he’s had all his life but was too afraid to inquire about.

 You allowed her to go on her rant but still decided against responding or meeting him.

  ~~~~~~~~

-2 Days Later-

  “So Cassia, everyone wants to know about this picture that is still the talk of the town. You haven’t made a statement, Chris hasn’t made a statement. What gives?” Ryan Seacrest’s question had you giggling.

 “Nothing gives, Ryan. Not everything needs an explanation. Sometimes as humans, we have to learn to be okay with what is,” you philosophized.

 Silence stretched for a full ten seconds before everyone around you busted out laughing, including yourself.

 “Wow, I almost fell for that,” Ryan added, making you laugh louder.

 “Darn, I almost got away with it.”

 “You would have if I really didn’t want an answer,” Ryan slid in.

 “Ah, everyone wants an answer, Ryan. I don’t have an answer to give.”

 “You weren’t there?”

 “No. It was my twin sister, Alicia.”

 Another long stretch of silence filled the room. You could tell they were trying to figure out if you were telling the truth. “See, you guys are easy,” you teased, making them laugh again.

 “So, you’re really not going to make a statement?”

 “I went to an event and met a lot of cool people and had a great time.”

 “Did you and Chris Evans leave together?”

 “Not at all.”

 “Did you exchange numbers?”

 “Nope.”

 Another silence befell the room, and you knew they didn’t believe you. For the next five minutes or so, you finished the interview while keeping tightlipped about the hottest topic. When you left, you were met with the paparazzi yet again, who were shouting new questions.

 “Cassia, are the rumors true?”

 “What rumors, guys?”

 “That you’re in a relationship with Captain America himself.”

 You tried to hide your shock before you quickly spoke.

 “Who said that?”

 Tiffany snorted beside you, no doubt thinking of her favorite gif.

 “It is all over social media,” one of the paparazzo informed.

 “That’s news to me,” you finished as your security got you to your truck. Before you got in one more question was screamed at you.

 “How’d it feel to have Captain America checking you out?”

 You couldn’t hide your smirk this time, and it was a smirk that only got bigger and bigger. Before you cheesed like a full-on idiot, you ducked in the truck.

 “Your smirk said it all,” Tiffany said as you facepalmed.

 After a quick trip to the market for some essentials, you made it home to finish reading the scripts you needed to have done in two days. When you walked inside, you ignored the second bouquet of flowers, Chris sent you the day after the first and went upstairs. Once in your bedroom, the third bouquet he sent yesterday caught your eye. The first one was a shock, the second a surprise, the third confusing.

 After your shower, you walked back into your bedroom to find another bouquet that wasn't there thirty minutes ago. You knew they were from him. This was now amusing. What was his angle, you thought to yourself as you crossed the room to the flowers. Taking a deep whiff of them, you moaned. You loved the scent of Gardenia. They always put you in the frame of mind of romance and sensual rolls in bed. With that thought, you paused. Was he trying to tell you something?

 Grabbing the envelope, you noted it was a lot bigger than the cards that accompanied the other bouquets. Once opening it, you saw a sheet of paper that felt heavier than standard paper, and with it came what you now knew was his handwriting. “Okay, after thinking about this for the last week trying to figure out what it is about me that you don’t like or won’t even entertain. Let’s start with the massive elephant in the room; I’m white.”

 You had to laugh out loud for that. After almost a full minute of laughter that made you have to sit on your bed, you continued. “I know a major turn off, and unfortunately, it’s not something I can change. However, I can assure you that though I am white aesthetically, I am not fully white in any other department, and yes, that includes dancing.”

 Again you laughed, dropping onto your back while flailing your legs in the air. He was on a roll; you thought before you continued. “Second, it must be you’re not into white guys. For that, the only thing I can offer is I’m not against wearing a paper bag to hide the fact that I am, in fact, white. It would be a case of none are the wiser. If, however, your gripe with me is my behavior from nights before, I promise I’m not a sleaze twenty-four hours of the day. I am capable of looking directly into your eyes for an entire conversation, I promise. Let me prove it to you. 424-947-5639.”

 Your jaw dropped. Chris freaking Evans just gave you his phone number. You couldn’t move for the next ten minutes. You just sat there in a stunned stupor. You couldn’t believe this was real. Half of you was fangirling because hello not too long ago; you were a fan. You still were. The other half was freaking out because Chris Evans just gave you his phone number. Was he just being friendly, or was he shooting his shot?

 MSG: Question.

MSG Tiff: Answer for two hundred Alex.

MSG: How does one shoot their shot?

MSG Tiff: What? Cass, has it really been that long since you’ve made the first move?

MSG: Do you know who you’re talking to? I’ve never made the first move. That is beside the point. I’m not talking about me shooting my shot. I mean when someone shoots their shot at you. What exactly does it look like?

 You saw the bubbles knowing she was probably writing a long ass message. Almost a minute later, the message came in.

 MSG Tiff: Uh, were you not present at the Laker’s game when the Sixers were in town, and Jonah Bolden stopped the game to come over and shoot his shot?

 You laughed. You hadn’t forgotten that, mainly because it was everywhere the next day. The two of you talked for a few weeks, but your schedule and his had things fizzling real quick.

 MSG: Yeah, but he was black, Tiff.

  That was when the facetime call came in. you rolled your eyes but answered it. “So are we asking what it looks like when a white guy shoots his shot? Is that to lead me to think you mean a particular America’s ass?”

 “Oh my god, Tiff. Just answer please,” you pleaded with exasperation.

 “I need to know who first. White guys shooting their shot do not come in one size fits all. So who?”

 Rolling your eyes again, you told her and prepared for the scream. It was as loud as expected.

 “Okay, I knew he was feeling you. A man doesn’t look at any ol breasts like that,” Tiffany joked before she continued. “He looks like he could have game, but it could be cheesy game. Did he send you more flowers?”

 You turned the camera to the new bouquet, and she melted. “Oh my god, those are to die for. They just get more and more beautiful. He definitely put research into this one. you love gardenias.”

 It was true, and the thought had crossed your mind. When she asked what the note said this time, you read it to her. It had her laughing just as hard and long. When you mentioned that he ended it with his number, she screamed again.

 “Call him!”

 “No!”

 “Cassiopeia Anjelique Drake! The man has shot his ultimate shot,” Tiffany shouted, using your entire full name.

 You rolled your eyes and dropped back onto your bed.

 “I can’t call. Pieter will freak,” you excused.

 “Fuck, Pieter!” It came from the depths of her soul, you could tell. “This is your life, your pussy!”

You face palmed yourself again. She had to go there.

 “I’m serious. I know you’ve heard the rumors from that comedian he dated, and he swears his fingering is accurate, and you have seen his beard. A man with a beard like that is good for one thing.”

 You screamed and died again. She was in prime form right now.

 “Cassia.”

 Groaning, you sat up and sighed out. “I gotta go Tiff, I’m supposed to have a video conference in ten minutes, and I’m sitting here in a towel. I’ll call you later.”

 “When you call me, you better be telling me that you talked to that man,” Tiffany shouted out as you were ending the facetime call.

 You quickly got yourself together, and presentable then made it to your office to prep for the conference with the scripts. Seeing how far behind you were with the scripts, you show the participants a quick email to push it back by a few hours. Then you buckled down to actually get some work done instead of thinking about the real reason Chris Evans had a beard.

Two hours later, you were on the conference and going through the script line for line, film direction after direction. If one script would have taken an hour to go through, then three took you triple the time. By the time you’d finished for the day, you were all talked out, exhausted, and starving. Glancing at your phone, you saw missed calls from Tiffany and your mother and groaned at the fact that it was after one in the morning. If you’d have known following your dreams meant bye-bye to normal sleep hours, then you may have thought twice.

With the craving for the most unhealthy crap raging within you, you got into your car and went for a drive. While the time meant not many were out, you knew anywhere in the heart of LA would be a mistake. You drove half an hour out of the way to Pasadena to the burger spot you found by accident. It was no Shake Shake, but it offered two of your favorite things in one place, Burgers and Pies.

 As you walked inside the small shop, you smiled, grateful it was practically empty. You walked to the back of the retro style burger joint and sat in the last booth. Deciding it was safe to drop your disguise, you took off your hat and sunglasses and took a deep breath of the glorious smell of burger and pies. You weren’t waiting long before a waitress came over with a note pad.

“Welcome. Can I take your order?”

 “Yes, the Big Ben burger with the works, please.” She looked at you like you were insane.

 “Are you sure? That’s a big plate,” she warned. You smiled and nodded.

 “Oh yeah. I haven’t eaten all day,” you assured.

 “Okay. How would you like it?”

 “Very well done, please.”

 She nodded as she jotted your order down. “Anything to drink?”

 “Ginger Ale with a lemon slice, please,” you finished before she nodded and walked away.

 You really liked this place. It was one of the few places that still had a jukebox. Digging into your purse, you pulled out a quarter then walked to the device that wasn’t too far from the booth you’d chosen. As you perused the selections of old and new music, you tried to gauge the mood you were in. It had been a while since you were able to sneak away on your own. You were in the mood for some relaxation but a bit of fun. You tapped in the key combination and turned the knob, and waited for the tune to play. When the oldie by Rihanna “Pon de Replay” came on, you began flicking your hips from side to side until you began winding it.  You heard the distant ring of a bell that signified someone else had entered the restaurant, but it didn’t register, you were too into the song.

 When you really got into it, you dipped it low as instructed and began singing along. That was when your entire body got into it, and you tapped into your own inner bad gyal. When you turned around, you yelped loudly, drawing the attention of the waitstaff to you. Before you stood the person, you least expected to see. The crooked quirk of his lip gave him the most roguish look you’d ever seen, a look that shouldn’t have turned you on the way it had—but it did.

 “Don’t stop on my account,” Chris teased with an impossibly deep voice. It never sounded that deep in interviews, you thought to yourself before your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. His cerulean eyes fell from yours to your mouth, and you watched as his tongue slowly slid across his lips. Your nipples beaded painfully, and you didn’t need to look down to know that if anyone looked, it would be more than noticeable.

 Why are you turned on right now, you questioned in your head. There was no logical reason for it. Yes, he smelled—incredible. There was no way anyone should smell that good; it was impossible. He smelled like fruits, sea salt, sunshine, vanilla, and a very appealing musk. He smelled like he took four showers a day and took pride in being groomed to perfection. The more you thought about it, the harder your nipples got.

 “Cat got your tongue?”

 Clearing your throat, it came out most exaggeratedly with a long high pitch. Chris’s brows wrinkled as he looked at you as if there might have been something wrong with you.

 “Uh—are you okay?”

 Instead of words, it was terrifying giggles that came out, making you sound like a deranged, cackling Hyena. The look on Chris’s face only became more concerned. You cleared your throat again this time more naturally and straightened your back.

 “What’re—what’re you doing—here?”

 “In a public restaurant?”

 “Yeah, this public space,” you clarified before you crossed your arms over your breasts. “It’s mine.”

 “Yours? You own it?”

 “No, but it’s my secret place.”

 “Ah, I see. If it was so much of a secret, then how did I find it?”

 He was contesting you, challenging you. It was at this moment you got the vibe from him that he was the type of man who liked to debate, compete, and win. A man like that should have had your red flags blaring, but no red flags were waving. The only thing that was waving in front of you was a deep curiosity to know this man in a way that you hadn’t wanted to know anyone before.

 Shrugging, you walked back to your table and sat. He approached you all the while, never taking his eyes off of you. You bit your bottom and tried to keep your thoughts boring. Before either of you could speak again, the waitress came back with your order.

 “Big Ben burger with the works and fries and a ginger ale with lemon slices.”

 When she put it down, she looked to Chris, who dipped his head low and pulled down his hat. The woman looked as if she might have recognized him, but she didn’t speak; she just peered closer. You cleared your throat and slid your plate closer. It was enough to distract the woman.

 “Will there be anything else, honey?”

 “No, thank you.”

 “And you? Will you be staying or going?”

 Chris looked to you with one eyebrow raised. Your eyes met, and you saw the question in them. It was a mix of a question and a challenge. He expected you to answer. It would give you the control of the situation, and it would also make it so you’d have to blatantly turn him down in front of his face rather than ignoring him as you’d been doing the last few days. You bit your bottom lip and took a deep breath. You had enough balls to turn him down right here. You’d done worse to other guys—a lot worse. The question was, did you want to do it to him.

 When you locked eyes with him again, an amused smile spread across his lips. You bit your bottom lip again and sighed.

 “He will be staying,” you answered.

 The waiter looked to you then to him and nodded. Chris slid into the booth before you still keeping eye contact. The longer he looked at you; the more unnerved you became.

 “All right, what can I get you sugar?”

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

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

[kalira]

How about MadaTobi for the ship meme?

Bless, Mousie. Also, man, I hope this is what you’re looking for from me? Because I love them but my canon knowledge is based on what I’ve read off wiki and a few detailed episode/chapter notes, and my mental picture of them is influenced in various ways by @raendown, Kael_Vercorian, @dahtwitchi, @blackkatmagic, and all their awesome works. >.>

Who said “I love you” first

Madara. He kind of shouted it, actually, and hadn’t thought about it before the declaration came out of his mouth. (It took him more by surprise than it did Tobirama at that point. Madara’s not dumb but he can be a bit slow when it comes to emotional things and he was kind of obvious.)

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Madara … but don’t ask him that or he would deny it. Fiercely. (Much the same way he would deny the equally fiercely sappy look he gets when he’s watching Tobirama who is absorbed with something else and not paying attention.) Uchiha might love with a desperate sort of fixated devotion but they are not sappy damn it.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Tobirama … only not generally fog - ice, sometimes - and they aren’t little love notes or affectionate reminders, he leaves notes on experiments or theories on the shower wall, the mirror, etc. so he doesn’t forget them. Sometimes Madara complains, but he’s gotten used to it honestly - and really there’s only so much point in trying to change certain aspects of Tobirama’s behaviour. His experiments are definitely one of those arenas.

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Madara, although he never means to do it - that is, he doesn’t set out for such things, and often doesn’t even particularly go looking for presents at all. He’s prone to impulsive displays of affection, awkward as they may be, however, including ‘I saw this and thought of you don’t make a big deal about it shut up’. Tobirama is often faintly baffled by this, but it’s hardly the strangest thing Madara does to baffle (or irritate) him on a regular basis, and sometimes it’s even sweet.

Who initiated the first kiss

Madara, in a sort of headlong rush that he thought about (rather a lot, despite his attempts at repression and denial) but didn’t necessarily intend to put into practise … or not quite in that way. Or so soon. Or without an invitation or concrete idea how Tobirama would react.

He didn’t honestly expect to be kissed back (maybe punched or half-drowned) but there is one inexplicable and startling reaction from Tobirama he is never going to complain about.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

…given I’ve actually written this story (sort of) I suppose I should say Madara? >.>

Really, waking one’s shinobi partner is best undertaken carefully, particularly when venturing that far into personal space.

Regardless of that, Tobirama sometimes can’t resist teasing Madara awake with light kisses and watching him flail sleepily, then sink into slightly grumpy purrs as he latches on to Tobirama in an attempt to keep him warm and close and in bed damn it.

Who starts tickle fights

It doesn’t matter who starts them (usually one or the other of their idiot siblings, occasionally Madara), Tobirama finishes them. Not because he’s almost too fast to counter effectively (though he is), or too good at finding vulnerable spots and exploiting them (though he’s that too), but because you can get one good startle response and giggle out of him before he will murder you if you don’t stop and show not one iota of a flail or laugh even if he has to crack a rib suppressing his reaction. (Touka could have warned Madara about this, because she’ll never forget it after Tobirama broke her nose in the middle of a tickle fight when he was very small, but she wanted to see what he would do. Hashirama tried to warn Madara about this, but he didn’t listen.)

Unless, of course, Madara can get some of the kids - Uchiha, Senju, any random assortment of village brats; they all of them seem to like following Tobirama around, it’s not hard to find them (sometimes Madara really wishes it were harder; they’ve been interrupted too many times by the brats) - to tackle Tobirama and start a tickle fight. Tobirama would never hurt the kids and not only does he let them get the better of him, he honestly looks happy about it. Even when Madara doesn’t join in himself it is delightful just to watch Tobirama play with them.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

Madara, though he usually asks at such a point that it’s almost an afterthought. The first time he asked Tobirama was a little surprised, but not really opposed, and he’s come to love the quiet intimacy and affection of it every time. (He was absolutely not expecting it the first time Madara fucked him in the shower, either, and between them they nearly knocked out one wall and did disrupt part of the plumbing. Fortunately Tobirama could fix it. Later. Once his brain kicked back into gear.)

By turnabout, Madara never expected it but after the first few times they bathed each other Tobirama set almost automatically to combing out and drying his hair and Madara melted under it. No one has fussed with his hair since he was very small and he loves the attention. (Now when it’s been too long since Tobirama brushed his hair Madara gets a little sulky; he’s also discovered that if he sits in just the right place nearby while Tobirama is a certain kind of distracted, he will absently finger-comb or even braid Madara’s hair.)

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Madara used to, because Tobirama is very bad about not breaking for lunch or just forgetting about it altogether, and it has had the unexpected side effect of making Tobirama more aware of the time and more likely to stop on his own. Because Madara is a terrible cook and while sometimes he would order and bring in food for them both, sometimes he would attempt to put together little heartfelt meals himself. It was very sweet but Tobirama often felt like lunch with his lover was actually poison resistance training.

Tobirama makes lunch for them both in the mornings sometimes, and sometimes they even manage to eat together at the Tower without working through it. (Madara will never admit he pouts for Tobirama’s attention and Tobirama would never admit aloud that it makes him reconsider when Madara does. The end result is a little more break time, even when Hashirama isn’t the one interrupting work for lunchtime. Nobody’s complaining about that. At least not within earshot of them.)

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Neither of them really do shy; if you suggested there might be nerves involved on any level Madara would consider stabbing you in the spleen and Tobirama would ice up and glare.

But as it turned out by the time they got around to going on an actual date for the first time they were pretty much past the point where they’d be uncertain about each other, at least.

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Tobirama has a short lecture explaining how spiders are useful and mostly harmless. He leaves them be when he finds them for the most part, except when they might disrupt something.

Madara is mostly unimpressed by this lecture, though he swears he isn’t bothered by spiders he’s one of the most powerful shinobi in the world. Tobirama once came home to find the porch on fire from where Madara killed a spider with an overpowered katon, though, and he’s not entirely sure he believes Madara that spiders don’t bother him.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Tobirama, who doesn’t handle ‘drunk’ well, perhaps mainly because he’s not terribly used to it. It messes with his senses, which he finds mostly unpleasant even now that he leaves in a peaceful village and no longer need be quite so constantly on alert and ready for anything.

Madara loudly proclaims plenty of other things when he’s drunk. (He considers it something of a tragedy that the first time he made Tobirama blush (at least in public) he was so drunk he can only sort of remember it, and didn’t appreciate it as much as he should have at the time.)