#half of it will be hotels and the other half will be fucking train tickets

[keyrousse]

Yay, cheap flights to London! Yeah, cheap entry to that event in Cardiff! And then I had to book hotels and buy train tickets. Trains in the UK are really not cheap, are they. I'm still going. But it's pain.

[ayliamc]

Italia

Day 7 - Heresy

Steps walked: 17,889

Flights climbed: 13

Vehicles ridden: 0!

Points of interest visited: 3

Leonardos spotted: only Michelangelos today

Early pink rays of the sun started to reflect off the Arno and into our bedroom this morning as we woke leisurely, having no train to catch and no hotel room to check out of. It felt so luxurious.

As to the mosquito, she may have been accidentally killed by Dan in his sleep when he scratched an itch on his nose, but I did not wake up unscathed. My arm is a tapestry of bug bites, with a few more scattered throughout the rest of my body. My last count was around a dozen.

We took our time waking up and having breakfast and around 10 I opened my email to look for the confirmation email to visit the Galleria dell’Academia to see the David at 1. I wanted to see if admission to the museum was at 1, or if it was a more specific time to see the David and we could go to the museum earlier.

Surprise surprise, our tickets were for… *drumroll please* 10 am. I naturally started to panic. We scarfed down a few more bites, got dressed, and were out the door just over five minutes later to start the short 15 minute trek to the Galleria. We were both 95% sure that they would let us in, but there’s always that 5% that says “They’re sold out, and they won’t let you in, and you came all the way to Firenze to see this sculpture and cross it off your bucket list and you fucked it up.”

There was a huge line wrapped around the Galleria and our admission was for between 10 and 10:15. So I said if they give us grief, we made it here by 10:15 (barely a fib, we really booked it) and have been in line ever since. Naturally it wasn’t a problem. They were monitoring ticket entry times, but they seemed to be turning away people who were early. I don’t know what would have happened had we been three hours late. No need to worry though! We strolled in with the masses clamoring to see the David.

I half expected a massive museum filled with other untold treasures, the David tucked away in its own room at the end, but it kind of leapt right out at us immediately off the bat. Sure there were other pieces, including a bunch of unfinished Michelangelos.

As you can see from these pieces, Michelangelo was as gay as the day is long. His pieces are all “tortured slave” or “dying slave” or “slave who just hit his head on a cabinet”** but they all seem to me to be contorted in semi-erotic poses. Tortured, sure, but sexualized. I think it adequately represents how the sculptor felt about his own sexuality.

I tried not to look at the David as we approached it, for some reason unbraced for the experience. It’s hard not to, tho. It’s so big. We circled it and marveled and cocked our heads (no pun intended) and admired and circled it a few more times. I could have stayed there for an hour. The thought of leaving made me sad. This has been a bucket list item for me for as long as I can remember, and the whole experience sort of caught me off guard. Not only did I think it would be in the afternoon, but I also didn’t expect it to be one of the first things on display at the Galleria. There was no build up to it. I was just suddenly in a room with the David. And I didn’t want to leave it.

But leave we must. The rest of the museum wasn’t speaking to us. In fact, we desperately wanted to get away from all the horrifying medieval baby paintings (all with the same face of a washed up mid-30s white male comedian). So we headed for the Basilica de Santa Croce, that cool church we happened upon yesterday. We got tickets to go inside, swallowing our discomfort at giving money to the church.

I was immediately put off when they requested I cover my shoulders. Apparently my tank top is too inappropriate for the institution that displays a tortured corpse above all their altars. They had plastic shawls for people to cover their shoulders or wrap around their waist if the clothes are deemed too revealing but fortunately I had a top to put on over my existing top. Here’s how I felt about it:

Lots of tombs, lots of monuments. The coolest:

* Galileo Galilei. This made me mad. How DARE the church claim his body, build a monument to him, after they exiled him for blasphemy and heresy? He changed the world for the better. Expanded our knowledge and understanding of the universe. The church banished him. And now they charge people €8 each to pay respects to his remains???

* Michelangelo. Ok yeah he was religious. But he was so gay and the church is a homophonic institution. Also audacious to have him here.

* Machiavelli. Hilarious that he’s so celebrated. Such a dick. No qualms with him being here.

* Tribute to Leonardo. He’s buried in France but they’re very proud of him so fine.

* Tribute to Dante. He’s buried in Ravenna. I accept this tribute. Makes total sense. Especially considering the nature of his most famous works.

* Florence Nightingale. Huh? What? Wasn’t she English? Is it just because her name is Florence? Well guess what my friends. Her name is Florence because she was born here! Her tribute was too small. We have her to thank in part for sterilization of medical equipment.

Lunch time. Despite my previous insistence on only going to vegan restaurants Dan talked me into going to a nearby vegetarian place that was half restaurant half cafe half bookshop dontquestionthemath. Turned out to be great. Gnocchi and tortellini and both phenomenally vegan.

We then discovered the Museo Galileo and looked it up and decided we had to go there. So our afternoon was spent looking at ancient sextants and astrolabes and thermometers and telescopes and microscopes. We even got to see Galileo’s literal telescopes. Like the ones he actually used to find the moons of Jupiter.

Then we stumbled upon a little glass display with a single digit inside: Galileo’s right middle finger.

This took me a moment to wrap my head around as you can see:

When his body was exhumed and moved to the Santa Croce where we saw it entombed, three fingers, a tooth, and a vertebrae were removed. One of the fingers is at this museum. No idea where the rest are. The gift shop was underwhelming. Sorry, dad. I wanted to get you a replica Galileo thingamabob for Yule but no such luck.

Our next stop was the museum next to the Duomo but it was sold out so we got our tickets for tomorrow. We meandered once more, saw a few dozen more incredible and ancient pieces of art, and went back to our apartment to have some wine before going out to dinner. We ended up setting chairs in our bedroom to look out over the Arno and our spectacular view as we enjoyed our wine, and at dusk a bunch of bats came out and started to feed so we watched them til dark. It was awesome.

Lunch was a 20 minute walk in a straight line to Il Vegano, a little hole in the wall that turned out to be outrageously flavorful and totally inexpensive. We got three entrées, one drink, and two desserts. <chef’s kiss>

On the way back to our apartment, night had fallen in earnest and we were serenaded by the outrageously talented buskers of Firenze, all thanks to the art mouth they live on no doubt.

Some thoughts about Firenze in no particular order:

* In the same way that the streets in Venezia were populated only by people, so too are these streets. The difference is that every once in a while everyone has to make space for a car fighting bravely against the pedestrian swarm. It’s hilarious.

* If I don’t have the river in sight, I lose all sense of direction. Put me next to the Arno and I know where I am. But once it’s out of my line of vision forget about it. I will lose myself among the winding, senseless paths and stare up at the 900 year old buildings and never find my way home.

* Oh yes, the apartment we’re staying in is in a 900 year old building. I wonder if the wifi was this bad back then. That also means it was here when Leonardo lived here.

* In Buffy, there’s a lot of demonic activity because Sunnydale is built on a hell mouth. Well I now have a theory that Firenze is built on an art mouth. It begets genius in art. It seeps out of the ground, the water, the trees. The buildings are imbued with an eternal wellspring of creativity.

* We had one set activity in mind for our visit to Firenze. Both of us wondered idly a few times “what will we do in Firenze? We have three days there!” Turns out it’s not enough time. We keep stumbling upon museums containing treasures and iconic artefacts and even historic corpses! (Or pieces thereof…) I could spend another week here and still not see everything I want to see. On the way to the tomb of Galileo we’ll discover the workshop where Michelangelo craved the David. How can we see it all?? We haven’t even left the historic district since arriving to our apartment.

**Dan named this one.

[ihavenothingtodo10220]

bruh thats literally how i feel about so many hobbies and interests yes we have to have some type of talent to make it in this world but i think the way its pushed on society from a young age means its less relstsble for people who are now older. with all these younger groups what am i supposed to be "attached" to the members about yes some of them are going to be attractive but im 30 this year. music groups, brand items, even classes for learning new skills have become so out of touch with reality it seems to forget theres a bunch of people who cannot access them for varying reasons. take ticket prices for example or merch for anyone to enjoy kpop or any music group it is investment to the extreme.

where im from if i were to want to see ateez for example, id have to travel 4 hours by train to london which cost over £100, book a ticket that cost £300/400 bc you dont want the crappy seats then you need hotel, travel fees to get to arena, then youll want merch and you still need money to get back home. so im sorry to any new group even if theyre decent but us older music fans are going to get left behind eventually as most things are about gen alpha or whatever the fuck theyre calling the new gens.

so much stuff really isnt worth it unless you can afford it :/. thats y less is more, seventeen for example way too many members how they all going to get paid if they converts costing half someones wages?

i get these kids need an income of some kind and they have talent ngl but when we gonna say enough is enough. i even looked at the likes of greenday and maneskin but im not forking out that much to go enjoy some music. just listen to it for free on youtube or watch their concert from someone elses videos. its practically the same type of experience u just arent there physically at the concert lmfao. same with buying items do we really gotta have all the latest junk bc its relevant? no. if i could barely manage the 00s without uggs i can do without a stanley mug or lululemon bum bag.

Honestly, exactly. And even in my generation (Gen Z), most of the people I know don't really have those things or can participate in them. Like, concert tickets are so fucking expensive, and I get it, the artists are in high demand and they need to staff the stadiums and fly them out and all that shit. But it's just that most people can't afford them nowadays. However, I can admit I do know OF people who could fly from Cali to New York just for an idol's concert. And with Seventeen, most of their money comes from music sales I believe, and there are other factors contributing a lot to their pay. Honestly, I agree with you. The idols have to make income, because again, at the end of the day it's their job, and I'm sure a lot of people who like going to concerts can afford it. That's their prerogative.

But like you said, hobbies are getting so expensive nowadays. Like there are people spending thousands just because they want to win a fan call with an idol, or people spending thousands on albums just to get photocards. Of course, those things aren't exactly the norm, and most people don't do that, but it's still just wild.

[outsideratheart]

60 with guro reiten please (if u write 4 her)

A/N: this ficlet turned in a full grown fic.

60 - “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified to be honest”

It wasn’t that you were a player, you simply didn’t want to open yourself up to the wrong person only for them to hurt you……again.

Guro was different to the other girls though. She seemed genuinely interested in you and not just the things on the surface. It first started when the two were assigned to each other on away trips. You remember it was just after the World Cup and you were sour about the way England was knocked out but then the first day of pre-season training you met her and within minutes she had you smiling from ear to ear.

You wanted to get to know her and more important you wanted to let her get to know you. Without realising it you were taking down the walls that surround you heart one by one, or maybe Guro was taking to them with a sledgehammer.

Chelsea had a signing day at the adidas flagship store down Oxford street. You, Millie, Magda, Pernille, Erin and Guro were the players chosen as you were fans favourites, even Emma joined you half way through.

You were sat at the end with Guro next to you. The two of you guys playing games of noughts and crosses as you wait for the next fan in line. Absentmindedly your arm found its way to the back of Guro’s chair, the winger leaning closer to you in response.

A couple of confident fans would sneak you there number but you would hand it back the them stating, in the nicest possible way, that you aren’t interested.

“Y/N turning down a fan, that’s a first” Millie teases.

“Why? She had legs and a beating heart, totally your type” Erin joins in but you can’t help but feel a little bit hurt at her remark. Is this really how she saw you?

“Leave her alone” Magda tells them.

“Thank you”

“At least this way we won’t have her groupies camping outside our hotel just to shoot their shot with the hottest bachelorette in the WSL” Pernille adds.

“Don’t listen to them” you whisper into Guro’s ear.

She doesn’t respond but the look on her face doesn’t fill you with confidence.

Emma, who upon arriving, took a seat next to you at the end before pulling you aside when a staff member calls for a break halfway through the signing.

“What wrong?” She asks and you shake your head, nothing was wrong, this is the happiest you have been in a long time.

“Really? Because the fans are flirting with you and you aren’t giving them the time of day” Emma is straight to the point as always.

“I’m not interested” you response is simple.

“Let’s say I believe you. Can you please just entertain them for the rest of the day. I saw them in line, most of them have your shirt on and we would love for them buy tickets for tomorrow game, don’t you want to play at a sold out kings meadow?”

You sigh deeply. You didn’t want to flirt with the fans especially when the woman you were developing feelings for sat right next to you.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” You want your coach to know that you don’t want to do it but you will if you have to.

“Y/N” Emma says when she sees your face, the cocky confident Y/N she has known for years is nowhere to be seen.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do what is best for the team”

With that you walk back to the signing table only to find that Guro has swapped with Erin.

“Reunited and it feels so good” Erin sings.

“Fuck off ez” you weren’t in the mood and given your new task you want to get the day over with.

The next hour is painful for you but the fans are loving it. You flirt them, accept their numbers and as asked, you encourage them to come the game, stating that you hope to see their pretty faces in the crowd.

After an hour or so the signing ends.

You missed Guro in the second part of the signing. Erin was great but she failed in comparison to the Norwegian.

“Hello you” you nudge her shoulder.

“Hi” her reply is short and held a little bit of anger.

“Is everything ok? I know these days can be a little bit overwhelming but it’s part of the job” you try to reassure her.

“Well you seemed to be in your element. How many numbers did you get?”

“It doesn’t matter. They are in the bin now”

“Yeah right. I saw you, you loved it”

“No I didn’t, Emma made me. I don’t care about that kind of thing anymore”

“Hey girlies, we are going for some food, do you want to join us?” Millie asks unaware that she is interrupting.

“Yeah sure”

“No” Guro says “I’m going to head home. See you all tomorrow” and with that she was off.

“Guro wait” you say but it is no use as she is already in one of the cars.

Later that night you are out with your friends but you cannot stop thinking about her. You yearned for her company, more so than anyone else’s. It was a feeling that you hadn’t let yourself feel in years.

“Im going to leave, there’s somewhere else I need to be”

You don’t wait for them to respond. You throw some money on the table, enough to cover the bill and then leave.

Standing in front of Guro’s door you are on on your third attempt at knocking. Each time your knuckles are millimetres away you cowardly pull back.

“Jesus Y/N, what is this woman doing to you” you mumble to yourself before ripping the bandaid off and knocking at the door.

It is clear by her face that you are the last person Guro expected to see on the other side of the threshold.

“What are you doing here. I thought you were out with the girls?” She asks.

“I would rather spend my night with you” you say.

Fear washes over you when Guro doesn’t respond, she leaves you standing there.

“Can I come in? There’s something I want to talk to you about” you can see the conflict on her face “please”

She steps aside, her cheeks slightly flushed when she realises that she should have invited you in sooner.

“Why didn’t you come out tonight?” You ask. It is a question that had been on your mind all night.

“They warned me about you. When I first came to the club I let slip that I thought you were hot. Then a few months later I told Erin that I had a crush on you. She told me that you didn’t do the relationship thing and that I would end up hurt if I told you how I felt but then recently it felt you were changing”

“ I have changed Guro, because of you”

“No you haven’t. Today I saw it”

“You saw me pimping myself out on our coaches orders but I didn’t want to. I haven’t wanted to do that kind of thing for a while now”

“What are you saying?” A small smile tugs on Guro’s lips.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified to be honest. I really like you Guro but I don’t want to get hurt again” you surprise yourself at your honesty.

“What kind of chance do we have if you are already thinking about the end?”

“Given my last relationship it’s kinda hard not too” you say hoping that she will see this from your point of view.

“I like you too Y/N, a lot” Guro takes a step closer to you, a knowing look in her eye “I don’t know how this will end but I want to try”

“Would you like to go for coffee tomorrow then we can ride to the game together?” You ask.

“I would but on one condition” your brows furrow in both confusion and intrique “no more getting fans numbers”

“Deal?” Guro holds her hand out

“Deal”

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Goodbye

It's been four months since he said goodbye. He didn't bother to say this time was for good, because Armand wouldn't have believed him. He never does. Armand had asked, so innocently—too innocently to be anything but insincere—when he would be back.

Daniel had laughed and laughed, near hysterics. It had frightened Armand, to see him so near madness. Humans who knew the truth of them often went mad, Armand had warned him once. But like most things he said about vampires, Daniel took no heed. He was too young to feel anything but immortal, and to come suddenly to terms with his mortality in the face of these creatures immortality—it was a foreign sort of existential crisis.

To flirt with the danger of Armand, of knowing Armand could destroy him with a thought...it was heady and intoxicating. To know he held sway over such a creature! That he alone amongst mortals could render this powerful being to his knees.

Oh, how he had loved him!

How he loves him still, despite his best efforts not to. But that matters very little. Armand will never find him, because he hasn't stopped moving. He doesn't plan ahead. He just packs a bag and buys whatever plane ticket he can afford. Finds a hotel and stays there a week or two. Rinse and repeat.

But he does sometimes wish Armand would find him. That it'd be like those early days where he was around every corner. When Daniel realizes he misses being stalked, he wonders what's wrong with him in the head. It isn't normal to want like this, to crave another person to the point it hurts.

Losing the blood is a greater blow than he imagined. It isn't the reason he loves Armand, but it's as addictive as he is. He craves it worse than any fix he's ever chased. Better than coke or ecstasy. Nothing can replicate the high, but he Daniel finds himself trying. Trying and failing with every drug he can get his hands on. Heroin is the closest, but it's only a pale imitation.

He can't afford the plane tickets anymore, so he goes to trains. Less distance covered, but easier on the wallet. Besides, it's been awhile. If Armand were going to find him, he would have. He doesn't need to chase Daniel down when he knows Daniel will come back.

But this time, he'll prove him wrong. Prove he doesn't need him. How do you like that, you bastard.

He forgets sometimes that Armand can read his thoughts. Other times he's so hyper aware that he tries to clear his mind of everything just as precaution. Still other times, he thinks to Armand like he used to pray to a higher power, nothing but faith to guarantee he heard. Desperate things he said, the yearning desire he had expressed, the profound void in his life without Armand.

Embarrassing. And born from weakness. Armand never replied; Daniel is certain it's to allow him to save face. A small act of kindness, from the cruelest creature he knows.

He's babbling something to the person next to him at the bar. He's quite attractive; short and lithe and dark, with glossy black hair and brown eyes. Daniel's self aware enough to realize the resemblance, understand it serves as reason for the attraction. But he hardly cares. He takes the man up to his room and fucks him. Calls him the wrong name when he comes.

It isn't until the man awkwardly slinks out the door that he notices the figure in the dark corner of his bedroom. Tall, dark and handsome with intense red eyes. His Armand. His everything.

“Still like to watch?” he slurs. He's a bit drunk. He stays a bit drunk these days. It's half the reason he goes to gay bars—gay men are far more likely to buy him a drink than straight women. The other half he doesn't like to think about.

“It wasn't your best performance.”

Daniel holds out his arms. “Come here.”

Armand doesn't. Daniel goes to him and embraces him. Armand stiffens in his grasp, back rigid. “You smell like him.”

Daniel shakes his head. “I'll shower. Come here, kiss me, it's been months.”

Armand lets out a weary sigh, and Daniel can see traces of true anger in his eyes. Armand is so rarely truly angry. Irritated, yes and annoyed, but not angry. Even when they fight, Armand likes to remain calm. It only serves to exasperate Daniel and drag things on.

He obliges Daniel and takes his face in his hands, tilts his head just where he wants it and kisses him. It starts slow and chaste, but gradually deepens and dirties. Daniel moans into it and buries his fingers in Armand's silk shirt, clinging without abandon. Armand buries a hand in his curls and devours his mouth, kissing him until his knees shake and he feels wobbly.

He forgets he's mad at Armand, that he left him permanently. He gasps against his mouth and spills out “I missed you.”

Armand pets his hair and kisses his cheek. “Will you come home, beloved?”

Beloved. Something warm nestles in his chest and spreads to his stomach at the word. He nods his head. “Home, yes, home with you.”

He looks up into Armand's preternatural eyes and pleads “Bite me, here, take my neck.”

“No, I think the femoral artery,” Armand says, crisp and near clinical. He didn't like to show how much he wanted it—Daniel knew that, because Armand had once confessed as much. It had been to assure him how he wanted and loved him, only him, and how of course Daniel had just as much sway over him as he did Daniel. Not that Daniel had believed that last part for a second.

Armand undresses him painstakingly slow, stopping to kiss or stroke whichever part caught his fancy. Fifteen minutes later, Daniel is naked on the bed, writhing in anticipation as Armand mouths up his thigh. His teeth sink in deep, up close to Daniel's groin.

Daniel shakes and groans until the world becomes a dizzy blur. Only then does Armand pull back, his eyes dilated impossibly wide. “What have you taken? How much did you take? I feel-”

Daniel laughs and pulls him down into a kiss. Armand allows it for a moment, kissing him back sweetly. Then he pulls away. “Daniel-”

“I'm fine. I feel great,” Daniel says. He tugs Armand down to lie next to him. It takes three tugs before Armand allows himself to be moved, seemingly distracted by the lava lamp on the dresser. He sinks down unto the bed next to Daniel and pulls him to his chest. “Can I have it?” Daniel asks, face smashed against his cold skin.

Armand fishes around Daniel's backpack by the foot of the bed and finds a pocketknife. He returns to Daniel and arranges him so he straddles his lap. He cuts a thin line across his throat and presents it to Daniel, who latches on hungrily. Armand finds the discarded bottle of lube on the bed and slicks his fingers, breaching Daniel while he drinks. Daniel only sucks at his neck harder, moaning against his skin.

Armand doesn't know what Daniel has taken, but it's making everything so lovely. The colors seem so vivid, so bright. Daniel knows this, because Armand babbles it to him. He giggles and gasps as clever fingers work him. He does love Armand's hands. Adores his long fingers. Loves them inside him, around him, wrapped around his throat. Rambles back to Armand how he's missed this so much, missed him so much. Murmurs it between long draws of his fiery blood.

“Then why run away? Stop running, Daniel. Be mine.”

“Yours, yours,” Daniel pants against his neck, “always yours.”

“Good boy,” Armand purrs and kisses him so lovingly. Then, as if to reward his good behavior, grabs his wrist and brings it to his mouth and bites down. It's overwhelming; Armand is inside him, cock and teeth, spit and blood. He comes and comes and comes, frantically declaring his love for Armand.

Clarity hits him after and he stumbles out of bed to the window, opens it and takes great, heaving breaths. His. He said he was Armand's. Said that he loved him. All true, but not what he wants.

He's still high, but Armand, with vampire metabolism, has lost his. He beckons Daniel back to bed, but Daniel doesn't look his way. “You'll never let me go, will you? It'll always be like this.”

“You could come home.”

Daniel laughs shakily. “And be your slave? Hard pass.”

Armand moves to him with unnatural speed and wraps arms around his waist. “Not my slave, never that.”

“Your pet, then.” Daniel shrugs Armand off him. Turns and looks at Armand, beautiful and perfect and everything he wants to have, to be. Everything he loves. Everything he hates.

He has a thought, so cruel it shouldn't be spoken aloud. He says it anyway, “I wish I had never met you.”

Armand's eyes sweep over his face, study him intensely. “Is this truly what you want?”

No.

Yes.

Maybe?

He doesn't know. He nods, swipes a forming tear. “It's never enough, you know? Nothing compares to you. You're the best high I ever had.”

It isn't exactly what he means, it isn't just the blood, it's everything. But he doesn't have to put this into words. Armand understands, he knows. Can see it in his thoughts that he endlessly dips into.

“Very well. As you wish.”

Then Armand is looking into his eyes and murmuring something and he feels...foggy? He can't remember why he's here or how he got here. He's so tired. He needs to rest.

“Yes, sleep, Daniel. In the morning, everything will make sense.” The beautiful stranger—wait, not a stranger, but who—guides him to his pillow and pulls the sheets around him. “Goodbye, Daniel.”

When he wakes in the morning, he has no memory of Armand at all.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

read it here on ao3

[unwantedtomost]

the night before — sebastian stan

sebastian stan x fem!reader

word count: 2,644 words

summary: you were invited to your ex’s wedding and despite all logical reasoning, you decided to go. now it’s the night before the wedding and you’re in the same night club with your ex. time to make some more mistakes.

warnings: angst, crying, cheating, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex.

a/n: i am going to make a part two because i want to explore this more. also, thank you so much for almost 500 notes on my first one shot! enjoy :)

The love of your life was getting married and it wasn’t to you. When you heard the news, you laughed out loud, a bit too loud for being in a quaint cafe. You thought that the girl Sebastian was dating was going to be nothing more than a rebound from you, even when you heard the news that they were engaged, you thought that it wasn’t serious. But now it’s the day before their wedding and you’re pretty sure she’s not a rebound anymore.

You wish you didn’t know what day the wedding was, but you did because you were invited. Sebastian invited you. What kind of asshole would do something like that? You know he saw it as taking the high road, being a bigger person, but it just came off as a pretentious douche bag move to show that he could be happy too. Without you. And how did this get past his fiance, Lauren? Did she want you to come?

You planned on not attending because why the fuck would you want to go? But then your friend, Emerson, talked you into it. “It’s in Hawaii,” “It’ll show him that you can still be friends,” “Rub it in their faces that you don’t care anymore.” They were all very shitty reasonings but you were drunk when you RSVP’d and even drunker when you booked the plane ticket. You had been drinking a lot in the weeks leading up to the wedding, it was the only thing that made all the nerves go away. You promised yourself that you would stop drinking so much after they were married and you intended on keeping that promise.

You had been trying your best to stay as far away from Sebastian as possible in the three-day period leading up to the wedding. It had been working well so far, until tonight. You and Emerson decided to go to a nightclub away from the resort you were staying at because you heard that that’s where the bachelor party was being held. Much to your surprise, that was false information. Now you’re starring at Sebastian from across the room with eyes wide and a jaw down to the floor.

“I thought you said they were gonna be at the resort!” You yelled at Emerson over the loud music.

“That’s what the bridesmaids told me,” she defended. “But it doesn’t even matter, we came out to have a good night. Fuck him! You can be nice tomorrow.”

You quickly started to regret every single one of your decisions you had made in the past three months. Accepting the invitation, booking the plane ticket, and leaving your hotel room tonight. You knew you shouldn’t be here but you were and you hated it.

“This was a mistake. I’m booking a plane ticket and I’m going back home. Tonight.”

“What?! You can’t do that.”

“The hell I can’t.” You grabbed your phone from your purse only to get it grabbed from your hand and shoved into Emerson’s pocket. “What the hell!”

“You’re not just going to leave.”

“Why not?”

“It’s been two years, y/n. You have been telling me that you’re finally over him for a year, that’s why we’re even here, right? Because you’re over him?”

You took in a shaky breath. No, you weren’t over him. You knew you should be, but you weren’t. You thought seeing him say “I do” would force you into moving on, finally letting him go. Now, you wanted to slap yourself for being so stupid.

“Yes,” you lie despite yourself.

“Good, so let’s go get you a drink and a hot piece of ass! And in the morning we’re going to watch as he gets married and you’re going to finally let go of him, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod.

You had to get over him, it had been two years. This was the way to do it. You would force yourself to let him go and be happy. That would make you happy … right?

You and Emerson walked to the bar, ordering shot after shot until you were dizzy. Then you ordered a long island ice tea which you did not need. After you basically chugged the drink, you made your way to the dance floor.

You changed from grinding on Emerson to random individuals and you couldn’t have cared less. Everything about tomorrow and moving on left your mind completely. Right now you were living in the moment, something you were always working to do. You could tell that the individual dancing behind you hadn’t switched for four songs, so you decided to turn around. You were hoping for it to be someone cute and nice. Someone to take you somewhere and fuck the worries away. Instead, it was Sebastian.

Your smile faded and so did his. You went still, your eyes trained on his. It felt weird to be the only people in the crowd not moving. You had lost all sense of anything, you didn’t know if you stood like that for seconds or for hours.

Something in your jumbled thoughts forced you to speak. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he yelled back. His face was unreadable at that moment, you blamed it on the alcohol but you weren’t sure if you could have deciphered what it meant even if you were sober. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, a few months, I think.” You were sure, it had been four months prior, right before you heard about the engagement. You ran into each other at a red carpet event and you tried your best to act normal.

“Do you … uh—do you want to go get a drink?”

You stood still again, silent. Your brain needed a minute to process the request. You definitely did not need another drink. “Sure.”

You followed behind Sebastian to the bar, a trip you had made with Emerson no less than an hour ago. He ordered himself a Screwdriver and you a Sex on the Beach, your favorite. You had both sucked down half of your drinks before either of you spoke.

“How are you?” He asked.

“Fine, I guess,” you replied. “How are you?”

“Good, good, really good.”

“That’s good.”

It went quiet again and even though the music all around you was blaring, it sounded only like white noise at this point. A thought came into your mind “tell him how you feel.” In a sober state, you would have shut down the thought immediately, but now it played on a loop. The chant continued to play in your head as you finished the last of your drink. You felt the tension in your body rise from your feet to the pit of your stomach, up past your throat, and to your head, making you dizzy.

“Can I tell you something?” You blurted out.

“Sure.”

“It’s loud in here.”

Sebastian chuckled, almost in relief. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” you said, too unaware to get how cringe-worthy you were being. “Can we go somewhere, uh, quieter?”

He nodded and you took his hand and went to go find a secluded location. You weren’t going to be that asshole who jammed the bathroom door shut. Also, you were pretty sure you’d get kicked out if you did that. It took a few minutes but you finally landed your sights on a room. The door was unlocked and you realized it was a coat closet, so you picked it as your location. You closed the door before turning back to Sebastian.

The music was quieter in here, it was muffled and far away. It smelled vaguely of cigarettes but you didn’t mind too much, it was dull.

“What did you want to tell me?” Sebastian asked, voice louder than it needed to be due to how unexpectedly quiet it was.

This was it, your one time to speak your mind. You might never get another situation like this ever again. You needed to let it all out.

“I don’t think I’m over you,” you confess. “And I really don’t know if I will ever be. I know it’s been two years and you’re getting married tomorrow, but I’m still not over you. I’ve been telling myself that when I see you at that alter tomorrow, everything is magically going to go away, but I don’t know if it will.”

“Why are you telling me this, y/n?”

“Because this is the one-shot I’m gonna get. You’re getting married tomorrow morning and you need to know this. Well, actually, you probably don’t, but I need to tell you. I need to let it out or otherwise, I think I might actually fucking explode.” You took a deep breath before the words started pouring out again. “When I heard you were engaged I laughed. It was funny that you were getting this poor girl’s hopes up when we all knew that you were just going to call it off. But you never did, and I was the only one laughing. I’m pretty sure that you were my person. And I think the only reason I accepted that we were done was because I didn’t think we were actually done. I thought you were gonna come back to me. I thought one day we would look back on this and laugh because it was so stupid.”

As you talked, your throat began to feel sore, your eyes stung from the tears forcing their way down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry about everything. I should have fought for us when we had the chance and I should give up right now and—”

Sebastian cut you off by cupping your face and wiping the tears away. “Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed softly, pulling you into him. You buried your face in his chest as he softly rubbed the back of your head. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

His sweet tone made you cry harder. You wished he would have been mean. You wish he told you to get over it and move on. But he was sweet and consoling you because that’s the type of guy he was. He was the girl who consoled his ex-girlfriend on the night before his wedding. That’s the kind of guy girls want to marry, that’s the kind of guy you should have married. At least if he was an asshole, it would have easier to move on. No one gets hung up on the asshole, they get hung up over the good guy.

You pulled away from him, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“Do you still love me?”

“Y/n…” he sighed.

“Tell me you don’t. God, please tell me you don’t. Tell me that you moved on and that you love her. Could you tell me that? Tell me that you never think twice about me and that you only invited me to your wedding because you honestly think we can be just friends. I need you to tell me you still don’t care. If you tell me that, I’ll walk out the door right now and you don’t ever have to see me again. I’ll wish you good luck on your marriage and I’ll be gone. Can you just tell me that? I really need you to tell me that.”

You looked up to him with pleading, puppy dog eyes. You wanted him—you needed him to tell you that it was never going to happen. You needed closure to move on.

“I-I can’t,” he confessed. “Not honestly.”

You let out a breath you were holding before pulling him closer. You kissed him deeply and passionately, you needed him. He pulled you closer, melting into your mouth. This was it, this felt right. You didn’t think about the repercussions, you couldn’t. All you could think about was his mouth on yours, his hands on your skin.

He backed you up so your back was flat against the door. The hand that wasn’t pulling you closer by the hip locked the door. He hoisted you up, seemingly with no effort as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You made haste with his button-up as he started to push your dress up your thighs. You stayed like that for a while, tugging, kissing.

After a while, Sebastian put you down. This made you nervous, was he going to leave you here? Was the kiss just one dumb, hot mistake?

Instead of walking away, he knelt down in front of you. He grabbed your panties and pulled them down your legs. You looked down at him and let out a moan at the sight of him; lips read and raw from kissing, eyes blown out with lust. He hiked your right leg over his shoulder before looking up at you, asking you if you wanted him to continue. You nodded aggressively, letting out a few whines of anticipation.

He dived in, sending you into a state of euphoria. You pressed your head against the door as your hands tugged at his jet black hair. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying your best to keep in whatever moans he coaxed out of you. You felt you were nearing your high, but he pulled away before you could get there.

You let out a cry at the loss of contact. You tryed your best to pull him back to you, but he instead pushed your hands away, pinning your wrists against the door. He stood back up, form towering over your own.

“You’re so fuckin’ needy,” Sebastian stated, voice low and raspy. He undid his pants before hosting you up against the door again. He pumped his member before putting the tip at your entrance, teasing you. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Please, fuckin’ need you.”

With that, he pushed in, both of you letting out loud wanton moans. You forgot what is was like to be with him. He was on the bigger end of the men you’d been with and he was by far the best. As he thrusted into you, you started to realize how much you missed him every sense of the word. You missed the way he would kiss you in the morning, you missed the way he said he loved you in the middle of a fight, and you missed the way he grunted in your ear when you would have sex.

You both held each other close as he continued to snap his hips against yours. One of his hands reached down to rub your clit, making you let out another moan. You knew you were close again and you wondered how you could finish so fast when you were with him.

“I’m so close,” you warned.

“I know baby,” he cooed. “Wanna watch you.”

You leaned your head back so you could now see each others faces. He admired how you looked all fucked out and needy. He loved how your eye brows knitted together when you were trying not to cum and he loved the way you bit your lip every time he stared into your eyes. And he loved you.

“I love you, y/n,” he accidentally said, thoughts slipping into words.

Your eyes went wide but you couldn’t help but smile. “Fuck, I love you too, Seb.”

The confession brought you closer to your high and before you knew it, you were clutching his shirt in your hands as your legs cleanched around his waist. You both moaned loudly as you came, holding each other as close as possible. You stayed against the door, holding onto him tightly for a while. Then he slipped out of you and set you back down on shaky legs.

“Did you mean it?” You asked after minutes of staring into his eyes.

He hesitated, “yes.”

“Now what are we gonna do?”

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo ranboo & others are mentioned - tommy won’t go home

this is part 14 to the great adventures series

an: I tried, days are a social construction on the tarosin blog… also i’m back baby <3

from the moment you were forced awake by tubbo streaming with ranboo, Tommy began sending several messages as in his own words you ‘weren’t answering him quick enough’, probably because you had only just woken up and had no idea what day or time it was.

Tommy: y/n

Tommy: y/n were going out soon I've decided so answer me

Tommy: y/n wake up

y/n: heh? I’m going nowhere I’m tired

Tommy: I’m sending you a ticket make sure you meet me there

it was around now you had the feeling you were going to be stuck with Tommy for a while and you had no idea what to expect. an hour later tubbo stopped streaming so you took this as an opportunity to say your goodbyes to tubbo and ranboo explaining you had no idea what was happening as Tommy refused to explain but you’d probably be back later so they don’t lock you outside like last time

“don’t smirk at me ranboo just because you’re tall doesn’t mean I can’t take you down”

“mhm sure yep”

“y/n you’re going to be late we’ll see you later”

soon enough you were with Tommy who finally decided to inform you of what was happening

“we’re going to go annoy George”

“great idea Tommy let’s go”

the pair of you stood at the door waiting for George to answer, the look on George's face is something you’ll never forget.

“Hello Tommy, is that y/n what are you doing here”

“Nice to see you too… the fuck”

a few minutes later you and Tommy were sat next to George when you found a rubber duck and started making it squeak annoying the others well that was until Tommy took it and started doing the exact same thing you were doing

“I now understand why you looked pissed George”

during the stream, you were sat in between the pair George looked at you and you nodded. a few seconds later George threw the rubber duck hitting Tommy, the pair of you left not long after that event and made your way to the hotel after calling tubbo to explain what was happening.

the next day you and Tommy met up with tubbo ranboo and George at a shopping centre where you were all almost immediately met with several people asking for photos and the chance to talk to you all, you hid behind ranboo until the crowd grew smaller. it didn’t take long for everyone to notice the piano before you had time to process what just happened tubbo ran to the piano dragging you with him accidentally pushing ranboo in the process

“SORRY RANBOO”

the pair of you began playing the piano Tommy joining shortly after. time flew by the five of you spent the rest of your time shopping and just enjoying each other’s company, before you knew it, it was time to get the train. you laughed at tubbo falling asleep on the window however karma quickly caught up as you ended up falling asleep on ranboos shoulder ranboo laughed quietly to himself not wanting to wake up you or tubbo

“I swear its always y/n and tubbo who fall asleep”

“its been a long day y/n couldn’t sleep in the hotel they kept mentioning something about ghosts I don’t know man they must have been watching too many horror films”

“mhm probably”

soon enough you were with the others, minx quickly pulled you into a hug

“Nice tattoo”

“I did it for money it was a sub-goal”

you and tubbo stood with Tommy looking at the ferret

“why’s it so long”

“tubbo does it look like I study zoology I play Minecraft for a living”

the next day you were at the beach, having only had a few hours of sleep the previous night it was safe to say you weren’t in the best mood, you sat next to ranboo occasionally falling in and out of sleep, ranboo kept an arm around you pulling you into his side making sure you were safe and didn’t hit your head on the rocks when you fell asleep. you were woken up by tubbo walking on something which he clearly shouldn’t be. eventually, you all made it back to tubbos house, Tommy and tubbo were in the kitchen while ranboo practised for mcc and you were asleep in the room you had been sharing with ranboo whilst he’s in the Uk.

the next day you all went out on another adventure, at this point you had no idea what was happening but you just went with it. you and Tommy chased a bird telling him about the subscribe button and giving him the name ‘funny boy’

“Why does that bird look just extremely anxious”

“because we’re too cool ranboo”

“maybe we should give him another name than funny boy”

“Charles”

it was at this point you all decided to leave poor Charles alone as it was pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

the three of you made your way to the train station forgetting that the school students would be there, a few minutes later the three of you were swarmed by several students all trying to talk to you all.

“I think we might have got on when the schools are here”

“so thankful you pointed that out boo I thought we were being mobbed by several people cosplaying as school students”

“hi everyone hopefully no one has covid”

you backed away from the crowd moving closer to ranboo

“I bet tubbos really glad he chose not to come”

you tried to avoid the crowd by getting on the train, this failed miserably. people were excited to meet the people they look up to they were all determined to sit with you all on the train taking up the seats around you all, the three of you spent a lot of the train ride talking to them, unlike ranboo and Tommy you ignored the comments aimed at the three of you not wanting to get involved after all it was rather overwhelming so many people talking loudly at once, you ended up moving seats and had a quiet conversation with someone from your community, around half an hour later you were at your destination and said goodbye before joining Tommy and ranboo at wills. the three of you sat on the floor listening to will and the others practice. it’s pretty clear Tommy has a habit of finding things as you turned around to see him with a puppet of a shark pretending to bite you

“Tommy what are you doing”

“bye y/n scream it’s going to get you”

“ah”

realising you weren’t going to scream he began telling joe, Wilbur and David to scream.

after spending time with the others and having a quick trip to the beach you Tommy and ranboo ended up at the shop recording the three of you on the security camera

“If you take a picture from there 50p”

you looked at ranboo tilting your head in confusion even though he was wearing a mask and sunglasses he was clearly equally as confused, he pulled you into his side noticing you were clearly starting to get anxious, you hated confrontation even though it turned out to be a joke it still shook you up a little bit

“I'm only joking my friend…but I did get them”

“you did we took it serious”

“aye you did”

the three of you walked away Tommy still laughing

“he scared me”

after a long day, you all went back to tubbos, you and ranboo decided to end the night early, the pair of you made your way to the shared room. you both spent a few minutes talking about mcc and how you were both going to win and coming up with new strategies. you must have fallen asleep mid-conversation as you didn’t remember seeing Tommy come into the room last night yet you were woken up by him complaining that ranboo playing mcc woke him up.

after getting ready you sat planning an adventure with tubbo

“So where do you wanna go bo”

“We should do something really cool”

“l hope you know that wasn’t helpful”

“pumpkin patch”

“it’s summer where do you think we’re going to find pumpkins…wait tubbo in October I’m taking you to a pumpkin patch it’ll be great we hardly spend time together as a pair near Halloween”

“I promise this year we’ll spend more time together”

your conversation was interrupted by Tommy and ranboo announcing they were ready to go to the beach again. once there tubbo sat arguing with Tommy and ranboo over them needing a life jacket. meanwhile, you had walked away collecting pretty rocks and sea glass putting them in the velvet blue bag covered in embroidered gold stars that dream had sent you as a thank you for the merch you sent him not long ago, you walked along the beach quietly talking to yourself

“ooh jack would like that and I could turn this into a ring for Niki…techno would like this and this would annoy schlatt it's perfect”

you laughed to yourself as you made your way back to the others thinking about schlatts reaction when he sees his gift. when you made your way back you watched Tommy swim over to tubbo leaving ranboo on his own probably waiting for you to return

“did you get any nice rocks then y/n you were out for a while”

“I did. come sit over there with me I’ll show you”

the pair of you sat next to each other away from the sea, ranboo matched your excitement every time you picked the rock you wanted to show him

“you’ve been collecting more than rocks? what’s that”

“I have !! you wanna see?”

“of course I do”

this was a moment neither of you would forget, the pair of you sat enjoying each others company looking at rocks and sea glass you had found on the beach ignoring the world.

taglist:

@denkisclown @emma0nline @fuzzycloudsz @wtfwriter @milkydisaster @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee @orkwardx0 @bearytime @kylobensgirl

[elldell1204]

Hair Me Out - Spencer Reid x Reader

Y/N wears her hair in many different styles, and her boyfriend, Spencer, seems to appreciate each one in different ways.

A/N: So, I just wanted to add, I try to make my ‘reader’ as ambiguous as possible, that way you can identify with them more. However, I struggled with this one, as I am a white female with straight hair and not much knowledge of (though deep appreciation and love for) natural or curly hair, seeing as I have little to no experience. Therefore, I have tried making this as inclusive as possible but I’m sorry if at any point seems too specific and you can’t put yourself into the story. Feel free to call me out on anything you aren’t comfortable with!

Warnings: Slight sexual themes, swearing, normal Criminal minds stuff (let me know if I missed anything)

wc - 3,217

Dutch Braids -

You and Spencer had just gotten off from work about an hour ago after a gruelling day with an equally stressful case. Which is why as soon as you were both showered, dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find and waiting for the takeout to arrive, you were both sprawled out on the couch in front of a movie, having no energy left to talk, let alone move when there was a knock at the door. Seeing as you were the one with less of the other person’s body parts draped across you, you got up and answered while Spencer didn’t move an inch. You couldn’t blame him; the poor boy was exhausted.

Around twenty minutes later, you’d both eaten, leaving your plates on the coffee table in front of you with the mental promise to wash them later, and were back to snuggling into each other, getting as close as you possibly could to soothe each other after the day you had. Your head was tucked neatly into Spencer’s chest, your knees drawn up to near your chin in the foetal position, making yourself as small as possible. Spencer was the opposite; spread like a starfish with his arm around your back and his head rested against the back of the couch.

If someone were to ask you what the movie was about, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Truth is, you felt like you were stuck in-between both the lands of sleep and consciousness, due to wanting to spend some time with your boyfriend (despite him being your work partner for the best part of sixteen hours) but also wanting to sleep for three days. In attempt to make yourself just a little bit more awake, you started trying to focus on different things around you. First it was the quote on the front of the main character’s t-shirt, then it was the Metro you could faintly hear as the last train of the night rattled by, then it was Spencer’s finger tracing up and down one of your braids that you’d done quickly after your shower.

“Spence?” You murmured the first words spoken in practically an hour.

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, his half-lidded eyes shifting to your face that you had lifted to face him.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was merely a whisper, and if you weren’t listening for it, the only way you’d know he was speaking was from the vibration of his chest.

You gestured to your hair with your finger, and only when he realised did he stop what he was doing and chuckle lightly and dreamily.

“Oh, sorry, I’m not sure, it just feels soft, I guess. I’ll stop.”

“No, no, it’s okay, you can keep going.” You smiled at him, mustering up the energy to lean up and press a sweet kiss to his lips before retracting back to your previous position.

Ponytail -

To say you were having a bad day was an understatement. You usually like to try and stay as positive as you could be when chasing a serial, paedophilic murderer, but there’s only so many deep breaths and coffee breaks you can take before you really start to get pissed off. Not only had you been stuck in hot and sticky Texas for near a week, but you had also been put into single rooms at the hotel you were staying at. Now, not to sound ungrateful (because you very much are of the fact that you at least have a roof over your head), but only having one single bed to a room means that you can’t snuggle with Spencer after a long day, and these were proving to be very long days.

And to add to the problem, Hotch was constantly on edge since the start of the case, with the victims looking a hell of a lot like Jack, and when you were the closest person to him on that first day when his tensions finally boiled over, you had been the one in the firing line of his rage. Which you can take. You knew he didn’t mean it, and if he had to take his frustrations out on someone for a few days so he could do his job with a clearer head, you were happy to be the target.

But now after a particularly rough six days, your patience was wearing thin, and everyone on the team could see it, which is why they offered you and Spencer any jobs they were assigned that would get them out of the stifling police precinct. And you knew they had good intentions, but even that was starting to annoy you.

So now you were sat at the table in the conference room, a pen between your teeth as your eyes frantically search over the evidence you have piled in front of you, desperate for the answers to this case to fly off the page and hit you smack dab in the forehead so you could just go home and have a fight with a pillow or something, anything to destress.

You heard the footsteps coming from the doorway, but you refused to turn around. If it was Hotch, you swear to god you might actually lose your job with what you were thinking of doing if he was short with you one more time. If it was Morgan ready to hand you a first-class ticket to visit the slightly wrinkly and very smelly coroner again, you might actually flip the table.

“Hey, Y/N.” Spencer greeted you warmly, sitting on the table to your right as your eyes slowly lifted to meet his. No, not Spencer. Hold it together, Y/N, hold in your rage, he’s done nothing wrong. “Oh, I haven’t seen you with your hair tied back in a while. I like it.”

Such a sweet statement, and yet it broke you. You could see in his face the moment your eyes lit aflame with anger, and you couldn’t miss the harsh swallow he took to brace himself for your fury.

“Well, Dr Reid, let me teach you a lesson, shall I? 3 reasons. One, it is way more practical for kicking someone’s ass, and right now, I would love nothing more than catching the sleazy son-of-a-bitch who is deriving pleasure from this,” You gesture violently to the crime scene photos splayed out in front of you before continuing to spit your venom. “And beating the living shit out of him until he’s crying out for his mommy. Two, do you know how many officers have tried to flirt up a storm with me in the past week? Way too many to count on one fucking hand! One even went so far as to try stroking my hair like a goddamn cat, and so to avoid that situation, I have put it in a ponytail, because if anything of that nature happens again, I won’t hesitate to break someone’s arm. And three, I usually have it down because most men think you’re dumber when you play with your hair, or I can play seductive to get what I want without a warrant fifty percent of the time. But seeing as we have absolutely nobody on the suspect list right now, and the sheer fury I possess at this moment, I don’t foresee the possibility of me needing to be either of those things, do you?”

Your lungs were heaving once you were done, and poor Spencer looked like you just told him you were a Russian spy sent to kill him. Your eyes were locked onto each other’s, and when you came back to reality from your rant, you recognised the softness and love in his that you were grateful for every day. Granted, they were a little masked by fear right now, but you’d admired him often enough to be able to spot even the faintest hint of your favourite emotions.

You let out a deep sigh, signalling you were back to your normal self as much as you could be right then, before dropping your head into your hands to rub your eyes with the heel of your palms.

It was then you felt the unmistakeable warmth of Spencer’s hand rubbing soothing patterns on your back as you gathered yourself together, bringing tears to your eyes as you opened them once more to face him.

“Oh, Spencer,” You whispered, grabbing his hands tightly with yours, lifting them to your lips and pressing sweet kisses to his knuckles. “I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that at all.”

“It’s okay, my love.”

“No, it’s really not. I never should have raised my voice at you, especially when it’s not your fault at all that I’m frustrated.”

“Y/N, I understand.” He smiled at you, a small and sympathetic one, but it calmed you nonetheless as he stood, pulling you up from the chair to wrap his arms tightly around you. You gripped onto him like he might run away if you didn’t, breathing in the warm scent that is so unmistakeably Spencer. Your vision was now cloudy with the tears that so desperately wanted to spill, but you were adamant you wouldn’t give the local cops the satisfaction of seeing you with wet cheeks. Luckily, Spencer knows you better than anyone.

“There’s a park a few minutes’ walk from here with a small duck pond. Would you like some fresh air?”

You nodded frantically against his neck as you finally let go, allowing him to lead you out of the precinct, hand in hand, his thumb running softly over yours as you walked.

“I don’t deserve you.” You mumbled, leaning in closer to him as you carried on down the path.

“Nonsense,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “We deserve each other. Just remind me not to get on your bad side; I like having both of my arms functional.”

Bed Head -

A blaring alarm at 6am has to be up there with one of the most annoying things on the planet, and I work with Derek Morgan. You let out a groan, your arm floundering around to find the source of the wretched noise. Groaning in defeat of not being able to do it with your eyes closed, you cracked one open, locating your phone, and finding sweet relief in the snooze button. A very overexaggerated yawn left your lips as you attempted to stretch your arms over your head in an effort to wake up, only to find one immobilised in the grasp of your boyfriend.

You took advantage the rare opportunity of waking up before Mr Alarm Clock himself (also known as Dr Spencer Reid) by allowing yourself a few minutes to admire his form in the golden sliver of sunlight escaping the outside world through the gap in the curtains. It was only when your alarm went off again after the five-minute snooze timer did you try to wake him up.

“Spence, baby, time to wake up.” You whisper, attempting to gently coax him from his slumber. When that didn’t work, you laced your fingers through his mousy-brown curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, just how he likes. Only then did you receive a response in the form of a muffled groan into his pillow.

“C’mon, my love. We need to get ready for work.” You spoke softly, pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead.

You chuckled lightly, wrapping your arms around his torso as your legs entwined. “Okay, my sleepy darling. But only five.”

“Mmm, five more minutes.” He mumbled, nestling his face into your hair as he pulls you closer than you thought possible.

Safe to say you took breakfast to go, just so you could bask in each other’s embraced for a little longer than five minutes.

Post-Sex Hair -

You climbed from his lap gently, unsure if your legs could hold yourself up as you panted heavily. Practically throwing yourself down beside Spencer on the bed, he took the opportunity to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest. You were both still a little dreamlike in your post-orgasmic haze, and when Spencer began to press kiss after kiss into your hair, you didn’t hesitate to enjoy them.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered into your hair, punctuating his statement with a final kiss for good measure.

You looked up from your position, shifting slightly so you were face to face, and scrunched up your nose. “Really? Even with sweaty sex hair?”

He chuckled, and you followed with a giggle of your own as he leant over to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “Especially with sweaty sex hair.” He whispered with a joking edge to his voice, his lips brushing with yours.

“Well, I’m pretty sure the team wouldn’t love my sweaty sex hair, so I better hop in the shower.” You smiled, kissing him quickly once more before climbing out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom, a sway to your hips.

As you reached the door, you turned to shoot a smirk over your shoulder at the blissed-out boy behind you. “Oh, are you not joining me?”

You swear you’d never seen the boy move as fast as when he clambered from the bed and chased you into the bathroom.

Straightened -

There was something about going undercover that equally excited you and creeped you out. Especially tonight, when you were having to go under in a club to catch a guy who was killing adulterous wives. You were the closest person in the team to his type, so it was a no-brainer to choose you, really. Didn’t mean you were happy with it, and it seemed that Spencer wasn’t either, if his clenched jaw was anything to go by.

Well, you were going to do it no matter what, so why not get yourself dressed up and try to bring some joy back to a less than ideal situation? That is why you were stood in the locker room of a precinct on the west coast in a red crushed velvet minidress with black heels, a fake wedding ring and straightened hair, and you couldn’t lie, you were totally feeling yourself.

“Woah, Y/N, you look…amazing.” You heard Spencer say as he entered the room.

You turned your head and smiled at him, feeling a little flustered as his eyes trailed over your form. You attempted to push your dress further down your thighs as he walked to you, his hands encircling your waist from behind and his head perched on your shoulder.

“It’s not too much is it?” You mumbled, looking down at yourself to do a final once over.

You felt his fingers under your chin, lifting your head to look him in the eyes through the mirror, ones filled with love and a hint of desire that set your skin aflame. He brushed your hair aside from your neck to trail kisses down the side of your throat, eliciting a breathy sigh from your lips.

“No, Y/N, you look badass.”

You giggled at the word that seemed so foreign coming from Spencer, but that was soon muffled when he spun you around by his hands on your hips and his lips hungrily met yours. Your lips moved against each other’s, his tongue coming to swipe at your bottom lip in a request for entrance. You granted it, and soon you felt your back collide with the cool metal of the lockers. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt as you explored his mouth with your tongue, relishing in the taste of him. You laced a hand up into his hair as you felt a hand that he had at your waist moving to your ass, gripping it roughly, causing you to moan into his mouth.

“Reid? Y/L/N? You two lovebirds ready?” You heard Morgan mock from the doorway and you both immediately jumped apart like some sort of invisible wall had shot up between you.

Looking around to see that Morgan wasn’t in your eyeline, given that the lockers luckily blocked you two from his view. But not from earshot, seeing as you could quite clearly hear his hearty chuckles as his footsteps got quieter and quieter.

You looked up at Spencer, his hair dishevelled and his tie askew, a look of both embarrassment and amusement at being caught making out like two horny teenagers adorned his face. A grin broke out on your lips, which he mirrored, and soon you were both laughing hysterically as you sorted yourselves out in the tiny little mirror on the wall, attempting to make it look like you weren’t a few seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off, before re-joining the team in the conference room.

Messy Bun -

Ugh, cold and flu season. You swear you never make it through it unscathed. And it seems as if your battle was commencing today. You woke up feeling dreadful; runny nose, scratchy throat, constant sneezing, and red-rimmed eyes. Attractive.

There was no question in having to call in sick, so after throwing your hair up in the messiest of messy buns and locating the snuggest blanket, you dialled the number. You could practically hear the wince from Hotch when you started having a sneezing fit down the phone. Now you weren’t sure if you could look the man in the eye when you went back.

Once that torture was over and done with, you were feeling sorry for yourself and decided on a warm cup of tea and a dose of shitty daytime television. You were halfway through some over-enthusiastic talk show when you heard a knock at your door. Refusing to leave the blanket behind that you’d burrito’d yourself in, you shuffled over to the door.

You didn’t expect a very sympathetic looking Spencer on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a welcomed sight.

“Hey.” You croaked out.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” You gave him a look that said it all, and he chuckled lightly. He lifted the bag he had in his hand. “I brought the best cure I could think of; chicken noodle soup.”

“I don’t want to get you sick, Spencer.” You whined, wanting nothing more than to curl up into his side but holding onto your selfless and rational thoughts by a mere thread.

You smiled at that, stepping aside to let him in. He passed you and went and got comfortable on your couch, grabbing a fork on the way. When you met him in the living room, he was ready and waiting for you with his arms open for you to snuggle into.

“Don’t worry about me. Now come on, your soup is getting cold.” He smiled, making grabby hands at you.

You made your way over, sinking into his embrace as he passed you the container and your fork. After a few mouthfuls and several minutes of listening to his steady breaths and thumps of his heart, you were feeling much better.

“Thank you.” You mumbled once you were finished and had placed your empty container on the coffee table in front of you, nuzzling further into Spencer’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now sleep, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Didn’t have to tell you twice.

[moldisgoodforyou]

rome (v)

wordcount: 8.2k oops

warnings: smut !! like a lot i'm a tiny bit embarrassed. also angst at the end !!

______

“You didn’t.”

Rafe gave her an apologetic smile as their train pulled out from the station in Florence, outside slowly blurring as the train picked up speed. “I think I might have.”

She let him be completely in charge of the transportation, hotels, everything - which turned out to be a terrible mistake, seeing as he’d never traveled on his own before (and had never planned anything in his life). She’d had to amend most of their plans already , as he just purchased without thinking of any logistics. Instead of buying a train ticket directly to Rome, he’d accidentally bought two tickets. One leg of the ride went an hour and a half to Pisa, then the other leg sent them on a four hour train ride along the western coast of Italy to Rome.

The two had nearly missed their fourth alarm, sleeping through the other three, and had to scramble out of bed with Sophie nearly in tears in order to throw their things into their suitcases and make it to the train on time. Rafe bought tickets in advance, like usual, but Sophie had forgotten to check over them once they printed from the kiosk and they hopped on their train just in time. After shoving their luggage onto the rack and returning to Sophie half-asleep in their seats, he realized his mistake when he re-read their tickets.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes blearily, frowning as she inspected the ticket and confirmed his confession. “How did you even manage that? There’s a direct transport to Rome.”

“I don’t know, the page was all in Italian! I don’t know Italian!” He defended, looking more and more worried by the second.

“Okay, baby, it’s okay. You’re fine.” She sighed. “Not the end of the world.”

“You’re stressed.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“You’re definitely stressed.”

“I’m a little stressed.” She admitted, handing the tickets back to him. “We also got back to the hostel at 3am and nearly missed the train and you got kissed by a random boy last night even though I didn’t listen to you when you said he was flirting and -”

“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And I’m fine, and we’re both on the train, it’ll just take us a little longer to get there. We’re fine. Okay?”

“We’re fine.” She repeated like she was trying to convince herself, nodding. “We’re fine.”

“Exactly. Now I think you need to sleep, angel, at least until we get to Pisa. I can find us some breakfast.”

She lifted her head to squint at him. “Sorry, say that again?”

“You need to sleep?”

“No. The city we’re going to.”

“...Pisa?” He repeated, pronouncing it like “pie-za.”

Sophie shook her head. “Pisa, baby. Try again.”

He scoffed, pronouncing it his way again. “It’s definitely Pisa, Soph.”

“...Okay. You go around telling people you went to Pie-za, that’s fine with me.” She shook her head, settling back into his side. “Can you scratch my back?”

(It only took her a few minutes to fall asleep but she was pretty sure she heard him using Google Translate to see how Pisa was actually supposed to be pronounced when he thought she was sleeping.)

When they finally made it to Pisa, Rafe nudged Sophie awake and pretended not to notice when she swiped a tiny spot of drool away from her cheek. They were both starving and made the thirty minute walk to the Leaning Tower of Pisa just for kicks in their layover - she made him stop to buy her some overpriced crepes from a market stand along the way.

They were both extra tired when they returned to the train, tucking into each other’s side and using Sophie’s jean jacket as a makeshift blanket. He played with her hair idly, watching her as she was about to fall asleep again. “Soph?”

She shifted, trying to stay awake. “Yeah?”

“Are you tired of traveling?” He asked tentatively. “Like, are you ready to go home?”

“I think those are two different things.” She lifted her head a little to check over his expression. “Why?”

“I don’t know, just.” He started, shrugging, but only continued when she nodded to prompt him further. “You seem so much more confident here, you seem happier to me. If living here is something you’d want to do, I’d want you to consider that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous for her reply. “Even if that means we would be apart for a little bit again.”

Sophie sat up completely so she could look him in the eye. “I love traveling, I really do. But I’ve also been homesick for three months - I miss my family, much more than I thought I would, I missed you like hell, and I miss having a routine.” She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t frown. “I haven’t been home to the Outer Banks since Christmas, and it’s August. That’s ages.”

He nodded and leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “I can go home with you, if you’d like? For the week before we have to go back to start school?”

“You’d do that? Even if you have to see your dad?”

“Yeah, of course I would.” He smiled, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“I’m glad you think I seem confident, because I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.” She smiled. “I feel much better with you around, I don’t think you realize how many days I cried when I first made it to Spain.”

He frowned, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “I don’t like hearing that. I hate it when you cry.”

“Sweet boy.” She grinned, lifting her head to nudge her lips against his chin. “I’m okay. You need sleep, you’re going soft on me.”

“Remind me how long my mistake is?”

“Four hours. We both need sleep and I can’t sleep if you’re moving around. We get to Rome around two.” She yawned, tucking her knees to her chest to keep herself warm. “Then you need a shower, you still smell a little bit like the club from last night.”

“Rude.” He leaned back anyways so she could be more comfortable. “G’night, angel.”

“Morning.” She corrected, seconds away from sleep.

He laughed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Good morning.”

The train ride was fairly uneventful - every half hour or so, one of them would wake the other up for entertainment or to point out the window at a pretty view. At one point Rafe suggested they join the mile-high club - but for trains, aptly named by him as the “rail tail club” - she just glared at him and crossed her arms to go back to sleep.

They took advantage of the WiFi to cancel their hostel stay and actually move to a hotel instead - after what happened in Florence, Sophie decided they didn’t need the experience of making new friends. Rafe had to slyly hide the full bill from her when she asked how much it was. (He felt a little guilty seeing the relief on her face when he said it was cheaper than expected, but he swore he’d never put her through financial stress as long as he lived.)

When they finally arrived and walked the ten blocks to the hotel - with suitcases in tow, dodging other tourists and locals in the street - Rafe stripped off his clothes the second they walked into their hotel room. Sophie paused, watching him with amusement as the door clicked shut behind them. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I feel so gross.” He confessed, peeling off his socks and shoving off his shorts. “Why didn’t you make me shower last night?”

“You were drunk, baby, I had to haul you to the metro station.” She followed him into the bathroom and he turned in the shower, shutting the door so steam would fill the room. He raised his eyebrows. “You coming in or are you just gonna watch?”

“I’m too tired for sex.” She told him, hopping up to sit on the counter. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Okay. So let’s just shower.”

“Just shower? You gonna stick to that?” She let him tease the hem of her shirt up, slowly.

“Just shower. Please? I’ll wash your hair.” He encouraged, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning to get in the shower.

“Hm.”

“I’ll wash your tits.”

He grinned when she gasped and reached out to swat his butt, making him jump before he stepped into the shower. “Or not! Whatever you’d like!”

She rolled her eyes and stripped down, joining him a few moments later. “You have a dirty mouth. I can’t let you keep getting away with that.”

He smirked, stepping close. “What are you gonna do about it? Punish me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She challenged, backing him against the shower wall. He tried his best to hold back a laugh at how cute she looked, trying to seem all intimidating. “Yeah. You know I would.”

She leaned up for a kiss and he leaned down, eyes closing - until she suddenly pinched his nipple, twisting it. “Ow! Sophie!”

She cracked up laughing, getting under the shower spray and handed him the shampoo. “Wash my hair. I’m hungry, let’s go find food.”

“So demanding.” He complained, accepting the shampoo. “Turn around.”

“I said we’re not having sex -”

“I said turn around, not bend over.” He swapped places with her in the shower and started shampooing her hair carefully, adding the perfect amount of pressure and making sure he didn’t tangle her hair. She moaned quietly and he paused abruptly. “Sophie. Do not.”

“Rafe, keep going.” She whined, pressing her head back into his hand.

He grumbled, continuing his shampooing. “Quit making noises.”

“I can’t help it, it feels so good - hey!” She squeaked, whipping around to glare at him when he tugged on her hair at her scalp. “What the fuck!”

“You’re saying everything you say during sex!”

“Are you just constantly horny?” She scowled at him and shoved at his chest.

“Yes, you aren’t?” He argued, stepping aside so she could rinse her hair. She got under the shower spray to rinse and kept glaring at him until she squeezed some shampoo into her palm. “No. Come here.”

He ducked down a little so she could reach, humming contentedly as she ran her fingers through his strands. “Baby.”

“What.” She kept up her faux-anger, but wasn’t really too annoyed with him - he knew it, too.

“I love you.”

She softened, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she continued to massage his head. “Love you too. Even if you are horny as hell.”

He laughed and accepted her little nudge under the shower so he could rinse her hair. “The showerhead is detachable…”

She looked him over, debating, but her stomach rumbled in protest. “I’m starving. Can’t you get yourself off? You did that just fine without me for three months, I’m sure.”

He laughed, leaning down to kiss her shortly. “I did, but it is criminal that we never had FaceTime sex.”

She raised her eyebrows. “My apartment walls were way too thin, and you definitely would have been caught at Colin’s house.” She reached down to run the tip of her finger under the length of his cock, grinning when it twitched. “Enjoy. I’m gonna get ready.”

“Sophie, baby -” He protested, reaching for her, but she just blew him a kiss and got out of the shower. She’d learned that quickies didn’t exist with Rafe, and if she started something in the shower it would be taken out to the bed, then probably go back to the shower afterward.

(She did her makeup in the bathroom just so she could hear his little groans - ones that he definitely played up for her.)

After going to dinner, and getting lost on their way back, they were both thoroughly exhausted for all their walking and their travels. When they crawled into bed after their showers, Sophie snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest. “Hey, Rafe.”

“Mm?” He hummed, half-asleep already.

“Do you have any special requests for your birthday tomorrow?”

He smirked, sleepy. “Yeah, you wanna wake me up with sex?”

“Like, actually?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’d do that?”

She shrugged. “If you want.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t complain. But just spending the day with you is more than enough.”

“Alright. What time were you born?”

“Uh…” He furrowed his brow. “7:12 am, I think. My mom used to wake me up for my birthday at that time on the dot, every year.”

“Aw. That’s sweet.” She typed something into her phone, then nodded. “Oh, you’re a Virgo rising. That makes so much sense.”

He frowned, sitting up a little. “I’m not a virgin, we had sex two days ago.”

Sophie giggled, not bothering to explain - she’d attempted to before when she was first getting into astrology, and he had just told her he didn’t believe in witches. “Has it been that long?”

“If that’s long to you, baby, I can’t even imagine how difficult three months was.” He quipped, closing his eyes and lying back down.

She rolled her eyes. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close.

The next morning, Sophie woke up and managed to slip out from Rafe’s side, ignoring his grumble and half-hearted, still-asleep attempt to keep her at his side. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth then changed into some new lingerie, feeling a little ridiculous, but hoped it’d be worth it. When she returned to the bed, she crawled on top of him, rocking her hips gently against his hard on. “Baby.” She whispered, trailing a finger down his chest.

He stirred only for a moment but pressed his hips up against hers. “Fuck, Sophie, more,” he said and she nearly laughed at his dream mumblings. She ducked down under the covers and kissed along his length, rubbing him gently over his boxers. He woke up just as she was pulling his boxers down, thoroughly confused. “Soph?”

“Good morning. Happy birthday.” She told him with a grin before taking him into her mouth, pushing on his thighs a little when he jerked in surprise.

“Am I still dreaming?” He muttered, pushing back the covers so he could see her head. She licked directly up the underside of his cock, tracing a vein with her tongue. “Nope. Not dreaming.”

“Holy shit.” He breathed out, watching her with wide eyes. “I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“That’s okay, we can fuck again.” She grinned up at him before taking as much of him as she could into her mouth again, moaning around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he gathered up her hair carefully. “Fuckin - fuck, angel, faster, please.”

She obeyed, moving her mouth and hand just a little faster. It wasn’t long until he was spilling into her and she swallowed, then kissed back up his body. “Hey.”

“Hey -” He breathed out, jaw hanging open, then stopped. “Wait, what are you wearing?” He took her in with a grin and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand table to get a better view of her, wanting to see her in her full glory. “Is that new?”

She laughed, tugging at her bra strap self-consciously. “Yeah. Thought I could save it as a special birthday surprise for you.”

“Holy fuck, Sophie.” He scrambled for his phone. “I need, like, a picture to remember this or something -”

She was turning red from all his compliments and covered her hand with her face as she whined. “Rafeeee.”

He tugged one hand away, grinning at her. “Please? Just one? Or more than one?”

“Um...okay. Fine. Where do you want me?”

His jaw dropped and he gaped at her, incredulous. “You’re serious? You’ll let me? For real, that’s actually okay with you?”

She bit her lip, smiling. “Yes. As long as you keep it in a locked folder on your phone.”

“Oh my god. I’m in heaven. Is this my birthday present, the lingerie? Or the pictures?” He leaned up to kiss her, needy, and groaned as she rocked against his hips to lean forward.

She pushed him back a little, rolling her eyes. “No, you have a real present.” She stuck her chest out, adjusting the bra so her breasts were nearly spilling out of it, and fluffed up her hair a little. “Snap away, Cameron.”

He paused, waiting for another nod from her, then started taking photos, his eyes blown wide. He reached up and ran his thumb over her lips - she bit down on it gently, smirking at his expression. Rafe groaned just as he looked at her adoringly. “You’re incredible. Beautiful. I need to tell you that more.”

“Shut up.” She blushed more, letting her hair fall in front of her face.

He drank the sight of her in, lingerie and all, then set his phone aside. Abruptly, he grabbed at her thighs to pull her up and she squeaked, caught off guard and fell forward onto him. “Rafe!”

“Come here. Sit on my face.” He commanded, dropping his head back to the pillow.

She pushed herself up to straddle his hips again, wearing an incredulous expression. “You’re insane. I’m not doing that.”

He laughed darkly and curled a possessive hand around her thigh, digging his fingers into her leg just enough. “Yes, you are. Come up here. I need you.”

She could feel her cheeks getting hot from his demanding tone, the way he was taking control. “Rafe, it’s your birthday. Let me just take care of you.”

“You did take care of me, now it’s my turn.” He moved his hand up her leg to rub across her clothed clit, grinning when she gasped and twitched at his touch. “Like you said, it’s my birthday, and what I want you to do is sit on my face. C’mon, baby. I know you’re just dripping for it, absolutely filthy -”

For a moment she nearly considered climbing up on his face right then and there just to get him to shut up, but got too shy and felt her face burning with embarrassment. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“No? You don’t like it?” He continued rubbing slow circles across her clit and grinned when she shifted onto his thigh and moaned. “Hm, that’s what I thought.”

“Rafe.” She protested weakly, her resolve thinning quickly as he flexed his thigh and pushed against her.

“You know what I want my present to be?” He asked.

She started grinding slow against his thigh, trying her best to keep her gaze locked on him. “Hm?”

“I want to make you come. Three times. I know I can, too.”

“I already got you a present.” She mumbled weakly, rocking against him a little faster as her brain began to cloud over. When he shifted a little and flexed his thigh again, she gasped, leaning forward a tiny bit.

He reached up and pushed one cup of her bra down, gripping her breast roughly and pinching her nipple. She bit her lip hard to keep quiet and he shook his head right away. “I want to hear you.”

“Someone’s going to hear.” She protested, whining quietly.

“Let them. I want everyone to know how good I can make you feel.” He shot back.

“We’re gonna get kicked out for a noise complaint.” She argued, rocking her hips a little faster.

“Good. I’ll know I’m doing my job right.”

“Trust me, that’s not an issue,” she muttered darkly, circling her hips on his leg. When she came, whining, she practically collapsed onto him, so sensitive she had to move so his leg wasn’t between hers anymore.

He didn’t care and flipped them over quickly, shoving the sheets down the bed and dragged her panties down and off her legs. “So fucking pretty. Look at you, all wet, you’re so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“You are on something today, where’s all this coming from?” She shook her head, even though his dirty words had her turned on more than she ever thought they would.

He grinned and kissed up her inner thigh, spreading her legs apart. “You love it.”

“Hm. Do I?”

Rafe moved up to kiss her lips, then down her jaw, then to nip at her throat, although she certainly didn’t need the foreplay. He pulled teasingly on the ends of her hair, a little harder than usual, and stopped abruptly to look up at her when she moaned. “Oh, I forgot, you like it a little rougher, yeah?” He asked in a taunting tone.

She rolled her eyes as she blushed, thoroughly embarrassed by his teasing. “I mean. I wouldn’t mind.”

He paused, thinking. “Do you have anything specific you want to try?”

Sophie didn’t hesitate in responding, knowing she’d chicken out if she didn’t just say it. “Did you pack a tie?”

“...a tie? What for?” He shuffled out of bed, confused, but rifled through his suitcase until he found a nice silk tie, all wrinkled from being forgotten in a spare pocket. He tossed it at her but she held it out. “I can’t tie it myself.”

“Where’s it going?”

She bit her lip as she raised both hands above her head, her wrists pressed together. “Here? But not to the bed, I think that’d be too much.”

He gaped at her for the third time that morning. “You’re sure? You want that?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Just unexpected, okay. Okay. We need, like, a safe word or something right, this is some fifty shades shit - is this gonna hurt you? Or fuck, do you want it to hurt?“

She held back a laugh, finding his rambling endearing. “It’s a silk J.Crew tie, baby, not rope. It’s okay. I’ll tell you to stop if I need it.”

“Right. Right. Have you done this before? You seem a little too chill about it.” He put the tie around her wrists hesitantly in a loose knot, making sure she was comfortable before he settled himself back between her legs.

Sophie gave him a little smile, blushing. “No, I just. Thought I might like it and I trust you.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight - you won’t sit on my face but you’ll let me tie you up?”

“It’s different.” She tried closing her legs but he pushed them back open and nipped at her thigh. “Hey. Behave.”

“Yeah? What if I don’t?” She challenged him with a grin, and he just shook his head and teased a finger across her entrance. “Trouble.”

“Rafe.”

“Yeah?” He moved impossibly slow, rubbing two gentle fingers over her clit - she squirmed under him, letting out a little whine. “No teasing.”

“Hm, I think I’m going to tease all I want, with you all tied up. Can’t take control like that.”

She groaned, blinking at him. “I’m already wet, I don’t need to be edged.”

He grinned up at her. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“S’hardly dirty.” She countered, gasping when he caught her off guard with a wide lick up her entrance. “Fuck - I -” She started helplessly as she went to grab his hair, but just had to squirm instead with her hands above her head.

“Do we have plans today?” He questioned, breathing hot air on her clit as he slipped two fingers inside her and curled them toward herself.

“Not til later - oh, there, please -”

Rafe repeated his motions and flicked his tongue across her clit. “What are we doing?”

“Can we not discuss this now?” She argued breathlessly.

“Why, can’t concentrate?” He glanced up, amused. When she went to answer, he just sucked on her clit, making her gasp. “Answer the question, angel.”

“Rafe - fuckin’ - please -” She bit out, unable to think straight. “I’m so close, baby, more -”

He swore there was nothing he loved more than when she’d call him pet names, and the whine certainly added to it. Instead of teasing more, he curled his fingers again and flicked his tongue across her clit, working her through her second orgasm. She’d abandoned all pretense of keeping quiet and gasped out for him, arching her back as she came. When he withdrew his fingers and crawled back up the bed to press them against her lips, she took them easily.

“You are way too fucking good at that.” She breathed out, trying to grab for him again, but cursed when she remembered she was still tied up.

He reached up and untied her with a grin. “You okay? Did it feel alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Though I’m not sure I like not being able to touch you.” She smiled as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of her wrists.

“Dunno, I think I like when you’re not ripping my hair out when you come.” He grinned, nudging his nose against hers.

She rolled her eyes. “You love that.” She took on a mocking tone, making her voice deeper to imitate him. “Pull my hair, baby - oh, fuck, yes -”

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.” He laughed. “Your sex noises are more embarrassing, anyways, all whiny.”

“They are not embarrassing -”

“You want to record them and see?” He raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

She blushed, shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not. You missed your chance for that the second you came here to see me.”

“Shame. Kind of unfair though, because you definitely got a voice memo or two.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you sent one to me every time you jacked off, that was much more than just one or two. Took my invitation and ran with it.”

He laughed, then reached around and unclipped her bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside, then rested his head next to hers on the pillow. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“Happy birthday.” She smiled. “Love you too, sweet boy.”

He grinned, kissing her sweetly, then stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “We’re not done yet. I promised you three times.”

She laughed. “Alright, just give me a second to catch my breath.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “I’m that good, huh?”

She shoved at his shoulder, shaking her head. “You are too damn cocky for your own good. Oh! Here, let me get your present.” She hopped out of bed and pulled out a gift bag from her suitcase, all smushed down and wrinkled, and handed it to him. “Sorry it’s a mess, I had to pack it before you came.”

He sat up with an eager grin, pulling the covers over his lap. “S’okay, I’m sure it’s great.”

She pulled her underwear back on and pulled on a big shirt of his before crawling back into bed, watching him with a smile.

He unwrapped the gift and pulled out a leather jacket, whistling. “Wow! This is awesome, Sophie.”

She beamed, practically bouncing with excitement. “It’s custom fit to your measurements - I had Colin measure that jacket you always wear to be sure - and it’s ethically made. Well, as ethical as you can get with leather, but it’s handmade by this family in Barcelona, so there’s practically no carbon footprint. It’s neutral, at least. No sweatshops or anything.”

He wasn’t quite sure what all of that meant, but grinned at her enthusiasm. “It’s perfect, baby, thank you.”

“Happy birthday.”

Rafe held it up, looking at all the details, then he caught a glimpse of the tag and frowned. It was $300 - he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how many hours of work that was for her paycheck. “Sophie.”

“Just pretend you didn’t see!” She tucked it back in the jacket quickly, wincing.

“I swear this is a double standard...” He started, but decided not to finish his argument - the last thing he wanted to do with her on his birthday was fight about money.

“Don’t care. Let me treat you.” She beamed as he ran his fingers over the leather.

“You never let me treat you.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows and held up her hand with the ring as if to make her point, raising her eyebrows. “Never?”

“That was different, that’s a gift.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, so’s this. C’mon, put it on.”

“What? I’m all sweaty.”

“Just for a little bit.” She pleaded, pushing it toward him. “Please? I want a picture.”

“Oh, so you get nudes too? I thought that was a special birthday present.” He raised his eyebrows, challenging her, and she giggled. “The jacket is the present. Rafe, please?”

He made a show out of huffing and rolling his eyes but held out his hand, sitting up. She grinned and handed it to him, grabbing her phone when he shrugged it on. “Okay, lay back?”

“You’re directing me? Okay.” He laid back in bed, completely naked except for the jacket, his hand tucked behind his head. She beamed and climbed up on the bed to stand over him, just wearing his big t-shirt and her underwear, and arranged the sheets so they were just covering his dick, his chest on full display and his hip and thigh peeking out suggestively.

“Okay. Don’t smile.” She held her phone up high to get the right angle, laughing when he smirked up at her. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah? Do I get a picture of you in it too?”

“Nope.” She hopped off the bed and held her hand out expectantly for him to take the jacket off. He sat up and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it. “Sophie. Shirt off.”

“No.”

He just raised his eyebrows and she gave in with a sigh, tugging it over her head. He nodded, satisfied, and helped her shrug the jacket on. “You’re easy when you’re cock drunk.”

She gasped, shoving at his shoulder. “I do not get cock drunk -”

“You absolutely do!” He laughed, swiping his phone from the bedside table. “C’mon. Pose for me.”

She pretended to blow him a kiss, striking a bunch of poses. He grinned, holding up his phone and taking way too many shots. “There we go, angel. I’m gonna send these in to Victoria’s Secret for you.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off for the camera, holding the jacket closed. “Shut up.”

“No. C’mere, pick out which ones I can keep.” He reached over and tugged on her arm and she shrugged off the jacket, carefully setting it on the chair before climbing back into bed, purposely dragging herself across him. He groaned. “Baby.”

“Yes.”

“Can’t do that. I’m almost hard again.”

“Okay. You can fuck me again.” She smirked up at him and he took a deep breath, then handed his phone over. “Choose your photos.”

She flicked through them and deleted a few, then grinned at the one of her flipping him off. Sophie cropped it in a little so it was much less suggestive, her chest mainly covered, and cut it off where the jacket ended, then set it as his lock screen. “There. Now you’ll always remember this whenever you look at your phone.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, there was no chance of me forgetting.” He smirked, glancing at the screen then gave her a sincere smile. “C’mon. We need to shower.”

“No.” She threw her leg over his hips, catching him with her ankle tucked around his thigh and leaned in to kiss him, hard. He groaned against her lips, pulling her closer on top of him. “Sophie.”

“Rafe.” She mumbled, nipping at his lower lip. He nudged his nose against her cheek. “Baby.”

“Just kissing, c’mon.” She argued, even though she rolled her hips against him, felt him stiffening against her, and knew exactly what she was doing.

“It’s never just kissing with you.”

“It was the very first time.” She grinned.

“When you kissed me drunk at the party and then rejected me?” He raised his eyebrows, clutching at his chest in mock pain. “Broke my heart, Flint.”

“And look, now you have me nearly naked in bed in Rome. I think you’re doing just fine, Cameron.” She quipped and he laughed. “Damn straight.” He gripped her hips when she moved to get off him, holding her in place. “Where are you going?”

“Want you on top.” She protested, grinding down against him. His breath caught in his throat and he flipped her over with ease, hooking his fingers in her underwear and dragged them off her legs, pushing one knee to her chest as he did. He reached to grab a condom off of the nightstand and rolled it down himself with a little groan, watching Sophie bite her lip. “Tell me how I got so lucky?”

“You’re such a romantic.” She teased, reaching out for him again. He leaned down and carefully slid into her, squeezing his eyes shut when she moaned at the feeling. “Can’t help it with you.”

“Cheesy.” She accused, gasping when he thrust a little harder.

“Mean.” He quipped, leaning down to kiss her, hard, and she responded eagerly. As much as he tried to hold back, they only lasted a few minutes before they were both coming again, Sophie biting down on his shoulder to keep quiet.

Rafe flicked her chest with a grin as he pulled out of her, shaking his head. “Did you just bite me?”

“We have two more days, we really can’t get kicked out for a noise complaint.” She giggled, smiling up at him with flushed cheeks.

___

The rest of the day was heaven for Rafe - Sophie was touchier than ever, even in public, and absolutely doted on him like it was her job. They wandered around a few tourist sites and by two pm, they’d already split three gelatos upon Rafe’s insistence they had to try ‘just one more flavor.’ He FaceTimed with Colin and James earlier in the day and was grinning ear to ear afterward, claiming multiple times that it was the best birthday he’d ever had.

Around six, after Sophie reluctantly agreed to their fourth gelato of the day, she waited outside in the sun as he went and got their cup to split. When Rafe returned from the shop with gelato for both of them, she covered her phone with her hand. “Thank you. I have someone on the phone for you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Julia and Allie already texted me earlier today.”

She just smiled and handed him her phone - her dad waved at him with a grin on FaceTime. “Rafe, buddy, happy birthday!”

Rafe’s grin was so instantaneous it nearly hurt. “Jeff! Hi, thank you! That’s so nice of you to call!”

“Of course, had to check in on you. How’s your day, been good so far?”

Rafe blushed and shot her a panicked look as Sophie shot him a glare off-camera. “Yes sir, it’s been great. Sophie and I have been exploring the city and stuff, getting to know the history.”

“That’s great, I’m glad. Have any big plans tonight?”

Sophie scooted over so she was on screen. “We do, but he doesn’t know about them yet.”

“Ahh, a surprise. What else have you done, the Colosseum? Vatican City? Your mom would enjoy that.” Jeff grinned as Sophie rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m not taking him to the Catholic Church on his birthday -”

“I know, Sophie, I was kidding.” He shook his head and Rafe held back a smile. “You have two weeks before school starts, right Soph?”

“Yeah, just need to do a few TA things and get my studio set up. Why?”

“I was thinking, we’d love to have you home for a weekend if you have time before classes start. Rafe, you’re welcome to come over as well.”

Rafe brightened as Sophie nudged her knee against his, smiling. “I’d like that. If Sophie’s not too busy, I mean.”

“No, I think I can figure that out. I miss you guys.” She smiled. “So Rafe gets to stay in my room, right?”

Her dad froze up for a second. “I was thinking the guest room or his own room at his house, actually -”

Rafe’s eyes went wide and he pinched Sophie’s thigh, shaking his head quickly. “I can stay at my house! That’s perfectly fine. She’s kidding. We’re in separate dorms on this trip, so it shouldn’t be any different -”

“Oh my god, no, you’ll stay in the guest room.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Okay, dad, we have to go.”

“Right.” Her dad eyed them skeptically, then smiled. “Well, happy birthday, Rafe, hope it’s a good one. I’m excited to see you both soon.”

“I appreciate it, sir, that means a lot. Thank you.” Rafe beamed, but he could feel his neck getting hot, hoping her dad wouldn’t pick up on his terrible lying.

“Alright. Be safe, you two.” Her dad hung up and Sophie’s cheeks burned a little, feeling he was implying a double meaning. She swatted his chest. “Can’t you control your blush for two seconds?”

“No ma’am.” He replied with a grin. “That was so nice of your dad. Did you ask him to do that?”

“No, he just texted me and asked when he could call. He likes you. Even if you’re a shitty liar.” She gave him a pointed look and he just laughed.

“He’s cool.” Rafe nodded, satisfied. “Man, that was so nice. I can’t believe he thought of me.”

She paused, eating a spoonful of her gelato. “Has your dad said anything today?”

“No, he won’t unless Rose reminded him. But that’s unlikely.” He shrugged. “Sarah and Wheezie texted me, that was nice.”

“Your dad’s not going to call on your birthday?” She frowned.

Rafe shook his head. “No. I’m usually up at school by now anyways, so he forgets. He remembered senior year of high school, but that was because I had a party at my house and asked him if we could string up lights by the pool.”

“Oh. I don’t remember that party.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t invite you and your friends on purpose. Was trying to keep it lowkey, y’know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, was that the one that Cassidy Anderson got so drunk at, she had to get her stomach pumped? And Kyle Green broke his ankle -”

“When he tripped into the pool, yeah, that was the one. Word got around that I was having a party, I’m kinda surprised you didn’t end up there anyways.”

She laughed. “Carter went and texted me not to come, he thought the cops were going to show.”

He wrinkled his nose at the memory. “They did. It was bad, Shoupe told my dad and everything, I was in trouble for a month after that.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, skeptical. “I’m sure you being in trouble meant nothing.”

“No, he canceled my golf lessons. That was actually a big deal, he knew I liked them.” He frowned a little.

She bit her lip as she suddenly remembered - her dad came home and told her mom that the big tips from the Camerons were going away, that they’d have to cancel their flights to go visit her in Sophie's first semester of college because they needed the refund as a safety net. It was a big deal that they had even promised to come at all, usually her dad had to work weekends to fit in more lessons and he’d asked off just to come see her.

When Ward canceled the lessons, a few of Rafe’s buddies followed suit and canceled as well - she and Carter went around to every course in the area that week to put up flyers to get their dad more customers. She felt a momentary pang of guilt putting two and two together and shook her head, trying to redirect the conversation. “Right. Um, so you want to head back to the hotel, get ready for dinner? I made a reservation for us at 7.”

“Yeah. You alright?”

She gave him a slightly forced smile. “I’m alright. Let’s go, birthday boy.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, but didn’t push it.

Dinner that night was on the rooftop of a hotel overlooking Rome, and they both dressed nicer than they had the whole trip, with her in a cream colored silk slip dress to complement her tan and him in a pair of nice slacks and a sleek short-sleeved button down. When their waiter came out to greet them with a drink menu, he glanced at Sophie’s attire and her ring and raised his eyebrows. “You are the honeymooners, yes?”

She blushed, shaking her head. “No, sir, the birthday. Under Sophie Flint.”

“Oh! The white dress, I was confused.” Their waiter gave them an apologetic smile. “Here is your drink menu, I will be back.” He returned later with two glasses of complimentary champagne, as well as the bottle of wine they ordered, and apologized again.

When he left, Rafe lifted his glass with a cheeky grin. “To my blushing bride.”

She scowled and stopped just short of kicking him under the table. “Shut the fuck up. Happy birthday.” She clinked her glass against his, shaking her head as he cracked up, thinking it was hilarious. “You’re not allowed to buy me any more rings, this just causes trouble.”

“Good trouble.” He protested and took off his signet ring with his initials, sliding it onto her thumb. “C’mon, you hardly wear any other jewelry daily. I like buying you things.”

“I know you do.” She rolled her eyes and pushed the menu to him. “Here. It’s our last night so go crazy.”

He paused, scanning over the menu. “Are we splitting this?”

“No, it’s your birthday dinner. My treat.” She frowned when he flipped the menu to just the entrees without any meat or fish. “No worrying about money.”

“I’m not. The carbonara at the other table looked good.” He replied, wishing he’d looked at how much the wine was that she ordered and made a mental note to pay for all their meals in the airport.

“You don’t like carbonara.”

“Maybe I do here.”

“Rafe.” She reached over and flicked the menu back to the more expensive options. “Do not hold back. I’m serious. I got this reservation back in June and I have more money left in my budget for this trip than I thought I would by now. Let me do this for you.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. And if you really want the carbonara, I’m getting it, so you can have some.”

He laughed as she reached over and refilled his wine glass. “Trying to get me drunk so I’ll give in?”

“Yeah, will it work?” She grinned.

He just shook his head and took a sip with a smile. “You’re spoiling me today.”

“Yeah, you deserve it.”

They were both giggly and drunk by the time they made it back to their hotel, after missing their metro stop twice. When they finally showered and collapsed into bed - to actually sleep, that time - Rafe hugged her close and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I love you, Sophie. Thank you. So much.”

“Love you too, baby.” She murmured. “My favorite.”

When Rafe’s watch buzzed at 1am the next morning, he stirred a little, going to turn it off, but paused when he saw he had a call from his dad. He carefully untangled himself from Sophie’s koala grip and slipped out of bed, tugging on some joggers and a shirt before heading out to the hotel lobby to answer the call. “Dad? Is something wrong?”

“Can’t I wish my son a happy birthday?” Ward asked.

Rafe relaxed a little bit, settling back against a couch. “Yeah, um, it’s just early. I figured something was wrong with Wheezie or Sarah.”

“Ohio’s got the same time as the Outer Banks, kid.”

“I’m on that trip with Sophie, remember, I told you about it in June? We’re in Rome. I’m going home soon.”

Ward’s tone turned slightly sour as he was reminded. “Right. Forgot. You went all the way across the world for this girl?”

Rafe dug his fingernails into his palm, keeping his tone even. “For my girlfriend, yes. I love her.”

Ward sighed. “I’m sure you think you do, Rafe.”

“I know I do.”

His dad paused before speaking again. “I just don’t understand. You had a perfectly good thing going with Brooklyn, she has a great family. She’s used to our lifestyle.”

Rafe was exasperated, as well as exhausted, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She cheated on me, Dad. Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Must have done something to fuck it up.” Ward shot back, taking on a defensive tone.

Sophie had realized she was alone in bed by then and crept out of their room, following the muffled sound of his voice to find him in the lobby. She crossed her arms, frowning, and mouthed ‘come back to sleep.’

Rafe motioned her away and gave her a fake smile, shaking his head. She frowned, not convinced, and came up behind him on the couch, slipping her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I didn’t do anything.” Rafe replied curtly, standing to follow her back to the room. He lowered the volume on his phone so Sophie couldn’t hear a single word.

“Right.” Ward was unconvinced. “I’m sure this girl is just with you to get money out of you, don’t let yourself be fooled. I didn’t work this hard for our family just to let you think you’re in love with someone that can’t provide.”

Rafe was too tired to argue and kept his face impassive, wanting to end the conversation sooner than later with Sophie there. “That’s not it.” She took his hand and led him back to their room, staying quiet but watching his expression carefully.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Ward insisted. “You didn’t - you didn’t knock her up. Did you?” He questioned and Rafe wrinkled his nose a tiny bit at his accusatory tone. “No, Dad, of course not.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, surprised that Ward had called, and let them both back into the room. Rafe gave her a quick smile and shut himself in the bathroom, not wanting her to hear any more.

“Oh. Well. Just, be careful.”

“I am. Uh, thanks for calling, I guess.”

“Right. Happy birthday. 21, right?”

Rafe’s face twisted and he was surprised to feel a few tears running down his cheeks as he leaned back against the wall, head hung low. “Close. 22.”

Ward made a small ‘huh’ noise. “22, I knew that. Night, son.”

When Rafe hung up, he let out a choked laugh, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. Even if it was the first time in a while his dad had called on his birthday, he still couldn’t even remember his age.

Carefully, Sophie opened the door, peering in. “Baby? Are you alright?”

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, trying his best to force a smile, but she realized right away and pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. “Come back to bed, Rafe.”

He followed her out and crawled back into bed with her, burying his face against her chest as she combed through his hair. “I deserve better.” He mumbled brokenly.

She frowned. “Of course you do, baby. I’m sorry. What’d he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He muttered, and he was so tired that he let his guard down to cry, shoulders shaking a little as he did. Sophie practically clung to him, letting him bury his face in her neck as she stroked her back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re alright.” She whispered.

He nodded a little, nudging his leg over her waist to draw her closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Rafe, so goddamn much.”

“What time’s our flight tomorrow?” He mumbled against her skin.

“Not til six, we can sleep in if you want.” She pulled back just a little to kiss him, peppering kisses over his cheeks. “I love you. No matter what anyone says.”

He frowned and her heart broke just looking at how defeated he seemed. “You didn’t hear, did you?”

“No. It’s okay. You gotta sleep, baby.” Sophie pulled the blankets back over them, nudging him up so his head was properly set on the pillow, even though she knew he’d have his head on her chest by the time she woke up.

“Soph?” He whispered after a few seconds, sounding close to sleep again.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Of course. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney @babeyglo

[raisans-art]

What the Fuck Are these Characterizations: The Essay

Full warning: This is only concerning Tommy's stream made today, 4/29/2021. I know Ranboo has streamed after Tommy but I haven't watched that.

On with the essay.

A lot happened.

Tommy tried to kill Dream, Dream actually killed Ghostbur, Wilbur is back (pog). It's a lot. A lot of plot and a lot of emotions. I will preface this with the usual "holy hell these people are pretty damn good actors for having no formal training as far as I'm aware." They get their emotions across very clearly and that's kinda why I'm making this in the first place. The way some of the characters acted in Tommy's 4/29 stream is a bit odd in my opinion.

Now, I will concede that I have not been diligent with the Dream SMP lore. I've been given broad strokes and have seen various clips but I have definitely not been on top of it. I may have missed streams entirely and you all more avid fans may be able to name scenes that I haven't seen that rationalize some of these reactions that I will be criticizing. If you can, please do so! I'd love to start a dialogue over this!

So, how I'm gonna break this all up is to take a look at Tommy, Wilbur, Ranboo, and Awesamdude and how their CCs characterized them during the stream. I'll sing praises where they are due and point out my criticisms where they arise. Then, I will try to surmise some meta as to why I think these characterizations came to be in the first place.

Tommy

Tommy, to me, has the best characterization in this. CC Tommy clearly has a very good sense of what he wants from his character and has been playing into that line of thought from the beginning of this whole debacle.

Tommy is scared, paranoid, and pissed off. Ever since he left the prison he avoids taking damage like the plague, rambles indecisively, is easily sent into a panic, and is hypersensitive to the people around him. He panics when he sees weapons out and one crucial thing that he made clear from the start was that he wants Dream dead.

Straight out of limbo, Tommy concludes that Dream needs to die. From there he plans this whole mission with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Ghostbur to get in and kill Dream. He says that Dream can't keep living with this power at his fingertips, and from before his final death, Tommy clearly wants to be rid of his abuser, adding a personal layer to his plan. Tommy is stubborn and determined since the beginning, sacrificing his life and disks for L'manberg and refusing to believe that his home is gone until the place is blown to bedrock. Of course, he would stick to his plan to a T.

Now, is this a smart decision to sneak into the highest security area in the entire SMP? Fuck no. It's a stupid idea. Even if Tommy hadn't messed up, Sam would've seen Dream die to a floating axe and kept Tommy and Ghostbur in that containment cell. It would've been a one-way ticket, especially given what we see of Sam in this stream.

But this all makes sense for the character CC Tommy is playing. Tommy isn't thinking about how smart of a decision this is and he hardly ever does when he takes action. He shoots from the hip, takes his first instincts, and acts on them.

It's easy to draw a clear line of progression of Tommy as a character from season 1 to this moment in season 3 and past Ghostbur's death. His hyperventilating as he tries to get his plan to work after it failed, Trying to save Ghostbur from what he went through, lashing out at Sam, and yelling at Wilbur. All of this in line with who Tommy is as a character and how events have changed him. This is a good characterization.

Wilbur

Wilbur has changed a lot since we've seen him last, both alive and dead. Since he's been alive, Wilbur has changed his tune from "I want to die" to "hell sucks, mate." What's particularly interesting is that this sentiment that he has from being alive carried for a long time into his limbo, as evidenced by his appearance in the season 2 finale on the bench. He wanted to "stay dead" at that point. Since we've seen him in limbo, he's gone from content in his situation and understanding why he's there and that he's there forever.

Now we have Revivedbur. Revivedbur is ecstatic to be alive again. He goes from numb to embracing feeling again. The fandom once thought that Revivedbur would be annoyed with or hateful towards Dream for bringing him back turned into joy and reverence. This is quite a drastic leap. Bad characterization.

But it isn't.

I have seen one clip from Ranboo's stream on 4/29 and that is Ranboo telling Philza that Wilbur is alive. In this bit, after mentioning that Wilbur has been in limbo for a perceived 13 and a half years, Phil says "13 years is a long time to be away... he almost certainly isn't the same person... people can change quite a lot in a single year, two years, three years, four years, even five years, Ranboo."

Wilbur has been gone for 13 years. He's been in the same place with no change other than Tommy for 13 fucking years. That's 13 years where we heard from him 2 times. We know virtually nothing about what those 13 years were like for him, but from what Wilbur has said, it was torture to him. He was stagnant, stuck in a fucking tube station for 13 years, unable to leave no matter how hard he tried.

We know so little about how his time in limbo changed him because it's such a long span of time with radio silence. I dare say this is fucking great characterization.

Ranboo

This is where I start having some issues, and this is where I have the least amount of context. From what I've seen, Ranboo is little miss angst who forgets things and is constantly on the verge of having a panic attack (hyperbole). From what I have surmised of his character in various contexts, serious and dramatic scenes and domestic ones, Ranboo really cares about the people around him and is scared of himself and his mind.

So why is it that he straight up just sneers at Tommy, saying "the hell did you do?"

I'm really just focusing on this because it just seems really off to me in the context of his character. Ranboo was in on this plan. It's pretty common knowledge that the only person with revive powers is Dream. Ranboo doesn't know everything that happened within the prison, sure, but why is he so quick to assume that Tommy was the root cause? Is it because he's been hanging out with the world's 2nd biggest Tommy hater, Niki (the character for clarification)? I honestly don't know where this jump-in assumption is coming from. Given what I understand of his character, this line and the implications I'm getting are just a bit out of character. Feel free to explain why I'm wrong because I am not in this loop whatsoever.

Awesamdude

Sam is where I have the biggest issue. How does a man go from living on an isolated island in grief over a death he could've prevented if only he had been quicker, to yelling at that same formerly dead person that he was at fault for the death/revival of another person?

Now, one thing that is strengthened by this characterization is Sam's dedication to the rules. He has his strict protocol and he is not going to let that slip up for anything. He wants to keep Dream in prison and never let him out.

But I'm just having a hard time grappling with a man so quick to blame himself last time something like this happened being so quick to place blame on a child he, from what I've seen, had a good relationship with. It feels like I'm missing something here.

Yeah, Tommy broke into the prison, but why is Sam's first thought that Tommy was trying to break dream out? This harsh turn on Tommy just doesn't come across right to me.

Why Did This Happen?

I do think there could be a meta reason as to why these don't land right to me. These two characterizations are centered around Tommy. How people are reacting to Tommy's actions. Tommy and Dream are the head of the prison stuff right now. at least as far as I know. I'm not sure if Wilbur has come back on as a writer yet but last I heard it's still Tommy and Dream handling their shit. With the writers in mind, I wouldn't put it past them to decide to add more conflict with Tommy and other members of the SMP right now. The Egg is a bit busy with other things, Jack is just running the hotel, and the Syndicate doesn't really have any qualms with Tommy on any level that they would act on. It could be the writers trying to add conflict to the prison storyline by generating conflict between Tommy, Ranboo, and Sam with Wilbur being a fuckin wild card.

I don't know mate, I just wanted my thoughts out there and maybe be fucking pounded into the ground by people more knowledgeable than me.

Have a dialogue with me I'd love to debate. (All friendly debate please I don't feel like taking this too seriously it is Minecraft roleplay after all.)

[coepiteamare]

nine thousand, seven hundred nineteen kilometers

pairing: yoongi x female!oc  genre: mild angst, it’s not fluff but it’s not angst, thieves oc & yoongi  warnings: mild angst, oc and yoongi are thieves (think ocean’s 8/11-13, pickpockets in this drabble), lapslock word count: 1.4k

summary: you find love somewhere in between los angeles and new york and lose your heart in between paris and tokyo. (alt. maybe he’s the compulsion you can’t seem to shake, the ache that doesn’t fade even nine thousand, seven hundred and nineteen kilometers away)

paris is much quieter than the places you’re used to, but it’s not a bad thing.

you like having coffees in cafes, settling in nooks, and drinking in the scenery spread outside the window. there’s a slight soreness in your arms from the aerial act last night that you remedy with macarons and the cafe cat that comes to sit in your lap, nuzzling its nose in your turtleneck. but the itch in your fingertips refuses to subside: a dull craving that refuses to be muffled no matter how many hobbies you pick up, how many characters you adapt and abandon, how many miles you put between yourself and los angeles. 

maybe you should move to amsterdam, you think as you thank the cafe owner. you contemplate luxembourg as you give the cat one last pet and leave behind a half eaten croissant. dubai is also pretty, you tell yourself as you bump into a youngman in a peacoat. hand into his pocket. you fall over, gripping on to his sleeve, as he reaches out to stabilize you. his prada wallet in your bag. you flash him a shy smile that could make the eiffel tower crumble. his watch on your wrist. you giggle an apology--i’m so sorry, i was distracted, i should have been paying more attention--and vanish into the crowd in a haze of vanilla and rose with his gucci tie clip in the pocket of your trench coat.

old habits die hard. 

maybe it’s not a habit you’re trying to get rid of, something whispers in the back of your head, or maybe you’re not trying at all. shut up, you whisper back.

you close the door quickly when you enter your flat, letting the fall chill know it’s an unwelcome guest before it can settle in. 

the apartment you live in is small, a little out of the way from central paris, but you like the trimmings on the cabinets and the colours of the wall. it feels lived in, less sterile than white walls, and it feels like what a home should feel like. there’s scratches on the countertop and smudges of the lives of tenants before you, and, really, you could do a lot better with the money from tokyo, but it was the first place that didn’t hiss at your insecurities in the sound of his voice. all the other ones you had seen had reminded you of him--walls painted with his laughter, banisters lined with the snap of his gloves, floors tiled in his stupid, ostentatious spending habits--and you had almost given up on paris, almost decided to live in the cheap motel with shitty coffee and questionable door locks because the first hotel you checked into had him written all over it (as did the next one and the next one and the next) until you found this apartment, cozy and in need of upkeep. i’m yours, it seemed to say; better yet, it said nothing at all. yours (whatever that meant). 

“you should get better locks,” his voice rings, and you drop your purse, items clattering to the floor. 

he looks just as you remember him: soft, wispy bangs against pale skin, dark eyes taking in more information than you could ever know, jaw and mouth sharp like he’d bite if you made the wrong move. the way the sun gently brushes him with a soft golden glow makes you wonder if he’s somehow conned the sun into working for him. (he’s always had a flair for dramatics, even if he claims there’s no room for theatrics in his plans.) you wrench your gaze away from him, your ribcage suddenly two sizes too tight for the thudding contraption it holds inside.

“have you ever thought locks were meant to keep people out, yoongi? that maybe people have locks to try and keep whatever’s inside them safe?” you pick up the items off the floor, carefully placing them back into your purse, trying to keep your voice steadier than your hands. 

“i have a proposition for you,” he says, without missing a beat, like nothing happened in tokyo. 

“would you have sought me out if you didn’t?” you mutter under your breath. you don’t like the bitterness that spreads through your mouth, the hurt that lingers like a bad aftertaste. “i’m retired,” you lean against the wall. you wonder if the scuff marks on the floor have been there a while. you try to look everywhere but him, but your training kicks in and you’re hypersensitive to everything he does: the way his shoulders are loose but his eyes are constantly moving, the way he still holds the tea cup like he did the first time he took you to a cafe 3 minutes after he met you, the way his left hand is still, unnatural, like he wants to drum them against the table or pick a lock, have something to do. 

he hums and sips the tea in front of him. “i would have been a little quicker with the wallet,” your head turns to him in shock, “but other than that, it was a pretty solid job.” of course he was watching. there was nothing yoongi missed, from the stutter in your heartbeat to the thrum of your fingers against the wall. he drops his smile and his gaze bores into yours, but you feel the smug satisfaction smothering you like his cologne that still permeates your dreams, six months later and six thousand miles away.  

“awareness of surroundings has gotten sloppy though.”

“fuck you.” 

his shoulders shake as he laughs, breath catching with every inhale. it takes him a minute to collect himself, but the smile doesn’t fall. “the crew misses you.”

“more like you couldn’t find another acrobat,” you scoff. everything about this is painfully familiar: the sharp rapport, the sparks, him. it’s too easy to settle back into habit, even if you’ve been burnt before. it feels like diving back under the covers, body aching to crawl back to what it knows. the words slide out of your mouth before you have a chance to think about them, bitter and acrid. “were you even trying?” 

“were you even trying? it’s like you wanted to get caught” he had scoffed, mouth acidic even at your tear stained face. “this isn’t a fucking performance you get to put on night after night. there is no safety net waiting to catch you. that-” he gestures at the wind, at the depository miles away from you, “whatever that was almost cost us this job.”

“i’ve missed you.” he smiles, and just like that, you hear the faint click, his words cracking the pin code on your ribcage and unlocking the heart you’ve tried so desperately to cage. you should have known better: there’s never been a lock yoongi couldn’t pick, a safe he couldn’t find his way into. nothing has been able to keep him out: not the gallery treasury in newport beach with its earthquake proof alarm system, not the cartier vault in new york city with its impressive randomized laser grid, and certainly not the flimsy, fickle alarm system of your heartbeat. 

“how did you find me?” your voice is too soft, muddled under memories buried six feet under.

“have you ever seen me fail to get what i want?” he makes his way to you and doesn’t stop until you’re pressed against the wall, the tips of his shoes against yours. sandalwood tickles your throat as you take a breath. his nose brushes against yours, pink lips mere centimeters away. 

“i meant what i said, your awareness of your surroundings needs work.” his breath fogs your clarity. “besides, if they wanted to keep things safe, maybe they should try a bit harder. i’m just here to prove that all things can be found.” he taps a finger against your nose lightly, mouth stretching into a smile before he makes his way towards the door with his hands in his pocket. he doesn’t turn back to look at you. “you know how to find me.”

you stand there, dazed, until the faint tap, tap, tap of the rain against your windowpane breaks the fog, sun submerged in velvet darkness. 

maybe he’s just as potent as a habit, just as hard to kill. 

you find a plane ticket to los angeles in your backpocket, a burner phone in your coat pocket. your safe door is wide open, contents untouched, with a post it note on top. 

it’s like you’re not even trying. p.s. did you miss me?

A/N:  a BIG thank you to hana @taestybae​ for reading this and telling me she loved it. i absolutely adore you. 

i’m going to work to expand on the universe (hopefully) and introduce the rest of the crew because words cannot describe how much i love this universe and these characters. 

[quidfree]

prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this 

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident. 

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready. 

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head. 

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite. 

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling. 

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki. 

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down. 

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that. 

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it. 

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac. 

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {8}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Tiny Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes, Small Time Jumps

Words: 6.6k

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

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-Henry-

The minute he woke the next day and the alcohol had worn off; he instantly regretted his actions. His head was pounding and his nose stuffy, which was always what the morning after a drinking fest looked and felt like for him. the pain in his head made him painfully aware of everything he’d said to you. More than half of him wished he would have just held his peace and moved on, but the other side of him—the stubborn bull side felt nothing but satisfaction from what he’d done. It was time, especially seeing that you completely had the wrong idea about who he was and his character. He couldn’t help but wonder what you thought about your conversation, but instead of dwelling on it, he decided to push it to the side and do the logical thing. Move on.

 It was now five days since that conversation, and though it felt strange the first couple of days to not send you a message when you ran across his mind, he did it and adapted. He now was throwing himself into work because there wasn’t a shortage of it. Most days, he was in pre-production for Witcher two, and that in itself was a lot of work. Production decided to kick fight choreography up a notch because last season wasn’t badass enough. The choreography this season was definitely taking it up several notches, and it meant more long hours of training and even more potential for him to be hurt.

By week two post convo, he was steadily counting down to his vacation time. Training was kicking his ass, and the more and more days that passed, the more he thought of you. That wasn’t all though, the more the way he thought of you changed. In the beginning, he thought he was infatuated or possibly obsessed. When he was around you, he always felt as if he wasn’t in control. He felt like there were forces that were controlling your interactions and pulling a starry blanket over his feelings. He expected this time away to act as a purge, but it hadn’t, not in the way he’d anticipated.

 “Come on, her name is Becca, and she’s super cute,” Alisha said.

 “Why is it that all my brother’s wives want to set me up?”

 “Because we care. You’re too great of a guy to be alone,” Halley complimented.

 They all nodded, and his eldest brother painfully squeezed his cheek.

 “Plus, look at this face,” Nik teased, making all of them elate.

 It had been like this since they were kids. Nothing had changed.

 “I’m perfectly fine being alone,” he answered.

 “Doesn’t mean you should be,” Amee piped out.

 No matter what, he said it wouldn’t be good enough until he gave them what they wanted. He had no intention of doing it, though. He wasn’t sure if it was really his loathing of being set up or because he didn’t want to pretend to want anyone else. Whatever it was, it had him declining to their annoyance. He could stick it out for the next two weeks until he got out of London.

  -Aliya-

“You fucked up, plain and simple,” Amaya blurted out as she flipped through a magazine.

 You rolled your eyes and tried to continue writing notes to the song you’d just wrote. As sure as you were that it was pitch black outside, you knew she wasn’t done—not by a long shot. A minute passed in silence, but as projected, Amaya began again.

 “Just explain to me why you don’t want to be happy.” Amaya tossed the magazine aside, giving you her full attention. Still, you ignored her and kept your eyes glued to the note pad.

 “Liya, come on. At some point in your life, you’re going to have to be honest with yourself.”

 She was right. For the last few weeks, you’d spent a lot of sleepless nights doing just that. Since Henry’s call, you’d been forced to look at your situation in a light you’d ignored. It wasn’t that you were doing it maliciously. It was just easier and neater to see the worst in every situation hence the worst in people. You’d been the girl who dug deep for the best in people and only focused on that and their potential for too long. It made more sense from a survivalist standpoint to be different.

 You’d went back and forth and round and round your situation, and perhaps you were too quick to jump to conclusions. The bottom line was the things he said had affected you, more than you liked and more than you could ignore. A few days after his call, you saw his picture in The Sun. He wasn’t alone. It looked like he’d had a long night of partying. You deduced it was probably the same night he called you. Though he was obviously drunk, he still looked so damn good. In the last few weeks, you’d thought about him a lot. On several occasions, you’d taken up your phone for the sole purpose to stalk his Instagram or even scroll through your gallery to gawk at his pictures. Never though, did you attempt to call.

 The main reason was that you hated being the one in the wrong. You hated feeling like the asshole and what was worse was that you also hated apologizing. So, you bit your tongue, pushed your thoughts and emotions aside, and just hoped time would make it all fade. It didn’t.

 “Aliya!”

 Closing your notepad, you stood. “We’re going to miss the flight.”

 “Whatever! It’s a private jet. It’s your private jet.”

 You were already out of the room, which meant thankfully, you didn’t have to see her face. The drive to the private airfield was about forty-five minutes. For the entire ride, you could feel Amaya’s annoyance with you. she didn’t say one word. Instead, she kept her nose buried in her phone scrolling her life away. It was okay with you; you had plenty of work to do. Plus, you knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

 Sure enough, twenty minutes into the flight to London, she was back at it. The difference between Amaya and Alicia was simple. Where Alicia liked to leave me be until she knew the perfect time to go in because she knew the perfect time would come when you would be more receptive to it, Amaya preferred to go in all the time. She was always on one hundred. You loved both your best friends dearly, and they both spoke to different sides of you, but sometimes you wished they were wrong a lot more often than they were right.

 When you got pulled into a phone meeting, you were grateful and even more so when it lasted for almost two hours. By the time you ended the call, Amaya was napping. Though you thought the silence was what you wanted, it was a blessing in disguise. It meant you now had peace and quiet to think, and your thoughts more often than not went right to Henry.

 When you landed in London and checked into the hotel, it was after midnight. Once you’d taken a shower and answered a few emails, you popped two sleep aids in hopes they would knock you out because you needed all your energy tomorrow.

  -The Next Day-

Hectic was an understatement for how your morning and afternoon had been going. One of the great things about being you was that when you got bored with one career avenue, you had three more to distract yourself with. For the last several months, you’d been focusing on your acting career and had been able to complete two films and three guest appearances. In between acting gigs you were also able to do a few modeling events, including Fall and Spring fashion week.

 What had fallen to the wayside was your singing career. It was almost time for you to fulfill your contractual obligations by releasing another album. You’d been focusing on writing new material for the last few weeks, and tonight you were putting on one of the last stops on a mini-tour your team had planned months ago. The travel alone was killing you. You were exhausted, even more than usual. With every show, you felt your body telling you it would soon be time to slow down or stop for a few months. You needed a break.

 “I should have flown in days ago. I hate feeling like this isn’t perfect.”

 “Aliya, it’s fine,” Alicia countered.

 The perfectionist in you didn’t believe her.

 “I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. You have to go anyway. The show is supposed to start at six; it’s already three.”

 She was right. Though you hated it, you would have to cross your fingers and hope things looked cohesive. After finishing up the last-minute wardrobe adjustments and a quick pep talk with your dancers, you made your way back to the hotel to get in a little bit of pampering before having to get back to the center for prep.

 As you laid on the table and enjoyed your deep tissue massage, you allowed the worries to float away. There was nothing you could do about it now anyway. You were also sure it was perfectly fine, and just your obsessive nature taking over. Tuning everything out, you focused on your meditative breathing. Before you knew it, it was time to get back to the center to get into wardrobe and put on a show worthy of the hundreds that were spent on tickets. You were determined to perform your ass off.

  -Henry-

He couldn’t have gotten out of tonight no matter what. He’d tried. When Charlie announced to everyone that Heather had made plans for their adults' date night, he rolled his eyes. Now that he thought of it, it was around the time that Amee tried to set him up with that woman. This was supposed to be a blind date, and since he’d declined, he was here alone while all his other brothers were snuggling up and whispering to their significant others.

 Here he was an hour and ten minutes into your show, and he’d never had more fluctuating thoughts and feelings. At first, it was surprise; then annoyance, then it transitioned into awe until it moved to arousal and admiration. Now he was stewing deep in all of them, and it was not a good look. Your voice was incredible. He’d always known how talented you were. Your stamina to dance and sing blew his mind. Then when he watched those dance moves closer, it was impossible to keep his thoughts pure. It also didn’t help that the outfits you were wearing only fueled his imagination more.

 “What’s wrong with you? You said you liked Aliya Taylor,” Amee shouted over the music.

 Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded. “Yeah, she’s great. I’m tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

 When you came out for the final song in a flowing low cut white gown and barefoot, he staggered backward when he envisioned you walking down a flower aisle.

 “Fucking hell!”

 All eyes snapped to him, and the curious looks on their faces only had him needing air even more.

 “I—I’m gonna get a head start to the cars.”

 Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked through the crowd, not daring to look back at you.

   -Aliya-

Amaya and Alicia laughed together at something on Amaya’s timeline. No doubt it was some picture of one of her boy toys. You sipped from your flower decorated porcelain teacup while staring out over London to the Eye. Just behind it, Big Ben stood tall and proud as it chimes for four o’clock echoed through the city. This was a city you’d spent a lot of time in thanks to your grandparents on your father’s side. Not as much time as they’d like, but there was only so much free time you had. Big Ben and the Eye were two of your favorite things about London.

 You should have been on cloud nine after another successful show and checking another thing off your extensive to-do list, but you weren’t. You felt almost as gloomy as the rolling clouds in the sky that threatened rain.

 “You seem depressed.”

 Alicia’s voice had you turning back to them you softly smiled. “I’m not.”

 “You look it,” Amaya slid home.

 Rolling your eyes, you finished your cup of tea and gently placed it on its matching saucer with a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you then.”

 Amaya then gasped with a smile in her eyes. “I know what it is. You’re finally missing your grade A prime beef of a man.”

 Snorting, you shook your head. “Oh god. Try again.”

 “You might be right, Mya,” Leece started placed her elbows on the table to peer at you closer. “This all started the night we had dinner with him. What’s his name again?” Both of them pretended to wrack their brains to remember his name, but they knew damn well what it was.

 “Ah, Henry,” Amaya cooed, making you roll your eyes even harder.

 “Both of you stop. You’re not funny.”

 “We approve.”

 “I second that,” Alicia added.

 “What? Really?”

 “Are you kidding? Yeah. Not only is he gorgeous, like drop dead gorgeous, but he is also super nice. Throughout dinner he was very courteous and sincere. You know I’m a good people reader,” Amaya attested.

 “He’s funny, and he seemed to be genuine with his efforts to get to know Mya and me. He also was putting in effort into proving something to you.”

 Sighing, you took a few sips of your water.

 “Honestly, I couldn’t find anything wrong with him.”

 “Really? Perfection?”

 You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you’d suspected they liked him, but the perfect word was just uttered. It was never spoken of, not by them.

 “Pretty much,” Amaya doubled down.

 “Wow.”

 “Tell me about it. Move on that before some other chick does. He will not be single for long,” Amaya added.

 For some reason, this was the first time you’d thought about that, and you couldn’t believe it. She was right. He was gorgeous, among other things, and women already fawned over him. He wouldn’t be licking his wounds much longer. A knot formed in your gut, and a sour taste in your mouth followed. Glancing away from their penetrative gazes, you looked around the restaurant and nearly dropped the water glass when you saw Henry across the restaurant laughing. This was the first time you’d seen him in person since your breakfast in New York weeks and weeks ago, and he looked great.

Your eyes drank him up, taking their time soaking up every detail of his face, the slight stubble that decorated his chiseled jaw, his perfectly imperfect smile, his hair that fell slightly longer than you remembered. When he spoke again, you watched his mouth move and quickly got lost. You didn’t have to hear his words. You knew how he spoke them. You knew the effect his voice had. At the thought of that effect, you peeled your eyes away and tried to keep them on either Alicia, Amaya, or the table. Of course, it was impossible. Your eyes continuously found him, and it was on him they remained until you forced yourself to look away.

 “What do you keep looking at?”

 Amaya glanced around the restaurant. You knew she’d found him because when she turned to face you again, her smile was as wide as a thief's.

 “Oh ho ho, looks like fate is on mine and Leece’s side.”

 “Stop. Be cool, act natural. Don’t make a scene,” you pleaded.

 “Look at that, same place, same time, just mere feet away.”

 From the tone of her voice, you knew she was tempted to fuck with you.

 “Stop, Amaya. Don’t.”

 “Why?”

 Trying to keep your voice down and the panic from your face, you pleaded again. “Just don’t.”

 Amaya studied you for a few moments before she nodded in defeat. Relief flooded you. Though you tried, you couldn’t get your head back onto lunch and off of him no matter how you tried. The three of you left shortly after passing his table on the way out.

 Thanks to a little free time, you, Amaya, and Alicia were able to soak up some shopping in London and before getting back to the hotel for a quick change, then dinner. Even though you tried to stop thinking about Henry’s face earlier, you weren’t the least bit successful, but you played it off like everything was cool. You didn’t know if you fooled either of them, but you really didn’t care. You were so ready to get the hell out of London.

  -That Night-

Big Ben’s chime for one in the morning ringing out all around you. It was yet another night of sleeplessness. From your seat at the window, you could feel the nice breeze. It still smelled like rain, but for whatever reason, the rain was staying away. Finishing your glass of wine, you sighed out and nearly leaped out your skin when your phone rang in the quiet room.

 “Hello?”

 “What’s wrong?”

 You smiled from the unexpected sound of your gramaw’s voice. It was like the concrete gate you had around your heart that was constricting it to the point where it was challenging to breathe loosened.

 Sighing, you leaned back, reclining against the surface.

 “I think I fell in love,” you whispered.

 “In love?”

 Hearing the words said back to you made you close your eyes and shake your head.

 “Yeah, at least I think that’s what I’m feeling. I can’t sleep well, not that I could before. I feel a little depressed, and I can’t pinpoint why, but when I think about it, I feel this way when I think about him. Not to mention, I think about him all the time. Christ, I even dream about him.”

 Pausing, you glanced at your phone to find his picture there. It was the last thing you’d been looking at before tossing your phone away.

 “I truly feel like I did something wrong, like I was wrong,” you confessed.

 “Have you talked to him?”

 Hitting your head back, you groaned. “Not since he called me and told me I’m missing out on him and gave me all the reasons why I should realizing I’m missing out.”

 You couldn't help but smile at his words as you remembered them.

 “Do you feel like you’re missing out?”

 Your Gramaw always knew the right questions to ask. She was one of the few that did, one of the few that you’d even listen to. Bowing your head, you sighed again.

 “Maybe. Normally I’m sure about someone and sure that I don’t need or want them in my life, but with him—I have doubts with my snap judgment.”

 “Oh no, snap judgments are never a good thing, Aliya.”

 You groaned hearing the disappointment in her voice. “I know, jeez do I know.”

 “What do you feel like doing?”

 You scoffed, if you knew that you wouldn’t be going through this struggle.

 “I’ll be to you in a few days. I’ll see you soon.”

 “Your heart, Aliya, not your head,” she cautioned before you ended the call.

 For the next thirty or so minutes, you paced the balcony of your room as you debated with yourself over what you were going to do. After psyching yourself up as much as you could, you bit the bullet dialing Henry’s number before you talked yourself out of it. After one ring, you almost hung up but forced yourself to stick through the terror running through you. Two rings passed, then three. At the fourth you began to lower your hand to end the call and then his voice echoed through the speaker.

 “Hello?”

 You froze drawing a blank and forgetting for a moment you had a voice.

 “Hello?”

 “Hello,” you whispered.

 The rustling on his end was loud but brief.

 “Aliya?”

 Swallowing the lump, you took a deep breath. “Yeah. Hi.”

 “It’s after one in the morning. Is everything all right? Are you hurt?”

 Your heart lurched, and a soft smile spread across your lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” you assured.

 He sighed, then yawned.

 “I uh—I know it’s late or early. I know you, um, probably have something better to do than be up. I’m sorry if I woke you,” you half rushed and stuttered out.

 “You’re rambling, Aliya.” You stopped your pacing then and slapped your forehead.

 “Yes, I am. I do that when I’m nervous,” you blurted.

 “Why are you nervous?”

 Pausing, you gripped the rail on the balcony and used it to center yourself and get your nerves under control.

 “Well, I’m about to ask the man I told I wouldn’t be with to meet me somewhere at nearly two in the morning. I’m—sending major mixed signals.”

 Henry didn’t speak right away. Instead, he waited, making you chew your bottom lip as your anxiety increased.

 “Why?”

 “Wh—why? Why what?”

 “Why should I?”

 Stunned, your jaw dropped. “Oh, wow, out with the hard questions. Okay. Um—well—you should meet me because uh—it’s not often that I realize I was wrong or did something wrong and when I realize that, I like to say so.”

 Again the silence over the phone stretched for long moments. After a full minute of it, your anxiety peaked.

 “Still there?”

 Henry sighed. “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

 His voice sounded so deliciously deep. Either you had woken him, and this was his sleepy voice, or he was purposely giving you that sexy baritone.

 “By all means. Think as long as you need to. Um—I’ll be at the eye until 2:30. I um—I hope you show. If you don’t, I understand, really I do and no hard feelings.”

 Quickly you ended the call and panted as if you’d been running a marathon all in an effort to calm yourself down. It had been years since you’d put yourself through something like that, and you had a feeling it was only the beginning of you making amends.

Being Aliya Taylor afforded you some perks, and one was being able to have access to the eye well after closing. All it took was one call, well two to be exact, and voila, you were sitting in one of the cars anxiously waiting for Henry. You had no idea if he’d show, and the more and more time that passed with him not magically appearing, the more and more your brain worked overtime. The scenery helped a lot, but when you glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost 2:30, the scenery could do no more. Your nerves and anxiety had erupted like a volcano.

 “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

 Spinning, you saw Henry at the door still on the platform. You released a relieved sigh, realizing he hadn’t stood you up.

 “Good thing I’m not—anymore.”

 Henry stepped into the car and took a few steps to you but stopped when he was still a ways away.

 “London after two is not safe,” Henry informed.

 “I know.”

 The doors closed, and the contraption began moving.

 “How in the world did you get them to open this for you?”

 Smiling, you shrugged. “I may know people in high places,” you replied, which made him smile.

“This is one of my favorite places in London,” you announced as you walked around the car, taking care not to get too close. You didn’t know if you could handle it right away, and you had to feel him out to see what his coming really meant.

 “Why?”

 “You can see all of greater London from here and out to the countryside if you really look once you’re up high.”

 Henry also walked around the car, mirroring your intentions. Neither of you came close enough to touch one another.

 “How often do you come to London?”

 “A lot. I have some family here, plus I prefer the countryside.”

 “So you have some British blood,” Henry inquired, half a question, half a statement.

 “I had to. Only the Bris would dare think to send their daughters off to finishing school,” you quipped.

 Henry’s laugh filled the car, making you smile widely. He walked to one of the many windows turning his back to you. Slowly you looked over his broad back, taking in every detail. Your fingers could still remember what the dance of his muscles felt like underneath them, and they itched to feel them dance again. Taking a deep breath, you fiddled your fingers.

 “Uh--I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important by asking you here. Like I hope I didn’t impose on—anyone.”

 You were fishing, it was obvious, and you felt no shame.

 “Eh, who needs sleep anyway. I can sleep when I’m dead,” Henry replied with a shrug of those magnificent shoulders still keeping his back to you.

 “Were um--were you uh—sleeping—alone?”

 Your heart was pounding so loudly you could swear he could hear it. He didn’t speak or turn around. He just stood there torturing you. You wondered if he knew it was sheer torture what he was doing. Did he even care? The longer he remained quiet, the more you freaked out until you decided to backtrack all the way back.

“I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. It is absolutely none of my business. I don’t even know why I asked that,” you rushed out, rubbing your forehead from embarrassment before beginning to pace the car.

 That was when Henry chose to turn around.

 “I know a woman doesn’t say something she doesn’t mean, and usually when a woman asks a question, she wants to know the answer either to prove herself right or in hopes she’s wrong. What is it for you?”

 His voice made you stop in the midst of pacing to watch his mouth as he spoke. There was something poetic about how he spoke, and it always distracted you. Nibbling your bottom lip, you thought about how to respond. You were already tired of the verbal Olympics and talking around each other.

 Sighing, you rolled your eyes. “Henry--.”

 “You know that’s the first time you’ve said my name without the word goodbye in front of it.”

 That made you snap your mouth shut. Had it?

 “That’s not true,” you protested.

 “It actually is. I was beginning to think you like saying goodbye rather than hello.”

 You took a step to him. “That’s not true. I like saying hello way more than goodbye,” you defended.

 The neutral look on his face gave you no confidence to go on, so you rolled your eyes and continued to walk around the car. This would be harder than you expected, you thought.

 “I was sleeping alone. I’ve slept alone for quite some time now,” he informed just as you were looking out of the window to the city.

 “Look, Henry, I-,” you began again, but then henry cut you off.

 “That day in New York those weeks ago, I should have plain and simply laid it out for you. I should have told you everything. I was with Francesca--.”

 “Don’t, don’t, don’t. I honestly don’t want to know.”

 “But you need to know. There is no way you can begin to trust me or begin to let yourself gravitate to me the way you’re entire being wants until you know,” Henry slid out. Pressing your palm to your abdomen, you tried to slow the butterflies that began flitting.

 “I was with Francesca for about two years. The whole time I knew she wanted a family in life. She was always vocal about her wanting to get married young and have kids. I knew, but I never paid attention to it. I was away filming something for a while, and when I came home one weekend, I caught her with someone else.”

 Your eyes widened, hearing his words.

 “turns out she was beginning a relationship with someone else, someone who she thought would lead to marriage and kids,” Henry added. His voice held steady, but you could imagine the pain going through those memories again.

 “I’m sorry.”

 Henry shook his head, “It’s not necessary. After a few months of her trying to make amends, I thought we’d try again.” He scoffed then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a hopeless romantic. After months of trying, I knew it wouldn’t work, but I kept a relationship of sorts with her.”

 You understood. They were bed buddies.

 “I then met Abby, and what started as a fling developed into something more. Long story short, I got wind of a rumor she was using me for fame and money, so I distanced myself from her. after some time of her telling I had it all wrong, I decided it was easier keeping her around though my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t juggling them. I hadn’t slept with either of them in a long time. I just—I felt it was better to have someone who misses me and wants me than living the lonely actor life.”

 His honesty had you frozen. When he began to explain, you hadn’t expected him to reveal so much. You expected a bare minimum explanation, but what you’d gotten revealed so much more about him. You felt bad.

 “I guess allowing the attentions and affections to remain is just as bad as juggling them. I was playing with their hearts. I’m not proud of it.”

 Henry dipped his head, showing he felt some shame for his actions.

 “When I met you, I realized although I had these two women sort of vying for me, I was still lonely, but those moments we were together, I didn’t feel alone. I felt--,” he paused as if trying to find the right word. His hesitation made you look down.

 You knew what you’d felt.

 “When I met you, I felt someone I’d never felt before, something I don’t fully understand. I don’t know what that means, but I know I want to find out—with you.”

 Finally, able to release the breath you held, you took another, then cleared your throat. “I’m not juggling two guys. I was dating two guys, but not sleeping with both. I was with Liam first, and we had an okay relationship. We were busy, never saw each other and when we did it wasn’t for long. He um—he got annoyed and broke up with me. He said I was impacting his work, and he needed to focus.”

 You remembered how he’d said it too. He’d said it like you were the one to blame for the roles he’d gotten or hadn’t gotten.

 “I was fine with it, and during those five months apart, I met Jesse. We worked together and had fun and began dating. It wasn't anything sexual. Then Liam comes back and wants to pick up where we left off. I told him about Jesse, and he was fine with it.”

 The shock on Henry’s face almost made you laugh. Alicia and Amaya were also surprised they’d chosen that unconventional path. Amaya, of course, thought you should have kept it secret from both of them.

 “One day, Jesse sees Liam and me out, and it pissed him off enough to end things. Three weeks later, I lay it out for both that I don’t want to choose, and I don’t want anything serious. They were both fine with it, and so it went on. Six months later, I decided I needed to be on my own to focus on work and me. They didn’t like the decision. They call and text me to try to—rekindle something.”

 Henry scoffed, and you watched a soft smile tickle his lips.

 “I haven’t physically seen either of them in weeks, now maybe months,” you finished.

 Henry was quiet for a few seconds before he snorted.

 “They were mad.”

 “Angry?”

 “No, mad, bonkers,” Henry clarified.

 “Oh, crazy.”

 “Yeah. To be okay to share you, be willing to do something like that. I couldn’t do that,” Henry informed, making you smile in the process.

 “Well, men do crazy things.”

 “I can attest to that, but I’d never do something that crazy. I can’t share what’s mine. I won’t.”

 Your eyes locked, and your body swayed toward his. It was like he was metal and you a magnet. Everything in you wanted to be close to him. The more you tried to fight the pull, the harder it became to breathe. The harder it was to breathe, the dizzier you became.

 “I—I—I—I,” you began before gulping the knot in your throat down that was making you speak in a raspy whisper. “I don’t—know what this is.”

 Henry nodded.

 “I am not used to not knowing and being out of control,” you continued.

 “You feel less controlled too?”

 You couldn't help but to nod. Once you did, Henry took a step to you. You took a step back.

 “Hold on. I like control. I like control a lot. Anything that threatens that control is not for me.”

 Henry’s eyes lowered but only for a moment before he was looking right back into yours.

 “But—I really want to find out why you make me less controlled,” you finally admitted.

 The uncertainty on his face spoke volumes.  “What does that mean? Where does that leave this—us?”

 You chewed your bottom lip; you realized how ill-prepared you’d been.

 “Honestly, I didn’t think this meeting out that far. I only planned up to when you showed up. I’ve um—I’ve been winging it this whole time.”

 His smile started small but spread wide in seconds; then, he laughed loudly.

 “So you won’t mind me making a plan?”

 Oh lord, you thought, feeling his alpha pop out. You bit your bottom lip again.

 “What kind of plan?”

 Henry closed the remaining space between you. Every step he took had you shaking even more.

 “A plan that I’ve envisioned every night since brunch.”

Stopped in front of you and held you captivated by his gaze and the sheer dominating energy rolling off of him. The way he stood there taller than you made your mouth run dry.

 “Jesus, you’re freakishly short,” Henry teased in his perfect Englishman voice.

 Smiling, you shook your head. “I know, I debated wearing heels but didn’t—I wanted you to see me normal for someone reason I don’t under--.”

 Henry’s sudden movement cut you off. He dipped down the entire foot he overshadowed you and lifted you into the air to hold you flush against his body. Then he lowered his lips to yours, taking and keeping control of an intensely passionate kiss. A kiss you hadn’t known you craved until it began, a kiss you were not prepared for. You moaned against his lips, and that moan triggered his. Wrapping your arm around his neck, you clung to him, and every sensation you were feeling and even new ones he was awakening within you.

 Slowly, Henry pulled his lips from your, but he kept your body to his. You kept your eyes closed, relishing the lingering effects.

 “You’re shaking,” Henry whispered.

 “So are you.”

 You opened your eyes and gazed into his as he slowly lowered you back to your feet.

 “What else is part of your plan?”

 Henry's smile spread across his face. “For me to carry out any other part of my plan would be completely rakish of  me.”

 His smile was adorable, but still intimidatingly sexy.

 “I take it you’re not a rake.”

 “Not in the least.”

 “All right. So, alternate plan?”

 He smiled again. “Still pretty rakish.”

 With that, he brought his lips back to yours, but this time he didn’t pull back for several long minutes.

 Though you knew people in high places, it didn’t mean you could keep the eye open all morning. After three trips around, the two of you got off then walked around London holding hands and eating ice cream. It was such a weird sensation allowing someone to hold your hand. It had been a long time since you’d ever wanted to. The entire time you laughed and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. One thing was clear; neither of you was in any rush for your time together to end.

 But end, it had to. When Henry walked you back to your hotel, it was almost time for the sun to come up.

 “Home safe and sound,” Henry joked.

 “Yes, thanks to Superman.”

 “No, no, I’m just the man. Henry Cavill.”

 He held his hand out to you. Smiling, you rolled your eyes.

 “Now is when we get to this?”

 His goofy smile and shrug had your head skip a beat.

 “Aliya Taylor,” you said, shaking his hand.

 “Nice to meet you. Mind if I call you Aliya or Liya, that's all a mouthful,” Henry teased.

 Your laugh was loud, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, remembering what time it was.

 “Yes, you can call me either. Can I call you Henners or Hank?”

 “No. My friends call me that.”

 “So, I’m not your friend?”

 “If I have anything to say about it, which I do, then no. I don’t want you as a friend.” Henry replied, making you smile like a little girl at Christmas.

 “Then what do you want me as?”

 Your eyes lingered for a few seconds before Henry was pulling you closer to brush the back of his hand against your cheek.

 “For now, I’ll settle for my girlfriend.”

 The man was an expert at charm. You bit into your bottom lip and tried to stop smiling. “Girlfriend, wow. That’s a loaded title. What does it entail?”

 “Well, for one, it entails being your true self with me, accepting my true self, being there for me when I need you, letting me be there for you when you need me or when I need you, allowing me to be your strength when you’re weak, your hope when you’re hopeless. Allowing me to grow with you, learn with you. Giving me your time and attention, enough of it so what we have can grow. Trusting me and letting me spoil you rotten.”

 If he weren’t holding you against him, you would have fallen back.

 “Is that all?”

 Henry leaned closer kisses your cheek. “To begin.”

 “And if I refused to be this girlfriend you speak of?”

 “Then I’d just have to convince you,” Henry cooed.

 “How?”

 Right on que, Henry dipped his lips to yours. The second they touched, you moaned and held him close. Why resist when you could enjoy it, you thought. His tongue swirled with yours before he nibbled then sucked your bottom lip. When he pulled back, your eyes remained closed.

 “I’m convinced.”

 Henry pecked your lips once, then twice. “Good. Girlfriend.”

 Your eyes locked again, and you forgot all common sense for what felt like an eternity.

 “Eh-em—I have to be on a set in the morning.”

 “Which is now,” Henry filled in.

 Still hazed in the brain, you stuttered and smiled like a fool.

 “Mm, did I stay out all night?”

 “You did. I hope it was worth it.”

 Smiling, you kissed his jaw. “We’ll see,” you whispered as you backed away from him, making your way to the door.

 “Good morning, Henry.”

 He smiled again, watching you disappear inside the hotel. As you walked to the elevator bank, you couldn’t stop smiling or stop the butterflies that had been flying all night in your stomach. As you stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors closed, you recognized the feeling you felt as happiness. It had been absent for a long time.

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

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[soukokuwu]

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[myelocin]

love, sicily | kozume kenma

Synopsis: Perhaps it’s through serendipity that you’ll begin to look at the world past the rose colored lenses and finally see the kaleidoscope of gold that it brings.

Characters: Kozume Kenma, Sugawara Koushi

Genre: Fluff, Travel, Eventual Romance, (Mutual) Pining | WC: 4000+

Playlist | Pinterest Board

A/N: This is a commission from @haiikyuuns​ ! I had a lot of fun with this one so thank you for trusting me miss maam ;A; 

commissions

Track 1: Paris in The Rain | “I look at you now and I want this forever; I might not deserve it but there’s nothing better.”

Sugawara Koushi is what comes with Paris.

He’s the first, the only, and the current. It’s through summer nights under city lights, where you first are introduced to what love could be.

Where it could be this. Only this.

The summer of ’13 looking like living in an okay city that doesn’t really have much to offer in the rural side of southern Japan. One convenience store by the train station, and a teashop that most teenagers wouldn’t exactly prefer to frequent. Sunsets by the shore are nice, because your world had always just been nice.

It was okay.

Watermelon and ice drops in June, falling leaves in September, snowy paths you had to shovel every weekend in December, and the Sakura blossoms in March. Routine was okay, so you settled that you were too.

Koushi was who looked like what love could be to you. The word “eventually,” fitting. To be in a constant state of pondering if the word love could ever be redefined.

And in a way, it does. He doesn’t exactly become love, the more you think about it, but rather he just remains as is. Your constant; a day one of some sorts. Serendipity as a thing reserved for what could only be thought of as fiction, because reality had never been an ugly place for you.

So looking through rose colored lenses it was.

From your place you settled the most comfortable in—in the sidelines—you sat and watched Koushi bloom. Where for years it stayed okay. As is. Still a routine that frankly neither of you wanted to break.

Where eventually, the first crack of that well maintained schedule looked like a roundtrip ticket from Tokyo to the city of Paris, a suitcase, backpack, and a map of a city unknown to you.

The sight of Paris and Sugawara Koushi. Silver hair and hazel eyes. Every color that’s linked to what you’ve always known as home found in him. The pastel pink of his lips like the rose petals from outside his home, the silver of his hair as the clouds in the sky because for some reason rain always triumphed over sunshine.

And Paris, in the rain, with what you think as love, in front of you. Seen through your eyes as what you tell yourself is it—the greatest that love could ever become, because all you’ve known are shades of pastels with just a hint of silver.

Just one, perfect, palette that seemed to be enough for you.

(Until it wasn’t for him.) (It never occurred to you that just a few shades and a set of familiar streets would never be enough for him.)

“Paris is great, isn’t it?” Koushi turns to you and says, where he holds his hands out and past the balcony to catch a few drops of rain.

He looks beautiful. (Always has, you think.)

You nod your head.

“I’m coming back here next month because I got the job, actually,” he smiles, looking wistful.

You pause.

Rain still pours, and there’s a little bit of thunder. You think to yourself that if he chose to say any other set of words other than a watered down version of “I’m-leaving-you-and-that-good-for-nothing-town-forever,” you’d already be pulling him down into the streets and kiss him under the rain.

“Like,” you say, trying to sound out your thoughts; your throat feels dry. “—like forever?”

Koushi looks far away, and when he leans further to catch more raindrops, he feels far away. Further away, you think. Has he always been this far away?

“I hope forever,” he laughs, then turns to you. He’s smiling like you share his happiness with him. Are you happy along with him?

Silver hair kind of white against the backdrop of Paris in the rain, and hazel eyes that still look like all the shades of home stare at you. Your palms feel clammy, but you smile.

He turns away, and the rose colored lenses you’ve always seen the world with suddenly crack.

(When you sleep that night, Paris in the rain just becomes a city caught in a thunderstorm.)

Track 2: Paris | “if we go down, then we go down together.”

Kozume Kenma’s always hated looking at a city caught in a downpour.

He was never much for traveling, but he knew a city like this was meant to be explored.

He sighs, suitcase in tow as he opens the door to his hotel room and face plant into the bed. The skies above a city meant to live in sunshine continue to weep, so he turns on his side, facing the window to ponder. Not necessarily about much, because his thoughts have always been quite linear.

Kenma liked schedule. Predictability.

Booking a ticket to Paris three days after Tetsurou’s drunk speech was not predictable.

And because he spoke of the devil, his phone rings, flashing Tetsurou’s name in big, bold letters.

“You know,” Tetsurou’s voice drawls. “I don’t know what on God’s green earth even possessed you to jump on the first flight out of here to fucking—“ he pauses to inhale, before continuing, “—Paris out of every other city, but you did, and everyone’s confused as fuck.”

Kenma shifts in place, frankly wondering the same thing, but of course he’d never tell him that. There’s an ache that comes when he cracks his neck, but it’s a familiar one. He supposes that he’s used to a lot of things. The ache in his neck; the black roots that always grows faster than he can retouch them; Tetsurou’s voice that still sounds worse than his mother’s nagging.

“Why are you even there?” his voice comes again over the phone.

“You told me that I needed to do more,” Kenma replies.

The city still weeps. He wonders if someone’s out there trying to catch raindrops, or perhaps dance and kiss in the rain.

After all, it’s Paris, he thinks. A lot happens in a city people shroud with love.

“Do more,” Tetsurou parrots, confused.

Kenma nods, blinking with the tap, tap, tap that comes from the rain against his window.

The gears don’t turn in Tetsurou’s head until after a few more moments pass, his eyes eventually widening at the memory from three nights ago. It’s always been known that Kenma’s been more of a reserved person when it came to most things in life. Ever the calculated, side character type of person. For the most part it was okay, but he supposes that even the most silent could still have moments where they want to peek a little outside the view from inside the box.

Over the phone, Tetsurou smiles, nodding his head.

“You gotta live a little more, Ken, “ he remembers himself telling the younger man. Given that he was a little past tipsy when he made that impromptu speech, there was never an intention to say it as something to be understood as more than just a passing comment.

“See the world,” he said.

Kenma booked a ticket that night, and three days later he finds himself looking at Paris in the rain, with not much of a plan in mind.

“Do more,” he remembers.

And Tetsurou thinks that this counts.

“You trying to prove something to someone?” he asks Kenma, voice suddenly honest.

Kenma sighs, closing his eyes and thinking of the little world he lives within the big wide universe. He’s never really felt small, but sometimes even Tokyo gets lonely.

“Something like that,” he answers.

“—let’s show them we are better.”

The funny thing about serendipity is that it looks nothing like how it’s supposed to look like.

All your life, when you thought of happy moments in regards to love it was always an image that you thought was set in stone from day one.

Instead, it looks like this:

Wet concrete, a cup of coffee, and the rooftop with the view of the city that’s done nothing but weep since the day you arrived. The rain smelled nice, at least. There was always something about the way it lingered that reminded you of home.

—Of silver, and hazel, and pastel colors, and a goodbye that was said like a hello.

You sigh because you just know Sugawara Koushi’s the kind of person that means to linger after the exit.

But like the nature of serendipity, it’s three minutes later where things take a turn.

It turns into looking like a stranger with golden stars for eyes, a question always looking like it’s wanting to break past the barrier.

He shuffles awkwardly in place, looking like a deer caught in the headlights when you turn your face to look at him. You squint, having half the mind to greet him with a broken bonjour before he’s eventually bowing his head profusely and explaining that he’s sorry with an accent familiar to you.

Classic Tokyo boy, you snort.

“Rain kinda ruined the skyline, huh?” you prompt, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Not really here to see the city.”

You blink, not exactly phased. You came here following Koushi, so you were practically in the same boat.

“To do more,” he answers. Vague, you think.

Maybe not the same boat. The same ocean, riding the same current maybe, but not the same boat.

“Do more,” you repeat. “So like, are you soul searching?”

“This is beginning to sound like a bad fanfiction,” he mutters, shaking his head, then sighing. “I guess I’m trying to look outside my comfort zone.”

“Ah,” you nod your head. “So kinda like soul searching, but not really; I get it.”

Beside you, he straightens his back. “You do?”

You shrug. “Everybody’s always seeking for something aren’t they?”

He exhales a sigh that sounds more like a laugh so you laugh along with him.

“Mandy,” you say, giving him your name.

“Kenma,” he says, giving you his in return. “So what’s your story?”

You sigh, thinking about it and realizing that you’ve been feeling a little more lost than found lately.

“You really wanna dive straight into that?”

Kenma thinks of what do more exactly means, and settles that maybe this could be count as something to find the meaning to that.

He shrugs. “I’ll dive in if you do,” he answers, and just like that, the man besides you turns from just a rooftop stranger into a stranger with a name who knew just a little bit more about you than the usual you would think is okay.

(Maybe it’s Paris, or maybe it’s just the way your world has kind of tilted, but as you sound out your tale it feels kind of okay.)

Track 3: Roses | “Get drunk on the good life, I'll take you to paradise.”

“You’re going where?” Koushi asks you, eyes wide.

“Italy.”

Serendipity looks like this too. Wide eyes, and an unconvinced tilt to the head. It sounds like Koushi pacing back and forth in a room, his suitcase packed and ready to go, as is yours, but the destination on your respective tickets going somewhere different.

“Shit,” he says. You pause; he never was the type to curse much. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“I’m going with someone actually,” you decline, voice quiet. Mentally, you curse yourself. Why is your voice even quiet? Looking at it from an objective point of view, you’re an adult. You’re in control of your own salary, and sometimes impulsive decisions are granted because in the long run they’re good for the soul.

“You’re going with a stranger,” he deadpans.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. He had a point.

“Are you okay?”

The words he says sound familiar, and a part of you sighs to itself because in a way you’ve missed the familiar. Paris wasn’t familiar, and neither was the idea of Koushi telling you the forever kind of goodbye. Truth is, he could romanticize the see you later parting all he wanted, but that was kind of it. See you later becomes a couple photos you’ll stare at on social media then scroll past, then eventually into just greeting during the holidays before it dwindles into silence.

Just a box of photos of you and him from the coastal side rural city of your hometown, kept in a box, stored in an attic.

“I’m okay.”

You’re not. Sugawara Koushi and the little world back home is all you’ve known, and even if Paris in the rain became just a city caught in a thunderstorm to you, this wasn’t height of what the rest of the world had to offer.

So you smile. “I just wanna do something a little different for a change. I’m okay, I promise. A change is good right?”

The smile he gives you has you feeling terrified.

“—we could be beautiful.” | Italy

And the truth is, a lot of things really could be just that.

Kenma reminds himself that there’s a lot more to Italy than just the deeper saturated colors in the sky, and wider bloom of the roses, but sometimes his eyes wander. Doing more, rings in his head—again and again kind of like as if it’s a broken record.

So “doing more,” begins with thoughts.

He looks at you. A stranger he met by coincidence at a rooftop of a weeping Paris two weeks ago and now he’s suddenly walking along the coast of Italy with you beside him. He knows your name, a little bit of your story, and the fact that you have EDM music plus a couple of sad boy hour songs in your playlist.

He watches you smile when you lean down to smell the flowers, then wonders why you seem to look happier against the pink roses instead of the classic red.

All it takes is for you to smile at him, once, starry eyed and looking like all you know is the sun, and his thoughts stop for just a second before it spirals.

It fucking spirals. How does it fucking spiral?

The first thought that rings true and crystal fucking clear to him is that he’s certain that he wants to know than more than what he already does.

Why do you look happier next to pink instead of red? Why did it look like you wept with Paris? Why are you in Italy with a stranger you barely even know?

“—hideaway.”

Truth is, you think that Italy’s just a hideaway. One extra week away from home, so that goodbye isn’t goodbye yet.

When you look at Kenma whose eyes look distant when he stares at the distance, you wonder if he’s keeping his eyes on the horizon or trying to look past it.

Maybe Italy’s a hideaway for him too.

“Say you’ll never let me go.”

You fall asleep each night trying to tell yourself that he belongs with the city that cries, while the pastel colors of home would always be there for yours to cherish.

You don’t know what exactly you want to let go of just yet.

Serendipity has you looking at the world like it exists for you to conquer it, and perhaps for some it does. For you, you think you just want something to call yours, and for someone to call you theirs.

Track 4: All We Know | “Maybe we should let this go.”

Kenma’s the first to tell you about letting go.

You have half the mind to ask him of what exactly there even is to let go of, but it’s this one night in Italy where Sicily pours all over again.

“I didn’t know Europe liked to cry,” you laugh, staring at the streets outside.

“Maybe it’s just crying for us,” he offers as a response. To be fair, his words did work as if it’s consolation, so you give him credit for at least that and laugh with him.

Kenma’s nice.

He’s a stranger, but he’s nice.

It’s in Italy where you learned that he liked computer screens over window panes, and the buzz of Tokyo over the silence in Miyagi. He’s young, but he’s settled. There’s a house he’s trying to call home, and a kotatsu that serves him well during the winters.

He was a setter for a team, and has a friend that nags even more than his own mother.

Kenma likes apple pie, and despite the initial impression, he’s pretty good when it comes to conversation. He blushes when you look at him in the eye and smile, but eventually he stopped trying to avoid your gaze whenever you did do that.

You can feel him looking at you again, so you tug on your coat and walk towards where the awning of your impromptu shelter ends, palms stretched out to catch the rain.

(You think of Paris.)

“Wanna make a run for it?” Kenma suggests, hands shrugged in his pocket, and eyes looking like two pools of the most beautiful gold in front of you.

(—then you don’t.)

“Kozume Kenma’s getting kinda bold now,” you snicker, walking closer towards him then to the edge as the rain falls harder.

He puffs his cheeks, turning away from you to face the side, and shrugs off his coat to hold it above his head and your own.

And it’s true, you think; there’s something about gold eyes against dark streets and the bokeh of city lights that just fit. You think to yourself that you know his name, and a little slice of his life, but you want to ask him more.

You’re in Sicily with a familiar stranger, and it’s in this fleeting, little, perfect moment where you think that Paris has always just been a city. Never a chapter in a romance book or the postcard that you dreamed of standing in.

Italy looks like rain and now, and gold, and familiar strangers.

You’re not in love, but maybe you should let some things go.

A car drives past, and the streets clear. There’s more than just a few puddles on the ground, but Kenma’s eyes look like a prettier shade of the moon when it turns gold. He’s chuckling, in the way you think only you’ve heard among all the people in the world, and he feels close.

“—we’ve passed the end so we chase forever.”

So close that he could kiss you.

Is this what doing more means?

Maybe, he thinks; there’s a lot of maybes that comes with serendipity. With a sharp breath, you look at each other, then break out into a run.

“—this is all we know.”

You’re drenched in the rain and you’re laughing. Kenma’s long past given up trying to squeeze out rainwater from his jacket and instead just leans against the wall to look at you.

He likes to think that he’s part of the reason as to why you’ve smiled so much today.

“You good?” he hears you ask, and he nods.

“All good.”

He means it.

-

Track 5: Right Here | “Can we just talk it out like friends?”

-

“Are you running away because of someone?” Kenma asks.

You let his question sit for a few moments to think it through. Are you?

You don’t know, so you sigh, then look at him. “What does love look like to you?”

Kenma shrugs, but doesn’t ask about your question. Instead, he looks forward, twiddles with the frayed string of his sweater and gives you his truth. “It looks like a lot of things.”

He takes your silence as a response, so he continues.

“I love grocery stores at midnight,” he shrugs. “No lines.”

You nod your head, accepting his answer; you suppose that love could be that too. “I love League of Legends,” you try. “Even if some players can get toxic.”

“We should game then,” he mutters.

“Bet.”

You snicker, looking to the side and pretending like you didn’t see the faint dust of red on his cheeks. If he asks, you’ll just say that it’s because of the red in the sky and leave it at that.

He doesn’t, but he does ask for more slices of you. “What else?”

“I love how sunsets look in my city,” you say. “Cosplaying. The stars. My immaculate playlist. Pink roses over red. Purple hair.”

He nods, happy with the fact that he’s piecing together little bits and pieces of you.

“You love someone too,” he says, but the lilt in his voice gives away that he’s asking rather than just stating it.

You think about what he says. When you thought of love it’s always looked like all the shades of silver and maybe a couple palettes with just pastel. It looked like the beige of Paris and the cotton candy skies from home.

Then in comes the rain, the world drenched, and past the rose colored lenses you finally begin to see the first hues of every other color.

Italy, with this vibrant, beautiful kaleidoscope, and Kenma, who stands in the center of it.

You see gold, gold, gold.

“You love someone,” he says, and when the world love registers in your ear you think about how much you loved getting caught in the downpour from last night.

“I do love someone,” you tell him, because a part of you would always call that love. It’s in Italy, next to a stranger, where you learn that love doesn’t always have to be this or that. In reality, it’s actually as simple as being this and that.

The waves off the coast, and the sunny city from the postcards drenched in front of your eyes. The calm before the storm, then the beauty of how the rain falls and wind howls right after. You come to love running from point A to point B in a downpour, with a stranger who held his jacket over you and him as an attempt to keep you dry.

Love can be Koushi, still, and always.

As you calling him later that night and telling him about the adventure that serendipity took you in. He tells you a little bit about Paris, and how he’s always going to be right there, when you need it.

You nod to yourself as he says those words, because you’re fine with the fact that even if he won’t, you can always tell yourself that you’re right here for you.

Track 6: Nobody Compares To You | “Nobody, nobody, nobody compares to you.”

To Kenma, you are what comes with both Paris and Italy and the serendipity found after trying to find a face to correlate with “doing more.”

You’re sitting beside him, on the window seat of a plane headed home, and he spends the duration of the flight above seas thinking that he doesn’t want to approach a goodbye.

At the end of the day, he realizes that he’s just a stranger. And maybe to you he’s just going to be a photograph in an old SD card you’d look at once every couple of years before forgetting about it in an attic, or losing in some corner of a house that would you see you for the rest of this lifetime.

He’s never looked at unpredictability in the face. His whole life he’s sneered at the sight of a break in routine, and what’s unfamiliar, because not everything is laid out for him to acclimate to.

He thinks to himself that maybe Italy would be enough, and the downpour of Europe are wild enough of a memory to catapult him into seeing a little more.

Because he saw so much.

“Do more,” he hears Tetsurou say.

Was booking the first flight out of the country without a plan enough?

Kenma shakes his head no. It was a step, but it wasn’t enough.

Telling himself that he’s always going to have Sicily isn’t enough. Leaning in close, almost kissing you once, and watching the hues of the world burst like fireworks and settle into paintings against the depths of your eyes just once isn’t enough. Knowing that you love to play league but not know who your favorite champions are don’t even come close to being enough either.

He wants this, and wants to know you.

He’s certain that Mandy is a name he’s always going to remember despite the age, but he wants to ask you so much more.

Kenma acknowledges the thought that he wants more photographs on his phone and nights where he’d have no choice but to run across the street in a downpour. The truth that he finds in Italy is that there’s nobody like you, because you are who comes with the colors that he never thought he’d discover outside of Tokyo.

Suddenly the routine he’s bound to come home to isn’t enough anymore.

You’re both skies above Japan, and he wants to look at you watch the sunset and talk about all the things you love again. Whether it be in Italy or Paris. Japan or the rest of the world. Under the shelter of sunlight or in the eye of the storm.

He wants to ask you why you love pink roses more than red.

This isn’t love—not just yet, but it could be.

Track 7: Something Just Like This | “How much you wanna risk?”

All you’ve known is silver, but perhaps gold works too.

Kenma stands beside you, luggage in hand, and the exit a few steps away. How much does he want to risk exactly?

Not a whole lot.

The routine that used to be enough was never a whole lot.

He shifts his weight back and forth between each foot as he wracks his brain with thoughts of what he could say.

On the other hand, you don’t want to say goodbye.

Something just like what you have now is nice. The company of a stranger you saw the world be doused in colors in with is nice. Parting then potentially forgetting isn’t nice.

You think to yourself that maybe all you’ll be to him is a face to match a name, and a stranger meant to remain in only photographs of this slice of his life.

As you close your eyes, the colors of pastel and silver flashes behind your eyelids, but they aren’t blinding. You know it’s not because of just Italy and that rooftop in Paris that gives an answer as to why you’re suddenly seeking gold.

How much do you wanna risk? What exactly is there to risk?

Kenma’s the first to break the silence. “Do we say goodbye here or are we going to do something dumb like book another ticket to another country?”

You bite back a laugh, peeking at him through the curtain of your bangs. He doesn’t look away this time, so you offer him a smile when he meets you halfway.

Now that you think about it, Kenma’s always sort of met you halfway.

(It’s nice.)

“I don’t think my bank account would appreciate me booking another ticket on impulse right now,” you laugh.

Kenma’s eyes glimmer, and you think, gold.

“So you’re saying you’d still go with me?” he asks.

“Not everybody is a CEO to their own company, so maybe next time,” you chuckle, amused at the way he seems to deflate ever so slightly at your words.

“Next time,” he mutters, nodding to himself. “We’ll see each other next time?”

You shrug. “I mean, I’d run in the rain with you again.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking a little, eyes crinkling along with his smile. “See you in the next time?”

The way you smile at him has Kenma thinking about the boundaries evident between saying that he wants to do more than actually doing more. So it’s when you’ve turned your back, a few meters already away from him where he exhales a sigh and calls out your name.

You turn around before he even finishes.

What you see is gold. Gold, gold, beautiful gold; as the center of the kaleidoscope of colors.

“If I kiss you the next time, would you kiss me back?”

Kenma’s still as he sounds out his words, the taste of it foreign in his tongue. But he welcomes it this time. You’re looking at him like he gave you the sun, and he holds his breath.

“Earlier in the trip, back in Paris you said you were looking for something,” you tell him first. “Did you find it?”

A pause, then a smile. “Answer my question first.”

You think about what you’d have to risk if you answer yes, but the only thing that comes to mind are colors you know you’re starting to grow out of, so you roll your eyes, laughing. “Then I’ll look forward to that next time.”

He exhales, shoulders feeling light. “Good to know because I think I found what I was looking for too.”

You prolong the see you later. “Was it yourself or something else?”

The answer comes to him naturally, and he grins. “A little bit of both, actually.”

[rotzaprachim]

i realised i probably will never get here in in painter’s light so enjoy this my favorite fandom crossover/easter egg i’ve ever written:

(It’s from an au where declan stayed with his mother ergo canon + dialect differences)

6. Washington DC 

Age twenty, he gets a business call from a woman who has a statue to sell. Normally he doesn’t take these kinds of calls anymore, the ones that are meant to go straight to his mother’s number, but this woman sounds desperate in the way that has him thinking it’s better if he handles it than one of his mother’s hands in the city, so he buys two Amtrack tickets, and north he goes. Matthew gets sick after eating a microwaveable, foil-wrapped train burger from the snack car.  

He installs Matthew in the Met while he meets his contact. An old school deli, one of the kind that’s apparently disappearing fast, an endangered species, and she’s probably a local so it’ll be annoying or pretentious anyway, but she refused any of his options for fancier, more expensive wine-and-dine locations anyway so deli it is. He gets a lox bagel and a coffee and two black-and-whites in a bag to split with Matthew later while he sizes her up. She keeps looking at her hands but she’s calm with the person she called in from Boudicca, has something steely about her, like she’s dealt with bigger fish before and isn’t scared. There’s something about her that’s like him, he knows, thought they don’t say the magic word at all. He thinks she’s maybe thirty. 

“In the interest of not beating around the bush further, as it’s clear that’s what neither of us is here to do, let’s move on to the real action item.” 

“I have a statue to sell.” 

She shows him photos. The camera resolution isn’t quite what he needs to appraise it seriously, but he can see how shockingly life-like it is already. 

“How much d’you want for it?” 

“Fifty thousand.” 

He almost coughs up his coffee. 

“You haven’t been playing this game for long.” 

She doesn't’ say anything. 

“Fifty thousand, take it or leave it.” 

“What’s the material?” 

“Marble.” 

He considers. If it’s good up close he could probably resell it for four or five times that to some collector interested in neo-hellenic stuff. Not many people making original marble statuary these days compared to the market of the super-rich looking for shit to decorate their back gardens. 

“Can you show me?” 

Declan calls Matthew to tell him to go back to the hotel and get takeaway without him and follows the woman uptown on the bus. They get off in Spanish Harlem, a world away from the shiny robot skyscrapers downtown. She lives on the fourth floor of her building, in a narrow apartment somewhat rank with the smell of body odour and spilled beer, although she throws the windows open and has loads of potted plants about, like she’s trying very hard to get rid of the smell. 

“There.” 

The sculpture is unmissable. Life size and astonishingly, terribly ugly. Truly incredible in it’s attention to awful detail. A middle aged, balding, short man with a fan of cards in one hand and a beer swinging from the other, positioned exactly as if he’s just got up from sitting. Mouth opened, soundlessly screaming his head off. Declan sees it and flinches without even meaning too. His mother’s not had many men, but she had a few, when she was younger. But it’s just a statue. Just a statue. 

Still one of the weirdest goddamn things he’s ever fucking seen, and that’s saying something. 

Authentic marble though. 

“Formal education? Apprenticed to someone?” 

“Take it or leave it. Fifty thousand.” 

No more information. He knows exactly why she called him. He’s the kind of man you call when you don’t have information about the life-sized sculpture of a man in your sitting room and no information to give about how you made it, in the same year you report your husband missing to the police. When to the untrained eye, the two look identical. He’s that kind of man. 

He gets her three million USD for it. 

It’s all through an official channel so it’s harder to launder, get it looking legal. A million upfront, the rest leaked in increments over the next ten years. All shiny, all legal, all IRS-signed off. He personally takes out fifty thousand and puts it in a manila  envelope for when he meets her a few blocks off central station, an hour before his train’s scheduled to leave. He gives her the envelope. She gives him a white paper bag containing only blue sweets. It looks like a proper pick-n-mix haul, something he didn’t even think the States had. Whoppers, sour strings, taffy, gum, gummy sharks. He eats a sweet and sour wind-up before being able to stop himself, the sweet-sour crystals on his fingers like being a kid again. 

“You’re so young,” she says finally, like this didn’t occur to her the entire time he was selling what was probably her husband’s dead body. 

He shrugs, but he’s smiling. “But I got your done.” She can’t be more than ten years older than him, anyway, and most of her jobs have been harder. You don’t tell art world undergrounders your personal life, anyway, but he noticed all of the accoutrements of a maybe secondary-school aged kid lurking around her flat, Lucky Charms, mud scuffs on the floor in strange places, football jerseys in the hamper. She’d tried to hide the obvious things, no photos on the fridge or skateboard leaning against the door frame, but he had an eye for those kinds of details like other people had a head for figures, and he recognised the detritus of a teenager well, because he’d been one recently and he had one. 

She appraises him for a second. Her eyes are large and very dark brown, and they don’t let anything go. “Zeus?” she finally says, like she’s been thinking it for a long time, testing the waters. “Hera?” 

“Like the Greek gods?” 

He went through his greek mythology phase, for sure. Half of decoding what posh people write seems to be about knowing the ins and outs of the soap operatic turns of events people told each other for fun two thousand years ago, which is then called Classics. 

She looks at him longer, considers him. 

“Lugh, then? Bridgid?” 

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

She nods. “Sorry if- nevermind. Thank you for selling my statue.” 

“I hope you do well with it. With your… artistic career. Now, and I don’t fucking care if you blow throught he money in a year, never call me again. Never call this number again. Never call any number related to it. If your money never comes through do fine with a million and don’t go looking. Never.” They shake hands and part ways, and he never sees her again, but he does think about her a lot afterwards anyway, parsing their conversation out. No gods and no God either, as far as he knows. Strange fucking thing to ask. 

He’s learned enough by how Matthew is on trains - and on ferries, it transpires, and in strange taxis, and he doesn’t want to fucking think about the transatlantic flight he’s planning at some point - not to let him eat much before the train back to DC, for which he feels bad. While they were in New York he let Matthew choose a show and dutifully got some last minute Dear Evan Hansen tickets off a third party seller, got the good seats and the playbill they got signed after by the cast, Declan knows who to talk to for these kinds of things.