#not to mention just the candids of her performing

[incalamity]

trying to figure out which chappell roan photo to change my icon to like my life depends on it

[saintobio]

TITANIC.

deep in the heart of the Atlantic, an unexpected love defies the lines drawn by social class and destiny.

𝇈𓈒 genre. tragedy, angst, forbidden love, titanic au

𝇈𓈒 pairings. rafayel, fem!reader

𝇈𓈒 tags. first class!rafayel, artist!rafayel, third class!reader, singer!reader, social class differences, classism, might be ooc (esp thomas), not set in l&ds universe, mentions of arranged marriage, cheating, suicide attempt, allusions to sex trafficking and prostitution, violence (not from raf), explicit smut, nudity, cunnilingus, fellatio, unprotected sex, drowning, hypothermia, deaths, sinking of the ship, major character death.

𝇈𓈒 notes. 22.2k wc. dividers by drinkthesky and mikeykuns. events are exactly the same as the film, except for some small alterations. this was so fun to write albeit being really tedious and time-consuming 🤧 please enjoy, and reblogs are highly appreciated !

The RMS Titanic was known as the largest and most luxurious liner in the world. When the White Star Line first announced the ship’s launch, various headlines were even made across the globe, dubbing it ‘The Unsinkable Ship’ or ‘The Ship That Even God Himself Couldn’t Sink’. A bit ambitious, of course, but the hubris that came along with it was mostly from the upper echelon of the society who had the means to experience the ship’s impressive size and unparalleled luxury. It was all they ever talked about for months and months, waiting in full excitement to board the ship on its maiden voyage, scrambling to secure tickets to its first-class accommodations as if their money were merely falling from the skies. 

Indeed, the Titanic was a grand ship, but for you and the other third-class passengers, it was anything but. 

Your passage was paid for, not by a stroke of luck or generational wealth, but by a woman who recruited female entertainers to join the ship’s voyage. Just a month ago, your contract as a singer had ended when the pub you worked at shuttered its doors, leaving you without income and desperate to find a way to support your mother and sister. It was during one of those aimless nights, jobless and searching for a way to survive, that the proprietress noticed you. And it was exactly while she was posting a job vacancy outside her establishment when she claimed how your background and experience in singing and performing made you a perfect candidate for her offer.

You envied the wealthy. Truly. Because they had the privilege to turn down job offers, with countless others waiting in the wings or an inheritance ready to secure their future. Some of them didn’t even have to work at all. But for those on the other side of society—people like you who were struggling to make ends meet—certainly, the proposition was a windfall.

‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to board the Titanic,’ they’d say. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to set foot on it, even if you traded everything you owned,’ they’d say. ‘Only a fool would turn down such a chance.’ So, who were you to refuse? Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. Besides, who would deny the American dream? You considered that America held the promise of something greater, with the country being called the Land of Opportunities—a chance that might finally bring the stroke of luck you needed to lift your mother and sister out of the squalor of the slums back home. 

A new beginning, a better life, and a future far from the harsh reality you were leaving behind.

And so, with the White Star Line boarding ticket on your hand, you turned back for one final glance at the place you had always known as home. 

You soon made your way toward the deck of the ship, and your eyes searched the crowd to find your mother and sister standing among the sea of people, waving to you with hopeful, bittersweet smiles. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile of your own, holding back the tears that threatened to spill as you waved back, trying to etch their faces into your memory for the days to come.

“Farewell!” you heard one of your colleagues, Eliza, shout to her family by the dock. Like you, she too fought hard to keep her tears from spilling, feeling that familiar tightness in her chest as she waved goodbye.  

“Won’t you come back?” you asked softly, your eyes drifting back to your own family.  

Eliza turned to you with lachrymose eyes. “There’s no certainty how this journey will end for people like us. We’re often the last to know and the first to lose.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the ship’s horn blared, signaling the imminent departure. “But maybe… maybe this time will be different.”

You nodded, her deep words eventually sinking into you. The scent of the salty sea air, the cool breeze brushing against your cheeks, the creaking of the ship—all became imprinted in your mind as you both stood there, knowing that this might be the last time you’d see your families again. For a long time. 

And as the ship’s engines roared to life, pushing the mighty vessel away from the dock, you clung to the belief that, somehow, this journey could still hold something brighter for you. The only way to live through life’s uncertainties and vicissitudes was to keep an optimistic mind. 

~~

Rafayel was once a celebrated artist across the continent. And today, he was among the elite who was surrounded by wealth and privilege, the same people who loved to talk about money and politics. He spent his first few days in the ship sketching its grandiose interiors and its ostentatious passengers, capturing the essence of their extravagant lives in his art. But despite his success and the admiration he received in his precedent years, there was a quiet loneliness within him now. A yearning for something more than the gilded cage he inhabited. The life of the wealthy—the first class people—just became too distasteful for him to paint on his canvas. 

He couldn’t quite pinpoint when his disdain for high society began, but it had been long enough for him to realize that the lives of the wealthy and powerful were far from the glamorous façade they presented. In truth, they were dull and repetitive, filled with people who indulged in their riches and flaunted their possessions to your face. It was a never-ending competition of who had more, a relentless display of entitlement over who could command others at the whim of their fortune.

That was why when Rafayel stood on the deck of the Titanic that afternoon, despite his extremely comfortable and luxurious surroundings, he couldn’t help but lament over the idea that he was a prisoner in a ship, journeying to a place he never even once dreamed of going to. But being a painter who no longer flourished in the world of art, he somehow had to find a way to keep up with the lifestyle he had been living. And boarding this colossal ship together with a woman he didn’t love was his ticket to regain the success he had lost. 

“You know,” Thomas, his agent, remarked as he leaned casually against the railings, “If not for Arielle, you’d never make it big anywhere else. Your time’s running out. Your paintings aren’t selling anymore. Soon, you won’t even be able to afford yourself. And knowing you, you can’t even live on tinned fish and cheap garments.”

Rafayel sighed inwardly, too weary to explain that the decline in his work’s quality over the past two years wasn’t due to a loss of skill, but rather a lack of inspiration. Being surrounded by the vain and self-absorbed had drained his creative spirit. Yet, the harsh truth was that with his paintings gathering dust and his exhibitions drawing fewer attendees, his rent payments had inevitably turned into mounting debts. It came to a point where he no longer had many choices for himself, financially speaking. 

“You seem to hold Arielle in such a high regard,” he retorted, “Why don’t you marry her yourself?”

Thomas met his glare, unimpressed by his tone. “You brat. I’m doing this for you, Rafayel. I had to arrange this marriage between you two,” he repeated the same tired justification. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s the heiress to a wealthy family in New York, and she has all the connections you need to make a name for yourself there again. She’s willing to do it if you marry her. How can you speak ill of a beautiful woman who only wants your love?”

“Love isn’t something you can demand.” 

He decided to ignore Thomas’s presence for a minute, tired of hearing his inane excuse of why he had to set up Rafayel with Arielle. Instead, he focused on his easel that was set up beside the rail, capturing the shimmering ocean under the twilight sky as he tried to find inspiration from the aureate horizon ahead of him. The soft brush strokes of his latest painting were interrupted by the occasional laugh or clink of fine china from the nearby dining room, but his mind wandered to a world he rarely saw—the lower decks.

Rafayel often wandered the first-class decks as he sought inspiration for his next masterpiece. Yet, today was the first time he noticed the decks below, and most importantly, you. You were a young woman from third-class, conversing with another female friend in your humble clothings, and seemingly longing for something beyond your reach. There was something about your warm, dreamy eyes that captivated him. And perhaps it was the stark contrast to the steely, formal interactions he was accustomed to in first-class.

You caught his eye once, which turned into a fleeting moment where your worlds collided, but his intense gaze seemed to have made your heart skip a beat. You were quick to look away as expected, and he felt awful knowing he might have made you uncomfortable. 

“Oh, forget it.” Thomas waved a hand to his face, cutting him out of trance. “You’re aiming too low with those third-class women. You should be focused on a higher destination.”

Rafayel sighed in response. “Just leave me alone for a while. I need some space to paint in peace.”

~~

Tonight, like every other night since you boarded, you had been told to sing. That your voice should fill the room with melodies, entrancing the well-dressed crowd of first-class passengers who watched you with a delicate balance of interest and indifference. Thankfully, the grand halls of the ship were already filled with laughter and music long before you were tasked to perform. Now, you were walking through the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished wood floor, while the elegant dress you wore swished around your ankles. 

Frankly, it was mostly the men who were interested in your performances, and their women often indifferent.

You had performed in worse places than this, so you couldn’t complain. Besides, most of the guests, with their sparkling jewels and tailored suits, still applauded politely after every song, and some would even smile as you made eye contact with them. Admittingly, you did feel a little thrill at the attention, at being seen. 

Because that was what you had always dreamed of as a child: to perform for the wealthy, to have your voice fill the room, and draw attention to your every move.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Eliza mused one night as you both settled into your cramped cabins in the steerage. It had been a tiring evening of performances for the first-class passengers. “Others dream of being wealthy, but you seem to dream of serving the wealthy.”

You adjusted the covers, keeping yourself warm. “I just feel like there are consequences to having so much money in your hands. I’m content with having just enough to get by.”

As the days passed and as the Titanic made its last final stop at a port in Ireland, that was when you began to notice things. Little things. The way some of the men in the audience looked at you, their eyes lingering far too long, with a hunger that made your skin prickle. The way your manager, Mrs. Hawthorne, hovered by the bar while speaking in low, hushed tones to the richest men in the room. You noticed how she always had a keen eye on you, watching as you moved from the stage to the back, and back again. It felt as if she was gauging something, calculating a certain transaction in her head.

After another night of singing, you found yourself backstage, wiping a sheen of sweat from your brow. Your voice was raspy, and your throat dry from hours of performance, but you felt a little bit of joy knowing you had done well. You were reaching for a glass of water when Mrs. Hawthorne appeared beside you—her smile a little too wide, but her eyes a little too sharp. A look that undoubtedly reminded you of a predator to its prey. 

“Lovely performance tonight, my dear,” she said smoothly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “But our clients… they might want a little more than just a pretty song. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion in her words. “What do you mean, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Some of these gentlemen… Well, they’ve paid a lot for your company. They expect a bit more than just a few songs. A bit of private entertainment, if you will.”

You blinked twice in the same second. “P-Private entertainment? You didn’t say anything about that when you hired me.”

Her grip tightened on your shoulder. “It’s all part of the package, dear. You want to keep your place on this ship, don’t you? Want to make those dreams come true?” Her eyes flickered darkly, and her aura became more and more austere as you refused. “Just be accommodating. Smile, laugh, let them buy you a drink or two... and if they ask for more, well... oblige. Surely, you aren’t a virgin to be acting like you’re new to this.”

The stubborn side of you pulled away from her touch. Everything that was coming out of her mouth brought you profound disgust. “I’m not a whore, Mrs. Hawthorne,” you hissed, getting straight to the point. “I’ve never done those things.” 

She only chuckled softly. A cold, cruel chuckle that made your skin crawl. “Not yet, you haven’t. But this is a long voyage, and there are a lot of men here with deep pockets and lonely nights. You’re either useful to them or you’re not useful to me. However, I must remind you that your place in this ship is paid for by me. So, if I were you, sweetie, I’d make my choice correctly.”

“You…” Trapped and horrified at the situation you had thrown yourself into, you stared back at her in resistance. “You can’t do this! This is illegal—”

“Oh, sue me,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied in sarcasm before stepping back, her smile fading into the crowd. “Do what I say or you will be thrown off this ship. I have contacts back home that can surely check on your mother and sister, too.”

Your fingers tightened around the empty glass as she walked away, leaving you snapped into the dark and twisted reality of your current situation. All this damn time, the job you thought would bring you closer to your dreams was nothing but a front. A trap, with no escape in sight.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered just how much you were willing to endure to survive this journey. The faces of your mother and sister appeared before your eyes, their once hopeful gazes turning into a look of despair. Afraid for their lives. Hurt. Perished. 

No, you couldn’t let that happen. You thought as you swallowed your pride. 

~~

Alongside Eliza and your other colleagues, you were forced to endure the advances of the wealthy men who frequented the gambling rooms below deck. The stench of cigars and alcohol, the rough hands, and the leering eyes became your nightmare-turned-reality while being in a prison that was supposedly dubbed as the ship of dreams.

You had never felt so degraded. You were overcome with a sense of filth and self-loathing, feeling as though you were utterly sullied. You felt so low, so disgusted with your own skin that your femininity was not respected.

How could Mrs. Hawthorne do this? That was all you ever thought about as you sat perched on a wealthy man’s lap, his rough hands roaming over your body as he laughed, more at the cards in his hand than at the joke one of the other old men had told him. The other men at the table barely noticed you, their eyes glazed with the haze of a high-stakes game as they bet all their money and fortune on a mere deck of cards. You had seen this look before, the detachment, the sense that you were nothing more than an accessory, a toy to be played with.

Your colleagues, fellow entertainers, were scattered around the room, their eyes hollow as they performed their duties, doing what they could to survive. But tonight, it was too much. 

The disgusting old man’s grip tightened on your thigh, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered something vile. “Why don’t you let me have a taste later when I win this game, beautiful?” 

“I-I need some air,” you muttered, trying to stand, but he pulled you back down with his iron grip.

“Not yet, darling. Wait until I have you naked on my bed,” he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. You couldn’t imagine letting an old man touch you like that, and the mere thought of it made you sick to your stomach. “You will please me when I tell you so.”

“Let me go!” 

“Pipe it down, will you?!” 

You felt panic clawing at your insides as you bit down the screams that were trying to rise from your throat. It was as though the room was closing in on you, the walls narrowing until you couldn’t breathe. Until you suffocated. Without thinking, you wrenched yourself free and kicked the old man on the shin, stumbling out of the chair and into the corridor with your pulse racing as you broke into a run.

I’m sorry. You repeated your apologies to your mother and sister in your mind, over and over, as you sprinted across the deck. The click-clack of your heels ricocheted into the distance as you sobbed. I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’m sorry… 

This wasn’t the life you had dreamed of, and you couldn’t bear the thought of being treated like an object, sold off to the wealthy and losing your dignity in the process. Night after night. Tears streamed down your face as you thought about letting down your family back home, about this being the last time you would ever see them, and about your own foolishness in embracing such cruelty.

You didn’t stop running and crying until you reached the stern of the ship, the cold night air nipping at your skin as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Breathe, you told yourself. But wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t? You leaned over the railing, the dark, icy waters below calling to you and offering a way out. And for a moment, you considered it. You considered it an escape. Anything was better than the life you were trapped in. 

You knew you wouldn’t last another day in this ship without having your dignity stripped off you, especially not when it was the last thing you had for yourself. You may not have the money, the power, and the influence that these wealthy people had, but one priceless thing you owned for yourself was your dignity. And that wasn’t something they could take away from you. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. The rush. The heavy emotions. Whatever it was, the overwhelming thoughts led you to climb over the railings, afraid and ready at the same time, to throw yourself into the gelid waters of the North Atlantic. Your trembling body and unstable breath didn’t stop you from looking down, waiting for the perfect timing… 

“I’m sorry.” A sob escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, uttering a prayer in hitched whispers. 

But before you could make the fatal leap, a strong hand suddenly grabbed your arm, making you gasp in horror at the unexpected intruder. You felt yourself being pulled back, and turned to see a man with amaranthine hair and kaleidoscopic eyes. “Miss, what are you doing?” 

“I—” you choked on your words now that the shameful reality of what you had almost done was crashing over you. “You know what I-I’m doing. Mind your own business!”

“I can’t do that now,” he spoke with urgency, eyes softening as he looked at you with an earnest gaze. “Whatever you do to yourself, I’ll be held responsible. Think about it.”

What is wrong with this guy? You swallowed, confused by his insistence in pulling you back. Judging by the way he dressed, he was obviously another first-class passenger. So, why did he care about saving a mere third-class woman? Weren’t they all the same? You held your breath and glared at him, distrustful of his approach. “L-Let me go! You’re distracting me.”

The guy used his thumb to wipe the faint tears on your wet cheeks. “Let’s talk about this,” he said, “Jumping from here would be the most excruciating way to die, trust me.” 

“How would you know?” you snapped, antagonism misdirected towards a man who was only trying to help. “You don’t get it. I don’t wanna go back there… with those old men…” 

For a moment, his eyes flickered with recognition. “You’re the singer, right? I’ve heard you perform. You have a siren’s voice.”

“I’m no longer performing for people like you,” you bit back, trying to wipe away your tears. But in that instant, in that span of a second, you lost your footing and slipped from the railings. “Aaah!” Your scream pierced the evening air as you felt a cold rush of fear slapping your face. “Aah! Help! Help me! Please!” 

“Hold on! I got you!” He gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull you back up, but determined with all his might to do so. “I… told you… you wouldn’t jump,” he panted, the muscles on his neck straining with the effort to pull you with your weight. You could see it in his eyes—the panic, the fear. Someone a stranger shouldn’t have for a person he didn’t know. And it brought you a thick sense of shame and guilt knowing you had him involved. 

With your help, you extended another hand toward the railings and fought to climb back in. It was a struggle, but he eventually pulled you back onto the deck where both of you collapsed against the floor, gasping for breath like a freshly caught fish. You looked up at him, taking in his relieved yet gentle expression, and feeling nothing but shame for the terrible situation you had put him through.

“T-Thank you,” you stammered, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. “Thank you, and I-I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re alright now.”

“W-What’s your name?”

He exhaled, a faint smile touching his lips as he shook his head. It was the first time through that near-death experience where you began to feel relaxed. “I’m offended you don’t know.”

“I…” 

“I’m kidding. It’s Rafayel,” he said with a polite handshake, helping you to your feet. “Please remember your savior’s name.”

Before you could say more, the sound of footsteps approached, and you heard the old man’s voice, slurred and angry, as him and the Master-at-Arms headed towards you like you were a culprit they had been trying to catch. “There she is! That little whore! She thinks she can run away?!”

Panic seized you again, but the man beside you—Rafayel���stepped forward, placing himself between you and the approaching figures as if he was protecting you. “She’s with me,” he strictly said upon realizing the situation quickly enough. His voice was also firm, leaving no room for argument. “Leave her alone. It won’t end well if you insist on taking this innocent lady.” 

The Master-at-Arms and security personnel hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances between Rafayel and the old man, who was clearly bristling with indignation. Yet, Rafayel’s gaze remained firm and unyielding, and it was evident that his social standing intimidated the crew. Unlike you, they seemed to recognize who he was and decided to back off.

So after a tense silence, the security personnel, clearly wary of challenging someone of Rafayel's stature, nodded reluctantly. They led the inebriated old man away, assuring him that they would find another woman who would be more willing to accommodate him for the night. 

When they were gone, Rafayel turned back to you with his already softened eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with a kindness you hadn’t expected. It was clear that through his gaze, he seemed to have picked up the puzzle pieces for the reason of your near-suicide. And he sympathized with you for it, as if he had once tried to go through that route, too. “Don’t worry about that old man. I’ll see to it that he won’t bother you again. Any of them.” 

You nodded, though your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. The events that night were far too much for you to process. “Thank you,” you whispered. “You saved me twice today.” 

He smiled, a small, sad smile, and offered you his hand. “Come with me. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt something other than fear. You felt safe. And it strangely came from a stranger you knew little about except his name. However, he immediately noticed your hesitation, knowing that it was rooting from your mistrust and fear for the men in first-class who wanted to bed you, so he was quick to clear out his intentions. 

“I’m not like those people,” he said, clearing his throat. His words were accompanied by a reassuring smile, and the earnestness in his eyes provided some comfort to the uncertainty in your heart. “I’m not a businessman, not a politician, definitely not royalty. I don’t gamble, I have no vices. I’m just an artist. You can trust me. I won’t do anything bad to you.”

Yet again, you weren’t given a chance to fully express your gratitude, only because a slightly older man with brown hair approached, shooting a disapproving look at Rafayel. 

“I’m sure she knows her way back into steerage,” the other guy said curtly, his tone carrying a sharp reprimand as though engaging in a silent argument with Rafayel. “Don’t risk your image by accompanying her down there or offering her a place in first-class.”

Rafayel, visibly frustrated, shot back with the temper of a child. “Thomas, treat her like a human being—”

“I’m okay,” you interjected with a shaky voice, trying to ease the tension because you truly didn’t want to cause any more trouble on the man who had just saved you. You simply glanced at ‘Thomas’ before sending Rafayel a smile of gratitude. “He’s right, Rafayel. Your help means more to me than I can ever express, but it’s best that I return to my cabin on my own.”

Rafayel’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue further. But then he chose to relent when his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He clearly didn’t want to force anything on you. “Alright,” he said quietly, though his gaze remained passionately concerned. “But please, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m not far.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, the gratitude in your eyes more profound than words could express. But Thomas was there to humble you from the fantasy of being the damsel in distress. From his watchful gaze alone, you knew he was telling you that you weren’t and would never be welcome into their part of the ship after tonight. “Thank you, Rafayel. I’ll be alright. I promise.”

All Rafayel could do was nod as he reluctantly stepped back. Thomas could only give a brusque nod as well, signaling the end of the conversation. And as they turned to leave, you watched Rafayel go and felt a strange pang of sadness at parting with a person you just met. It was odd, definitely, but the momentary relief Rafayel’s intervention gave you was briefly replaced by the gruesome reality of your life at the steerage. 

Turning back towards the staircase leading to steerage, you took a deep breath and started down the steps. The ship’s luxurious surroundings became more and more minimalistic as you descended, with the opulence of first-class fading away into the more sterile accommodations of steerage.

~~

When you woke up the next morning, you thought everything that had happened was both a dream and a nightmare. 

Eliza was staring at you from the opposite bunk bed, seemingly envious yet happy for you at the same time. For what reason? You weren’t sure yet. And neither did she say why she carried that look on her face as you got up from bed, wiping your eyes and realizing it was another dreadful day of being imprisoned in the Titanic. 

“What’s wrong, Eliza?” you asked. 

She offered you a small smile. “Nothing, just…” 

It horrified you to see the marks on Eliza’s neck. And the pained expressions on her face, a reflection of someone who had been stripped of her dignity—someone who could have been you if not for Rafayel’s intervention. You couldn’t escape the grim reality that, despite his heroic act, your fate might soon mirror hers. Mrs. Hawthorne still held the chains around your neck after all, compelling you to do things against your will in exchange for your life, your family's safety, and your livelihood.

But to your surprise, Mrs. Hawthorne was a different person when she knocked on your cabin door that morning. You had braced yourself for the punishment of failing to fulfill your ‘duties’ to the old man the previous night, but her demeanor was unusually pleasant. Her smile seemed almost too pleased, leaving you wary and confused about her true intentions.

Has she gone mad?

“Good morning,” she spoke in the same merry voice that you hated, displaying a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Y/N, from now on, your services as an entertainer are no longer required.”

Your heartbeat took a pause. “What do you mean? I-Is it because of last night?”

She placed the papers on the small table beside you and sat down. “Your contract has been terminated. You’re free from your duties as of now.”

So suddenly… You stared at her, trying to process the sudden change in her demeanor. “But why? I don’t understand. Not even long ago, you were asking me to—”

“A gentleman from first-class, someone with rather striking purple hair, has paid a considerable sum to terminate your contract.” The cruel woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “He covered the cost of your ticket and added extra, more than enough to ensure you were released from your obligations.”

Your mind instantly connected the dots. “Rafayel? H-He did that? But why?”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression turned cold. “He made it very clear that he wanted you to stop entertaining people against your will. He even went so far as to threaten me with legal consequences if I didn’t comply. Said something about ensuring I’d face charges once the ship docks in New York if I didn’t let you go. What a boastful young man! If not for his money, I’d have cursed him out in the face. I don’t know what you did to woo that guy, but consider yourself lucky.”

What? You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t ever believe Rafayel went out of his way to save you. Again. 

“Go and enjoy the ship like any other passenger,” Mrs. Hawthorne continued, her words dripping with a false sense of privilege. As if living in peace on this ship was a luxury for you. “I’ll inform the crew that you’re no longer required in the entertainment department.”

As Mrs. Hawthorne exited your cabin, you sat in silence and finally understood the reason behind Eliza’s gaze. But you didn’t expect this, either. You could only glance out the porthole in guilt, seeing the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you. This new freedom felt both exhilarating and daunting if you were being honest to yourself. For the first time since you boarded, you now had a chance to explore the ship on your own terms, but the uncertainty of what lies ahead lingered in the back of your mind.

Because, then… What about your family? What about your income? What about your dream of performing on Broadway? 

Only an ungrateful person would think selfishly about herself first before the person that generously saved her from this predicament. So, even if you swore to never bother him again, you had to take the risk. You had to seize your newfound freedom, at least, to thank him properly. 

With that in mind, you made your way near the staircases leading to the upper decks. You had ‘borrowed’ a costume from the entertainers’ closet, the only suitable and elegant clothing you could find to pass as a first-class passenger. But as you walked through the luxurious parts of the ship, the sound of a piano drifted through the air, and its melody guided your next steps like a sailor entranced by a siren’s voice. The rhythm. The melody. It was drawing you closer and closer. 

Before you knew it, you followed the enchanting tune, only to find yourself stumbling upon Rafayel in a room adjacent to the music room. There he was, deeply engrossed in his painting, the soft glow of the sun warmly illuminated his focused expression and the canvas before him.

Rafayel looked up, surprised. “Y/N? ” he said, his gentle smile lighting up his face as he noticed you. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

You flushed, feeling out of place. The irony of stumbling into the wrong room seemed to have brought you to the right person. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to intrude. I followed the music, but it led me here.”

His curiosity was piqued. “And what brings you to this part of the ship? The music room is across the hall, miss.”

“I was just exploring,” you replied, smiling and feigning innocence. “Trying to see a bit more of this grand vessel.”

His response was a soft chuckle. “Well, you’ve found quite the place. May I offer you a seat?”

To your surprise, you found yourself seated next to him, eyes wide as you were immediately captivated by his artwork. The painting before you was breathtaking, truly mesmerizing. It was a picturesque depiction of the ocean and sunset, and every intricate color blended beautifully on the canvas. “Rafayel, did you paint this? It’s incredible! It’s so beautiful!”

“You flatter me too much, but I’ll take the compliment. It’s a work-in-progress, though.” He chuckled, wiping his paint-splattered hand with a towel. Despite the barriers of social class, a connection naturally seemed to spark between you both. “If you’re interested, I might even give you a discount on it.”

You knew he was joking, but if you had the means, you would have bought his masterpiece without hesitation. “You must be famous all over Europe. It makes sense why…”

“Actually, you’re mistaken,” he corrected, his smile dimming just a bit. “No one buys my paintings anymore. My art exhibits have become quite empty. I’ve been living off my savings and selling off my most prized possessions just to keep up with my lifestyle. Money and fame are fleeting, after all.”

“But why?” you asked, genuinely curious. “With paintings like these, I’m sure people would want to buy them.”

“It’s been a while since I painted something like this,” he replied, eyes locking into yours. “My recent works have been more somber. People tend to shy away from dull, lifeless art.”

You hesitated. “Is it because of a lack of inspiration?”

He stood up, smiling softly as if you were the first person to understand. “You could say that.”

Driven by curiosity, you glanced around the room and noticed several paintings concealed beneath dust covers. You looked at him for permission, and he gave it through a simple nod. However, when you pulled the covers back, you were taken aback to find that the paintings depicted intimate, nude portraits of women—women who appeared to belong to high society. To say you were surprised was understatement. You were rather stunned, astounded.  

Rafayel, leaning casually against the wall, seemed to sense your astonishment. “Didn’t expect it, huh?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “Before you get the wrong idea, these are merely commissioned paintings. I didn’t paint them because I’m particularly intrigued with female anatomy or anything.” 

“But they’re live paintings, you say?” you asked, truly amazed by the thought. “I… Wow.” 

He hummed in agreement. “These kinds of paintings were what made me popular. Royals and high society people have a penchant for risqué art. It’s often erotic to them. They love commissioning nude portraits to gift to their husbands. My most significant client was the First Lady of France. I spent three months there, painting her repeatedly until an entire room in the palace was filled with her nude portraits. I even felt like I’m more familiar with every inch of her body than her husband, you know?” he jested just a little before continuing, “Anyway, so word spread about my paintings of the First Lady, and soon enough, French women flocked to have their own portraits done, too.”

You stared at the paintings, the elegant yet provocative depictions of high-society women capturing your attention in a way that you didn’t expect. And you supposed the perfect definition to your emotion right now would be fascination, because it wasn’t anything you had seen before. 

Rafayel’s voice, on the other hand, broke through your thoughts. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so intimate and personal can become a symbol of status and power.”

You turned to him with no judgement in your eyes. “It’s admirable, really. You’re very talented.”

Rafayel pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the covered canvases, his fingers lightly grazing the edges of the dust covers. “Most people see me as just another artist, another name on a list of commissioned painters. But this,” he gestured to the paintings, “was what set me apart. It wasn’t just about the art itself but about the allure and the mystique. It drew people in, gave them something to talk about.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “And now? Does it still hold the same appeal for you?”

His expression may have softened, but a hint of melancholy blanketed his gaze. “Not as much. The thrill has faded. The commissions came, and the fame followed, but it wasn’t as fulfilling as I’d hoped. It’s easy to get lost in the glamor and forget why you started painting in the first place.”

You took a step closer as the air between you silenced into a quiet understanding. “What did you want to achieve? What was it you hoped to find in your art?”

He looked at you with his deep vulnerable eyes. “I wanted to capture the essence of beauty and emotion. I wanted my art to connect with people on a deeper level, to make them feel something genuine. But over time, it became less about that and more about what would sell.”

There was a brief silence as you considered his words. “Then, to me it sounds like you’re looking for something more meaningful.”

“Perhaps.” Rafayel nodded, his gaze turning back to the portraits. “I want to paint again, but not just for the sake of profit or reputation. I want to create something that speaks to who I am, something that brings back that initial spark of passion.”

“Maybe you’ll find that inspiration again.” You plastered an encouraging smile on your face. “Sometimes, the most unexpected encounters can reignite a lost passion.”

“I suppose so. And maybe, finding the right subject or the right moment will make all the difference.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence that settled between you. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the way Rafayel glanced at your lips, created a sense of attraction that—like a magnet—pulled you closer to him. What was it about this man that drew you in like a moth to a flame?

But you had to think straight, of course. You woke yourself up to the reason why you were even here in the first place. Though, as you finally broke the silence, a small smile played on his lips. “Thank you… Rafayel. I heard about what you did for me. You didn’t need to do that.”

He put a handsome smile on display. “It’s the right thing to do. You don’t deserve to live like that.”

You didn’t want to go into details and ask him about how he found out how Mrs. Hawthorne’s illicit business operated, but you trusted that Rafayel was smart enough to figure it all out. Everything that had led you here; from your attempt to jump off the ship, to him freeing you from the chains of being an ‘entertainer’. It was an unspoken understanding between the savior and the saved.

You stepped closer to him. “I feel terrible, though. You said you sold off some of your belongings to save money, but you ended up spending them for me.”

Rafayel was amused at that, on the other hand. “Hey, I never said I’m completely broke. It’d take at least five more years for that to happen.” 

“Lucky you, then.” You glanced around the room one last time, the paintings now seeming less like mere objects of scandal and more like symbols of Rafayel’s journey as an artist. You respected the nature of his paintings just as he respected you. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. 

“To where?”

“To your accommodations down in third-class,” he suggested with a strange glint of excitement in his eyes, taking your hand in his, “I’ve always been curious. Can you show me?” 

~~

There were many things you learned about Rafayel. Firstly, he was an easy-going man who preferred rowdy pubs over formal cotillions. He didn’t care about social classes, something he had proven when you first met him, but watching him effortlessly bond with the other people from the steerage made your heart soften into mush. He began to feel almost unreal to you, like a dream, because you never imagined a man from such a high status could be so genuine, so down-to-earth. Yet, there he was, laughing and enjoying a pint of cheap beer with your fellow third-class passengers, without a scintilla of judgment or hesitation.

Secondly, he could certainly dance. You never saw it coming until he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the makeshift dance floor, inviting you to join him in a playful tap dance together with the other passengers. The lively, upbeat music of the steerage seemed to fuel his spirit far more than the refined, classical tunes often heard in the first-class dining halls. 

“How’d you learn to dance?” you shouted over the music, spinning as Rafayel twirled you with an effortless grace.

He grinned, shrugging casually. “I’d call it au naturel.”

And lastly, he was far more charming than you ever anticipated. Despite his tipsiness, Rafayel remained by your side the entire evening, his presence around you gave way to subtle protectiveness that never wavered throughout the night. What amused you, though, was the reversal of roles—you felt like you were the one guarding him, a vulnerable first-class man surrounded by a roomful of third-class passengers, where he could easily become a target for discomfort or even theft. Yet, much to your relief, nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, his natural charm seemed to win everyone over, defusing any tension that might have arisen.

“Rafayel, please be careful on your way back,” you said, concern evident in your voice as you watched his half-lidded eyes and his unsteady sway from the alcohol. He stood outside your cabin, clearly tipsy. “Do you want me to help you get back up there? I don’t think I can enter past the gates, though.”

He swayed for a moment before leaning in, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes, clouded with intoxication, locked onto yours. “No need. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

You decided to tease him, hoping to break the sexual tension. “Well, getting this close to me isn’t exactly gentlemanly, either, Mr. Rafayel.”

“Touché.” His cool breath fanned across your face as he chuckled. “I guess I’m not much of a gentleman after all.” 

For a moment, you forgot about the crowded halls of the third-class cabins, the distant hum of the ship’s engines, and the people bustling around you. It felt like it was just the two of you, suspended in time. Your heart couldn’t stop racing at an unreasonable pace. 

Rafayel’s smile widened, his lips only a couple inches away from yours. “But if I were, would I have had the pleasure of meeting you?” 

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Maybe not. But I’m glad you’re here now, gentleman or not.” 

He lingered there for a minute longer, his forehead still resting against yours, before he finally pulled away with a reluctant sigh. “Alright, I should head back… before I lose any more of my honor.” His grin eventually faded into a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with his gentle hand. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Y/N. Thank you.” 

As romantic and noble as he seemed, you knew your boundaries. You knew your place in society was no way near his. “You’re always welcome here,” you said, gently holding his hand—the one that had touched your cheek. “But you don’t belong down here, so up you go.”

“I’d rather be wherever you are,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your hand and making your heart pound wildly against your chest. 

Though you cherished the moment, you knew it wasn’t the right time. He was under the influence of alcohol, and you worried he might regret his actions and words later. After all, you were a mere woman from the steerage, not someone he could proudly show off and be with. You had nothing to offer, nothing to match his way of living. You only had yourself, but you didn’t know if that was enough. 

With that in mind, you had to keep your composure. Being too ambitious might one day bite you back the hard way.  

“Good night, Rafayel,” you said, taking a step back, watching as he turned and stumbled a little before catching his balance. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always, sweetheart. Always.” He glanced back, flashing you one last grin. Then, with a mischievous wink, he started to make his way back to the upper decks, leaving you with a warmth in your chest that lingered long after he was gone.

If only you two weren’t divided by social classes. 

~~

Slap! 

“What on Earth was that stupid act you pulled down there?!” Arielle’s voice resounded across the room with a harshness Rafayel hadn’t heard from her before. But honestly, the sting of her slap wasn’t what shocked him, it was the way she had shown her true nature from being a sweet, passionate lady into a manipulative, entitled woman who seemed to think she had a claim over him. “I can’t believe you were mingling with those filthy third-class people while I was waiting for you in my suite last night!”

Keeping his head turned in the direction she’d struck, Rafayel clenched his jaw. “You don’t know those people. They’re better than most of the ones up here on this ship.”

“And what?” she snapped, her ocean-blue eyes blazing with fury that almost matched the deep crimson of her hair. “You went down there for some whore? Don’t push me, Rafayel. You are not to see that lowly woman ever again.”

Rafayel’s patience wore thin at the mention of you, and he finally looked up to glare at her. “Stop trying to control me, Arielle.”

“You are my husband-to-be.” Her reminder was more so a warning to him. “It is a privilege for you to be married to me. So start acting the part. You will live by my rules, spend my money, and enjoy the privileges I grant you. Don’t think you’re above your place now, especially with your boring paintings not selling anymore.”

Frankly, Rafayel had never imagined himself marrying this woman. The engagement ring on her finger wasn’t even something he had chosen—it was bought and meticulously picked out by Thomas because Rafayel couldn’t be bothered to find one himself. If he already felt this way about the engagement, how much more about the impending marriage? Her relentless need to control everything was already a nightmare he could clearly see unfolding. And he knew he would never have the freedom to be the man of his own house, always trailing behind her like a shadow, always listening to her commands like a broken man. He would have to obey her every whim like a pathetic servant, living solely for her pleasures and demands. 

The wedding hadn’t even happened yet, but he already wanted to put a pistol to his mouth and end everything. 

“Don’t you dare ruin our reputation by mingling down there again,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as if she were speaking of animals rather than people. “I mean it, Rafayel. You know exactly what I’m capable of doing to that whore.” 

That threat was enough to force him into a tense, angry silence. “...Don’t you dare touch her.” 

Arielle scoffed. Despite the jewelry and makeup that made her quite the face of a luxurious woman, Rafayel could only see how rotten she was on the inside. “I will do what I want if you do not behave yourself.” 

He didn’t even try to console or win her back after she stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. Why should he? He held no affection for her, and he certainly didn’t care about winning her over. He was even contemplating telling Arielle directly to her face that he wanted to call off the wedding, to let her know he didn’t need her to survive on his own, but things were easier said than done. And more importantly, there were various factors that held him back.

One of them, being his longtime friend and agent, Thomas, who soon entered his private suite. The guy’s lips were already tightened into a thin line as he eyed the red mark on Rafayel’s cheek. “I told you not to get involved with that third-class woman. You’re already engaged to Arielle. Why can’t you just appreciate what you have?” 

Rafayel remained silent, leaning against the table and rubbing his temples in frustration. He couldn’t believe that the person closest to him would be the first to side with someone else.

“And can we talk about why you paid that shady woman, Hawthorne, to release the third-class girl from being a hostess?” Thomas continued. “Her problems are none of your business. You’re just involving yourself in all these rumors.”

Rafayel’s eyes hardened. “You know Y/N didn’t consent to that situation. She was clearly deceived into it—didn’t you see her nearly jumping off the ship trying to escape those men? Helping her was the right thing to do. She has a mother and sister waiting for her.”

“This is not about what’s right or wrong. It’s about maintaining appearances. And if you start ignoring the rules for everyone you meet, you’ll find yourself in quite a predicament.” His agent stared at him blankly, sighing. “It’s not just about you, Raf. Your aunt Talia—she’s counting on you. She’s the only family you have left. She invested everything she had to support your career, hoping that you would make something of yourself. But things didn’t turn out the way we all had hoped for, did it? Besides, this marriage isn’t just a contract. It’s a way to secure your future and her well-being.”

He could feel his jaw tightening at the clear attempt to draw guilt from him. “I’m aware of what my aunt did for me, but this isn’t what she envisioned for me. She wanted me to be happy, to succeed on my own terms, not to be trapped in a marriage I didn’t ask for.”

“You’re being short-sighted,” pointed out Thomas, “By marrying Arielle, you secure not only your future but also Talia’s. You know she’s been struggling with her health. She needs to know that you’re stable, that you’re not making reckless decisions that could jeopardize her security. If you back out now, it could destroy her.”

Rafayel’s gaze dropped to the floor as his mind grappled into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—frustration, guilt, and helplessness. 

“Is this really about me,” Rafayel said quietly, “or is it about what will happen if I defy you?”

“I know Arielle isn’t the kindest person,” Thomas continued, ignoring his question. “But sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good. And this marriage might not be perfect, but it’s a step towards securing everything you’ve worked for. It’s what will keep Talia safe and secure, not some fleeting romance on a ship or a misguided impulse.”

Rafayel’s silence became pregnant with contemplation. He was ultimately speechless, not because he agreed with his agent, but because the tables had turned in a way where the guilt and pressure was now placed on his shoulders squarely. 

Sensing his deep thoughts, Thomas stepped closer and placed a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder with a reassuring grip. “Think about it carefully. The right decision isn’t always the easiest one, but it’s often the one that will ensure a future worth living.”

~~

Another day had passed since that fateful night when Rafayel had pulled you from the brink of ending your life. 

You had already settled back into the confines of the steerage, trying to adjust to the routine of your life as best as you could while Mrs. Hawthorne stuck to her word of leaving you alone. But as each supposedly normal day went by, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The brief moments you had shared with Rafayel suddenly felt like a distant dream, and you wondered if it was all just a fleeting impulse on his part. 

Did he actually regret spending time with you that night? Getting to know you? Opening his heart to you? Despite the joy he seemed to express, you wondered if he felt disgusted with his actions the moment he woke up sober. Because as kind and down-to-Earth as Rafayel appeared, he was still part of the wealthy elite, like the rest of them. He was born into a rich household, accustomed to the life of high society, and it wouldn’t be all too surprising for him to view the unsophisticated passengers of the third-class as pitiful. 

But a small part of you believed Rafayel was better than that. No, he was more genuine than that. 

It was early in the morning when you found yourself drawn to the upper decks from your humble area in the third-class decks. You watched the first-class passengers from the starboard side, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved your life and made you feel special. He should be there somewhere. Some place where the sun had risen. After all, didn’t he say you could come find him anytime? Your eyes searched aimlessly through the crowd, hoping for a sign, a familiar face. 

Until he appeared.

Rafayel stopped by the railing, engaged in a conversation with the captain of the ship. Next to him was a graceful woman clinging on his arm, a girl with luscious red hair, pearlescent skin, and crystal blue eyes. The dress she wore was bedight with intricate patterns, sewn carefully through hours of labor to highlight the detailed gold threads on the satin dress. She was about the same age as you, it seemed, but her aura was the epitome of elegance and wealth, someone you could never be. Though, despite the distance, you could see the tension in Rafayel’s posture and the way he didn’t appear to be present in the conversation at all.

Then, he happened to have looked in your direction. 

Contrary to the expectations in your head, he didn’t greet you with a familiar smile or a friendly wave. No, he avoided your eyes not even two seconds after he met your gaze. It was as if he was intentionally keeping his distance, and the sight left you feeling inexplicably hollow.

“Hang on,” you could hear one of your cabin roommates say, “Isn’t that the gentleman from first-class who danced with us?” 

“Who’s that woman next to him?” 

“Oh, first-class people. They’re all the same.” 

“Did he just ignore you, Y/N?”

He did. And it hurt in a way you didn’t expect. You couldn’t quite understand your feelings or why they were so intense when you should have anticipated this, should have expected it. Or did you really believe he could be some sort of prince charming who would fall for a poor woman after meeting her for a few days? This was no fairytale. 

God, but it was unbearable—the silence, the misunderstandings, the thought. As foolish as it might sound, you needed to hear it from him directly. Growing fond of Rafayel was already an abyss you had thrown yourself into, and you were willing to walk that path just to speak to him again.

You weren’t sure how you did it so well, but by using the same old trick, you were able to sneak into the first-class deck smoothly. The transition from steerage to first-class was blunt, and you already knew you had to yet again play the role of a wealthy woman, or at least a nouveau riche, just to blend in. But that wasn’t what you were focusing on this journey, you weren’t there to dillydally with the elite. You were there to see a certain amaranthine-haired man who had saved your life countless times in this ship. 

When you spotted Rafayel slipping into a private room—the same room where he painted, you followed him like a spy, hoping not to be seen or caught by other onlookers in the area. You still had the decency to knock softly at first, but when there was no answer, you decided to let yourself in. The room was dimly lit, with rich, velvet drapes decorating the walls. And the smell of paint and canvas was an unmistakable association to him. Of Rafayel, who was there standing by a large window, his back to you.

“Rafayel,” you said softly, taking a tentative step forward but inexplicably drawn to his beautiful, radiant face. “Hi.”

He turned to look at you in an unwelcome surprise, however. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”

You closed the door behind you, the soft click signaling your privacy. “I just… I don’t know why I’m here. Frankly, I just wanted to see you. I wanted to understand if I did something wrong.”

There was guilt in his eyes, you saw that. But he was quick to cloud it with a look of resistance. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said in a neutral tone, his eyes avoiding yours. “It’s just... it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated. “It’s because I’m from steerage, isn’t it…”

“No,” Rafayel interrupted firmly, as if the thought was absurd. “It’s not about where you come from. That doesn’t matter to me.”

You felt the distance he was placing between you two as you stood in front of him, not wanting to wear your heart on your sleeve. But it did sting. The way he was struggling to meet your eyes, the way he was looking at anywhere but you. 

“I have a fiancé,” he dropped the hard cold truth, “I’m engaged, and it’d be disrespectful for me to spend time with another woman behind her back.”

The revelation struck you like lightning, probably worse than the impact it would have on you if you had jumped off the ship that other night. “...I see.” 

“I apologize,” he quickly added, still averting the direction of his gaze. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

There must be a logical reason why he had never mentioned his fiancé the moment he had met you. But whatever it was, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and yet, the complete picture remained frustratingly out of reach. The pain in your chest was undeniable, truly, but you tried to mask it with a smile. You knew when and how to feign a calm composure in the most critical situations. 

“If that’s how it is,” you said quietly, “then I understand. I just needed to know.”

Rafayel’s eyes were an amalgam of shame and despair. “I’m sorry. You should leave before anyone sees you here.”

You didn’t wish to carry any grudge or bitterness towards a man who saved your life. If anything, you were still grateful for everything he did for you up to this point. You were happy that while you were drowning in a sea of despair, he became the buoy that you could hold onto. Even for a short, fleeting moment. So, despite the ache in your heart, you brought it upon yourself to show appreciation for one last time. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone now,” you spoke softly and faintly, “But before I go, I just want to say, Rafayel, that you are the most talented artist I have ever met. I admire your eye for art… I do, and also your passion for what you love. I hope that when this ship docks, you’ll find all the inspiration you need to create wonderful paintings again. I hope you never lose faith in yourself, because I know you’ll make it big out there. Even bigger than you already are, I can see it happening. You are an amazing person and a blessing to everyone around you, Raf. I wish you and your fiancé all the best.”

You didn’t wait for his response, neither did you look at his eyes and hope for him to stop you. He didn’t need to. You knew your place, and it wasn’t anywhere near him or any part of the first-class rooms and amenities. It was at the bottom of this ship, in a small cabin with two bunk beds and your limited garments. Their world was not meant for you. 

It never was.

~~

“So, when’s the big day?”

As usual, the grand dining hall was abuzz with the chatter and clinking of expensive cutlery. The long table was set with exquisite silverware, and the servants moved about with practiced grace, ensuring every need was met with precision that defined the excellent service of the White Star Line crew. Yet, despite the utmost grandeur of the setting, Rafayel felt strangely detached.

He sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the elite passengers of the Titanic, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. Little did everyone know, his thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation he had had with you yesterday. The way you had looked at him with those searching eyes, the way you had quietly accepted the painful truth he had laid bare. The image of your hurt expression haunted him, so much so that he disregarded the polished and pretentious world that now surrounded him.

Arielle was there seated beside him, and was occupied in an animated conversation with a group of socialites. Her laughter was light, her gestures demure and sophisticated, but to Rafayel, it all seemed pretentious. He knew she was only trying to look happy on the surface, trying to keep up with the appearances. She often glanced his way, her eyes carrying annoyance whenever he didn’t respond to her attempts to include him in the conversation. It was clear she was treating him as nothing more than a decorative accessory to her social standing, rather than—as she called it—a future husband. The more he observed her, the more he felt like a mere piece of furniture, simply existing for her to use.

The disparity between this world and the brief moments of freedom he had experienced with you in the steerage was jarring. The laughter, the warmth, the raw honesty of those times were replaced by the superficial chatter and insincere pleasantries of the elite. The perfect lives they spoke of in high society wasn’t where he wanted his art to thrive. They were of no raw and unfiltered essence as the dreams you spoke of and the hardships you had endured. Your ability to find beauty in even the smallest things was where visions of empowerment bloom. 

And in realizing that, he knew, all along, that you were the inspiration he had long been searching for.

“Darling?” Arielle’s hand rested lightly on his arm, a gesture meant to convey affection but to Rafayel felt like a shackle. She leaned in close, her voice a sultry whisper that he barely registered. “Rafayel, are you even listening? Everyone’s talking about our wedding. Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course, Arielle,” he said, forcing a smile before his gaze wandered to the window, where the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. He wondered where you were or how you were doing. Were you singing your heart out somewhere? Dancing with your friends down at the steerage? Drinking happily with fellow passengers who didn’t care about money or status or anything of the sort?

Truth be told, things began to strike him with a painful clarity. He knew long ago that the inspiration he had once sought was never meant to be found among the pomp and pretense of high society. But only now did he open his eyes to the times that had breathed life into his art, that had given him a glimpse of something real and meaningful. And they were moments with you.

But how could he have that inspiration now when the vibrant muse that had sparked his creativity was out of reach? 

Rafayel’s gaze fell to his plate, the food before him growing cold and unappetizing. “Excuse me.”

~~

Come Josephine… in my flying machine 

Going up she goes, up she goes 

The cold wind nipped at your cheeks as you stood at the bow of the ship, singing under your breath, and gazing out at the endless expanse of ocean stretching before you. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, as if the universe itself was offering an evanescent moment of beauty in a world that often felt so cruel. 

Balance yourself like a bird on a beam

In the air she goes, there she goes

You gripped the railing tightly, feeling the ship’s gentle sway beneath your feet, wondering how easily Rafayel would have captured the landscape forever in his canvas. You closed your eyes, letting the wind wash over you, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to push away the feeling of longing that had settled deep in your chest.

But then you heard it—the soft crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. You knew, even before turning, who it was. Your heart instantly tightened in your chest, holding your breath as you felt his presence come nearer. Slowly, you turned around, finding Rafayel standing there, his purple hair catching the light of the setting sun, his eyes apologetic and full of yearning.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled his words, taking a deep breath. “I lied to you.”

You felt a pang in your chest, both relief and hurt swelling inside you. “Why… are you saying this?” you asked softly, your eyes never leaving his. “Didn’t you regret everything?”

“No,” was his swift answer, shaking his head slowly and stepping closer. ���No, I didn’t regret getting closer to you. Not for a second.” He then paused, only for his voice to break just a little. “But I was bound by obligations. Bound by things that I thought would help me and the people I care about. It’s all materialistic and I’m ashamed to admit it to you.”

You turned back toward the ocean, gripping the railing as the wind whipped through your hair. In that moment, truthfully, staring at the endless sea felt like you were flying. “Because I’m from third-class? Because I won’t understand your world?”

“No, it was never about that,” Rafayel replied urgently, stepping closer until he was beside you. Until he was holding you by the waist, both hands securing you from behind. “I’ve been living a life that was never mine. About to marry a woman I don’t love, painting for people I despise, pretending to fit into a place that feels like a prison. And then I met you.”

“Raf…” You could feel the changing rhythm of your heart as you turned to face him, searching his face, trying to understand. “She’ll give you a better life. You deserve to have a woman of the same class as you.” 

“I don’t understand why we’re kept apart by such rigid lines. There’s so much more to life than these divisions,” he spoke in a troubled expression, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About how you made me feel alive again, how you gave me the inspiration I’d been longing to find.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt, allowing your walls to break. “This sounds ridiculous, but I’ve missed you,” you admitted softly, your hand still under his, feeling the warmth of his touch despite the cold wind around you. “I wanted to forget you, but I couldn’t…”

“I don’t want you to forget me,” he whispered, leaning closer as a pained smile tugged at his lips. “I want to be the one you remember. I want… I want to be the reason you smile, the reason you feel alive.”

You felt a tear escape your eye, and he gently brushed it away with his thumb. “Rafayel, I—”

“I’m done pretending,” declared he, “I just want to be with you, for however long we have. I don’t care what it costs me.”

Was this real? Your heart felt like it was about to burst, and you were scared that this might just be a dream, an illusion that you would soon wake up from. But then he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. “May I?” he asked, his eyes flickering to your lips.

And you nodded, you allowed it. A soft gasp escaped your mouth as his lips captured yours in a deep, searching kiss. The world seemed to fade away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you kissed him back with all the pent-up emotions you’d been holding onto for days. His lips were warm and soft, encasing yours in a passionate lock, while his tongue was sweet and tender, exploring your mouth in a loving, burning kiss.

For a moment, there was only the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of the sea in the air, the feel of his heart beating against yours. The world, the ship, everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you on the edge of the world.

~~

“We’re going to get caught—!” There was an obvious hint of nervous laughter in your voice as both of you giggled while racing through the corridors of the first-class halls.

“Shh,” he hushed you with a grin, placing a finger to his lips. “We’re almost there.”

All the while, Rafayel held your hand tightly as he guided you toward his private room. The thrill of sneaking around, hidden from prying eyes, seemed to fill him with a rush of adrenaline. But you couldn’t blame him, for you certainly shared the same thrill. There was a certain excitement in having you there, in his world, in his arms, like you belonged to him.

And he was right about being near. Because just a few more steps down the corridor, he finally stopped in front of one of the larger doors and pulled you into a lavish suite that seemed like an entirely different dimension. And good lord, you could hardly believe your eyes. Even though you had heard countless descriptions of the luxury on this ship, seeing it with your own eyes felt undeniably surreal. Left and right, no matter where you looked, the room was adorned with rich furnishings, a plush king-sized bed piled high with soft pillows, and even a private fireplace to keep the cold at bay during the night. His private suite alone was the size of ten basic cabins in the steerage. You didn’t bother asking the cost of his boarding ticket, knowing full well that it was more than what you could ever afford in your lifetime. 

To be able to throw so much money away for a mere couple nights on a ship, though, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing that. 

“Wow,” you marveled nonetheless, spinning around in awe while Rafayel watched your delight with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Your room is enormous.” 

“Can you stay right here for a second?” he asked, violet eyes meeting yours. “And close your eyes while you’re at it.” 

“Okay…” Curious but trusting, you smiled and shut your eyes, wondering what he was up to or what he was planning. It wasn’t long until you heard the faint sounds of rustling, drawers being opened and closed, the click of a safe, and then his footsteps as he returned behind you. “Are you done?” 

“There’s something I want to give you.” His raspy voice nearly tickled your ear. When you opened your eyes, you realized you were in front of a mirror, and you could see him from behind as he opened a velvet box and fished out a stunning, glistening heart-shaped blue diamond. Best believe your mouth was on the floor right at the next second. You were simply awestricken, and anyone who would look at it with a straight face was absurd. The jewel sparkled with an otherworldly brilliance, reflecting the tiny specks of light from the chandelier, yet maintaining its regal, deep blue color.

“The Heart of the Ocean,” you gasped, recognizing it instantly. It was a gem of legend, one you had only ever heard about in whispered tales when you were a little girl. “How… how did you get this?”

“The First Lady of France gave it to me,” he patiently explained while bearing a wistful smile. “It’s her token of gratitude for the time I spent painting her. Thomas insists it to be my gift—a dowry, actually—for Arielle.” He paused, his kaleidoscopic eyes staring at you through the mirror. “But now I realize it belongs to someone else entirely.”

Disbelief coursed through you. “Wait, I-I don’t understand. You can’t be serious…?”

“I am,” was his confirmation, stepping closer with a sincere gaze. With a delicate touch, he lifted the necklace and draped the cool, weighty chain around your neck. His fingers brushed softly against your skin as he fastened the clasp, then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re the one who deserves this and everything I have to give.” 

You stared at the gem resting just above your heart, its blue depths shimmering like the ocean beyond the ship. It felt like a treasure meant for someone else, someone more deserving. For an ordinary girl, you felt undeserving of such a rare, exquisite gem. “It’s… stunning,” you breathed, your fingers grazing its cool surface. “But why give it to me?”

“Because you’re the one who holds my heart,” Rafayel whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I want you to have it… to know that you’re more precious to me than any jewel.”

“Rafayel!” Your heart swelled, and you turned to face him, feeling a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, wondering what you did in your past life to be blessed with such a man. “I don’t deserve this—I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything and more, my sweet.” His words held all the sincerity and genuineness you had to hear. “I want to capture the way I see you right now. Will you let me paint you?”

Heat permeated your cheeks at his request, but you were willing. More than willing to be his muse. “I’d be honored,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. An intimate idea suddenly formed in your head. “But if I’m to wear something so special… I want to do it right. I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Rafayel. Wearing only this.”

~~

Being in the middle of the Atlantic exposed you to the cold, freezing temperatures. 

Yet, how come Rafayel’s room felt quite… hot? 

Perhaps it was the crackling fireplace offering the heated atmosphere. But you weren’t sure if it was really just that. Your heart pounded at an erratic pace, racing with every beat as you watched Rafayel arrange the couch in the middle. Meanwhile, you stood on the side, a thin robe on, as he padded the pillow before settling into his seat. It’s now or never, you thought as you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. I shouldn’t be nervous around him. 

“Monsieur,” you teased, taking in slow, measured steps in front of him. “Your muse is ready.” 

The artist himself was blushing. His cheeks were limned with a deep rosy red, clearing his throat and trying to avoid looking at places he shouldn’t be. He gestured to the cushioned couch, his voice a bit shaky as he fought to keep his focus on the task at hand. “Uh, you can… you can sit there.” 

You wondered whether this was considered you betraying your principles by willingly exposing yourself to him. Had you become a hypocrite, denying advances from wealthy men as an entertainer, but now willingly revealing yourself to someone of the same class? Not long ago, you were just running away from said first-class men, despising every inch of your skin that they desired to touch. So, why were you here? Why didn’t you feel the same way?

Firstly, Rafayel was different. He was respectful, kind, and everything the others were not. You could feel the sincerity in his gaze, the way he looked at you as though you were something precious. He saw you like you were the art, not his paintings, nor the landscapes. You. And so, you began to slowly undress, letting your robe fall to the floor, and immediately feeling the cool air hugging your bare skin. Rafayel’s gaze remained fixed on you, full of reverence and awe, as though he were witnessing something profoundly sacred.

When all that was left was the blue diamond nestled against your naked figure, you moved to the couch he had arranged and lay on your side on the cushions. Rafayel took a deep breath, as if steadying himself, and then moved to his easel with his brushes in hand. “Stay still, sweetheart. Move your left hand a little closer to your face.”

You did as told, shifting awkwardly on the couch to place yourself in the exact position he had envisioned for his art. Dear God, the tension was surely eating at you. You knew he could feel it, too. Especially when his eyes fell to the intimate places of your body—admiring, studying. Your best move was to clear your throat and break the ice. “Not so professional now, are we, Monsieur Rafayel?” 

He was mixing his paint as you teased him, the corner of his lips being pulled into an upward slope. “I am very professional, just so you know.” You were glad to hear him returning the small banter. “Now, don’t be moving your mouth too much, sweetheart. Save it for later.”

“Hey!”

“Just kidding.”  

The hours eventually passed in a delicate silence. You didn’t catch when exactly the awkwardness had begun to fade, but now, the only sound in this quiet room was the soft, rhythmic strokes of his brush against the canvas. You felt his eyes on you, studying every line and curve, every shadow and light, capturing not just your likeness but something deeper—something more human. It was as if he was painting not just your body but your soul, the very essence of who you were.

You remained still for him like a doll, and throughout it, all you could think about was this moment. Him. This encounter. Despite the initial horrors your job as entertainer presented, everything still led you to this—to Rafayel. To the man who saw you as the true art, not the colors he was blending in his canvas. 

Were things too good to be true? 

It took some time, probably a good hour or two when he finally pulled away from his canvas, his breath coming in soft, quiet exhales. You could see the emotion in his eyes as he gazed at the finished piece. “This is how I’ll always remember you,” Rafayel said, dreamy eyes staring right back at you. “As the one who wore my heart.”

Overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze, by the raw, unguarded love that radiated from his every word, you stood, crossing the room to him where he met you halfway and pulled you into his arms. You felt his heartbeat against yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“You are amazing,” you whispered against his shoulder, holding him tightly. “Thank you for seeing me.”

And for that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace, lost in the profound connection that had brought you both together on the edge of this endless ocean. To forget about everything and everyone seemed to be the lingering thought in your heads, and it manifested in the way his hands trailed down your curves, pulling you closer to him. Your lips were inches away, a proximity so near that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face. 

“Beautiful,” he spoke in a hushed voice, face mesmerized by the sight of you. “I want to kiss you.” 

“Then, kiss me,” you replied, your fingers reaching up to his collar, gently pulling him down. Nothing stopped you when you pressed your lips to his in a passionate, fervent kiss. Nothing prevented you when your fingers began to work on the buttons of his shirt with slow and deliberate movements. The fabric of his shirt soon fell away, revealing the lean, muscular contours of his torso. You trailed kisses along his chest, savoring the feel of his warm skin beneath your lips. “I’m yours, Rafayel,” you breathed back into his mouth as the kiss deepened, catching your breath between each shared moment. “Touch me, feel me, do whatever you want with me. I want you just the same.”

“You drive me crazy,” he grunted under his breath, hands roaming over your body. His touch confirmed to you that the desire was mutual, driven by an urgent need to connect on a level beyond words. His hands moved with a gentle yet insistent hunger, caressing the curve of your waist, exploring the delicate arch of your back. And in your ardent lip-locking exchange, you could feel the slopes of your breasts being pressed against his chest. Rafayel then bit your lower lip, fully submitting to his carnal desires, before reaching down to give your bum a tight squeeze. 

“R-Raf.” 

“Tell me if you want to stop—”

“Don’t stop. Don’t.” 

With your consent, he guided you to sit up on the couch, not knowing how his touch ignited an inextinguishable fire within you. While on his lap, you moved your body against his and traced your fingers along his collarbone, down to the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He returned the favor by cupping your mounds, massaging the plump flesh as if he was desperate to feel how soft they were. 

One thing led to another. And before you knew it, you were already crawling out of his lap, only to kneel on the carpeted floor in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his trousers. Your eyes widened as soon as you released his aching member from the confines of his undergarment, revealing a handsome size that was proportionate to his height. 

“Don’t stare at it like that,” he whined, cheeks flushed red as he leaned back on the couch, wrapping a hand around his shaft. Who knew Rafayel can get quite shy, too?

You found it adorable, if anything. But the equal lust you shared in your gazes remained on each other, even as you joined his hands at doing the job. Up and down did you stroke his length, watching him hold back a moan, only to crumble as soon as you decided to replace your hand with your mouth. It’s warm, you heard him say. It feels good, sweetheart. His cute little groans were in fact a pleasure for you to hear, encouraging you to do better at bobbing your head and sucking his entire length. You didn’t care about the string of saliva that appeared when you released his member with a pop, now using your tongue and dragging it from the base to the tip, where it swirled itself around until his cock began to twitch. 

“How’d you learn these things?” Rafayel’s quiet groan was more so a jealous complaint. But he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you. He had to have a taste of you, too. 

So to your surprise, he suddenly carried you in his arms, moving in a rush as you shifted from the couch to the bed. His movements were clearly driven by a primal need to leave his mark on you, to feel each other in the most intimate way. Because you didn’t expect him to lay you gently on his bed, climbing on top of you like a hungry shark who was ready to devour a small fish. 

He started with your neck of course, feathering soft, tender kisses around the skin before moving to your breasts, alternating between squeezing and sucking the flesh, nipping and biting at your nipple. It didn’t surprise you to see him hungrily trapping your breast in a tight suction, revealing a red mark that would later be the same color as his hair. 

“R-Rafayel.” By now, you were arching your back, legs spread open as he began to descend further and further until he met the perfect spot. Him staring at your womanhood almost made you wish to close the distance between your thighs, but he didn’t allow it. In fact, he was quick to dive head-on into your sopping cunt, lapping the entrance with his tongue—teasing and exploring your walls, your insides, until you were screaming his name. “R-Raf—! Mhm…!” 

“You taste so sweet,” he spoke under his breath, encircling his thumb on your sensitive bud before looking back at your slit, slightly spreading them apart to look at the exact hole he was about to enter. And he did. He didn’t hesitate one bit at positioning his fully erect manhood on your entrance, its tip soaked by the wetness of your core before he eventually slid himself right in. A series of curses were released by him, while as for you, the dulcet melody of your moans were just what he needed to hear. “Damn it, Y/N… You feel really good.” 

“Ngh—! Y-You—aaah!” You could feel your body being dragged back and forth, your hips being jostled as he continued to sink himself into you. His pace started slow and sensual at first, relishing the way your bodies intertwined, moving together with a fluid grace. At the same time, his kisses were soft and sweet, exploring every inch of your collarbone, while your own nails clawed at his back in the same passion. You felt it—him, the tip of his member hitting your sensitive spot and sending you into a euphoric trance. Every time his cock kissed your cervix, you were a moaning mess, your legs shaking violently at the electrifying pleasure spreading all over your body. He was inside you, all of him. “Haaah!” 

The act itself was a beautiful, raw expression of the desire that had been building between you. You moved together with a synchrony that transcended mere physicality knowing that it wasn’t just an act of sex, but an exchange of love. 

As you reached the peak of your intimacy, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, lost in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion. And when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms. The residues of Rafayel’s love for you remained in between your thighs, a visual proof of the passion he harbored for you.

Rafayel’s breath was heavy, but his body relaxed against yours. He held you close, his touch gentle now, with the intensity of the earlier moments shifting to tender intimacy. “Once the ship docks in New York,” he said in a soft whisper. “Come with me. I want to leave everything behind and start new with you. Let’s both figure it out, together.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against yours. At that moment, it was as if everything had fallen into place. “Together.” 

~~

On the night of April 14th, everything on the ship took a daunting turn. 

Literally. But before you could get to that part, you were strolling the first-class decks at the time, hand-in-hand with Rafayel, as he escorted you to the exit.

“Must you really go back down there?” he asked softly, embracing you in his toned, protective arms. “Can’t you stay here with me? Just for a little while longer?”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him for a while. But you knew you had to honor the constraints of your position because the risk of discovery was too great to ignore. Especially for his part. “I wish I could stay,” you replied, pulling away to squeeze his hand. “But I can’t. I need to go back to steerage for now, and then we’ll find a way to meet again.”

“I’ll come to you, every day.” Rafayel acted like a stubborn kid as a frown played across his features. Yet, he still leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that lingered a little over a minute. 

What interrupted your romantic moment was the sudden sound of shouting and panicked voices that erupted from the bow of the ship. The noise was chaotic, and it immediately turned into a cacophony of warnings and vigilance as the watchmen, officers, and quartermasters ran about, speaking jargons you could barely interpret. You both pulled apart, the intensity of the moment breaking as the shouts grew louder, more frantic. Something was dangerously off. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice laced with worry.

Rafayel, his expression now a mask of alarm, could only hold you closer. “I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

You didn’t need to be told. The shudder of the ship, the deafening screech against the starboard side, and the massive iceberg passing slowly by were all the signs you needed to understand the gravity of the situation.

The Titanic struck an iceberg. 

“Aaah!” 

“Watch out!” 

“Rafayel.” You turned to your lover, the fear in your eyes mirrored by the shock and disbelief in his face. “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay.” He pulled you gently but urgently, soothing your worries by rubbing your back in comfort. “I don’t think it’s serious. I’m sure this ship’s made to withstand that much impact—”

“You saw it with your own eyes, Raf!” It was the irrational fear consuming you, leading you to overthink everything as you saw how the crew members and officers alike were running in every direction, their faces pale with fear. “The iceberg… We’re not safe. You know we aren’t.” 

As you both stepped into the corridor, the commotion was unmistakable. And he himself knew he could not play the situation as something trivial. Because otherwise, the ship’s own crewmen wouldn’t have been as alarmed. It didn’t help that Rafayel also caught Mr. Andrews, the very man who designed the ship, clutching rolls of blueprints as he hurried to meet the captain.

“Mr. Andrews.” Rafayel stopped him before he could walk any further. “How serious is it? We saw the iceberg.” 

The respectable man looked between you two, his eyes clouded with an apologetic haze. Though, staying calm appeared natural to him, only giving Rafayel a gentle pat on the shoulder and urging him to make his way to safety. “Make sure to wear your life jackets and secure yourselves a spot on the lifeboats available. And also,” he paused, swallowing hard. “Try not to cause panic to other passengers for now. All rationality is lost the moment fear strikes.” 

While you and Rafayel hoped to hear a more reassuring answer, of words saying that the issue at hand wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, Mr. Andrews’ words were clear. 

The ship was about to sink.

~~

It was your decision to inform only the closest people you knew about the unsightly situation. But it was Rafayel who requested if you could both let Thomas know first, seeing as he simply couldn’t abandon his longtime friend. Despite their disagreements, he had been there for him in his artistic journey, and never not once gave up on supporting Rafayel’s dreams. He was family to him, one way or another, and that was why Rafayel insisted he had to know. 

So, you did. Rafayel and you, hearts racing and hands intertwined, made your way back to his first-class suite, both determined to find Thomas and inform him of the dire situation. In your short walk, the stewards were already scrambling about, opening doors, shouting and instructing everyone to put on their life jackets. 

“Everyone, please put your lifebelts on and come up to the deck!”

“Can you tell me what’s going on, please? I felt the ship shudder.” 

“Madam, there is no cause for alarm. This is just a precaution. Now put your lifebelts on, please.”

Meanwhile, as you reached the door to Rafayel’s suite, you were met with an unexpected and unsettling audience. The Master at Arms, his security personnel, and Thomas stood in the hallway, their faces grim and serious. But it was Arielle who stood out, with the reason being…

“You!” Arielle’s voice immediately cut through the hubbub like a blade as she stormed up to you, her vibrant blue eyes electrifying you with her anger. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you toward her. The stretch on your scalp was sharp, but the shock of her attack was what shook you to the core. “You wretched little thief!” she spat, her voice dripping with venom as she threw you onto the floor, kicking you, smacking you, and pulling your hair. “You lowly whore! Trying to seduce my fiancé and worm your way into his life!”

You winced, trying to free yourself from her grasp. “I-It hurts!” 

“Arielle, stop! Stop hurting her!” Rafayel’s voice was fierce and desperate as he lunged to intervene, trying to wrench Arielle’s hand away from you, but to no avail. She was unstoppable. And his efforts were futile against her relentless aggression. “Enough! Let her go!”

“You slept with this whore?!” Arielle’s face twisted with rage as she sent a crisp slap to his face. The hurt. The betrayal. You could understand why she felt that way and you wanted to apologize, to beg on her knees not to pour her anger out on Rafayel, but she already turned to the officers and Thomas, her voice rising in a commanding tone. “Gentlemen, this woman has been sneaking into the first-class areas illegally! She’s been trying to lure in first-class men, including my fiancé. She should be sent down to steerage and locked up immediately. She’s a threat to the order of this ship!”

The officers, unsure of what to do, looked to Rafayel for guidance. He was just pulling you to him, protecting you in his arms, as he shot his fiancé a glare. “Arielle, enough, will you?! We have more pressing issues right now and we need to focus on that—”

“If you won’t do it, then I will cause a scene on this ship!” Arielle’s eyes narrowed as she watched him hold you close. “I’ll make a huge scandal out of this!” 

The officers, now caught between their duty and Arielle’s demands, began to move toward you with a forceful stance. They were already firm with the decision to take you away, in spite of your resistance, as you looked at Rafayel for any sort of help. 

“Come with us, miss!” 

“N-No… Rafayel,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Help me. Please.”

“Don’t touch her!” Rafayel’s fiery gaze didn’t intimidate the officers, even as he tried to retrieve you back from their grasps. But Thomas had intervened, pulling his friend back, and ensuring he wouldn’t meddle any further. “Thomas, let me go—they’re taking Y/N away! She did nothing wrong! It was all me!” 

The Master at Arms stepped in between, glancing at an enraged Arielle and a pitiful you. What did you expect? The rich were always favored, and the poor oppressed. You would never win against her in a tug of war. “We’ll send her back to where she belongs, Madam. You can rest easy now.” 

“Nooo!” 

The last thing you saw before being forced out of sight was Rafayel’s anguished face, pain and sorrow clinging into every line of his expression as he heard your screams, saw your tears, and felt your fear at being taken harshly away. 

You knew, right at that moment, that this was only the beginning of an impending maritime disaster.

~~

The cold, metal bars of the brig felt like a cage around your body and soul, confining you to the sterile environment below decks and reminding you exactly of just where you belonged—at the bottom. In your confinement, your breath came in shallow gasps as you heard the muffled commotion of the crew members outside, the frantic shouts, and the loud creaking of the ship. They had locked you in here, unjustly accused and abandoned, and now, trapped.

Your eyes darted toward the small porthole above, the glass fogging up with your breath. You could see the deep blue water sloshing against it, confirming your worst fears that the majestic Titanic was indeed sinking before your eyes.

“Help! Help me!” It would only be a matter of time until you’d drown in this confined space, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. There was no knight in shining armor like Rafayel ready to save you. Even if you screamed for help, your voice raw and desperate, there was still no response except the relentless sound of rushing water.

And speaking of, the icy water began to seep under the door, slowly flooding the room you were kept in like a prisoner. You could feel the coldness against your feet, then your legs, creeping higher with every passing minute. Or two. Or three. 

“Damn it, it’s so cold!” The fear clawed at you, and your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to scream, your voice hoarse and breaking in the process. You cried and let your screaming voice echo through the confined space. But the water continued to rise, and still, no one came. “Help! Please… someone… anyone!” 

In a couple minutes more, your body began to tremble, and a fusion of cold and fear overtook you as the water reached almost past your thighs. The panic only set in deeper, and your breathing became staggered as you struggled with an attack of anxiety. Anyone in your state would have passed out by now, surely. But you tried not to give up as you pounded on the door, hoping that someone would hear you. Or that God himself have mercy on you. 

“...Please!” Yet, nothing changed. No other presence outside your door came to your aid. Your shoulders slumped at the thought, and you leaned back against the cold metal wall, the water now up to your chest. All you could do at that moment was close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek as you slowly accepted the inevitable. You were going to die here, alone in the dark, in a place that no one would ever find. “Please… help me.” 

You took one last, shaky breath, feeling the coldness envelop your entire being. And while you had already given up on life, you thought about your mother and sister back home who were probably unaware of the tragedy that struck the ship you boarded. You wondered when they would hear news about the sinking of the ship. Perhaps in the morning? Perhaps another day more? You were haunted by the despair in their faces, the grief of losing a daughter and a sister, just when they thought that you would make it across the continent safe and sound. 

A thought of Rafayel also crossed your mind—a bittersweet memory of his touch, his kiss, and the way he looked at you. A man who was merely a stranger to you before you boarded this ship, but now became the lover you would keep in your heart as the promise of forever finally came to an end. You hoped that, even if he had already abandoned you, he would be sent somewhere warm and safe, away from the glacial waters of the Atlantic where you would soon sink into as another dead body in the deep seabed. 

~~

Up on the first-class decks, the passengers were scrambling toward the lifeboats, their voices adding into the pandemonium as things were becoming clearer that the Titanic was about to be submerged. The officers barked orders, and women and children were ushered toward the boats, the urgency growing as they prevented the men—no matter the social class—from getting into the lifeboats. 

Rafayel stood among the crowd, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he were miles away. He didn’t even notice Arielle dragging his arm with a tight grip, her voice shrill with frustration as she argued with an officer. “Why can’t he come on the boat with me? He’s my fiancé!” she insisted, her face flushed with anger. “This is unacceptable! We are first-class passengers!” 

“Women and children only, ma’am!” the officer replied firmly, already turning to help another passenger, ignoring her selfish, hubristic demands. 

But the thing was, Rafayel hardly heard her nagging. His mind was elsewhere—back in the brig, where he knew you were locked up, alone and scared for your life. He could hear Thomas’s voice in his ear, the warning, the plea not to pursue you, to stay with his people, to secure his own safety. Selfish, all of them. It was all Rafayel ever thought about as he spaced out. 

Thomas, sensing his hesitation, leaned closer and whispered urgently, “Rafayel, don’t be foolish. We can arrange a seat for you on the next lifeboat. Think about your future, your life! Your aunt Talia is waiting for you!”

Rafayel’s heartbeat slowed as he glanced at Thomas, then at Arielle, who still gripped his arm tightly. His eyes moved over the frightened faces of the people around him—the elites he had grown to resent, their fear and desperation laid bare, yet their arrogance and selfishness still overpowering even in the middle of a crisis. 

“Are we going to be seated according to class?” 

“I don’t want to sit with those stinky steerage people!” 

He saw his own reflection in their panic-stricken eyes, and in that moment, he knew. He knew he couldn’t leave you to drown alone in the cold darkness. The thought of you trapped below, your face filled with fear, haunted him like a ghost who was seeking for justice. You didn’t deserve to be there. 

You, the one person who had shown him what it meant to truly live, was more important to him than anything else in this cruel world.

Thus, without another word, he pulled free from Arielle’s grasp as soon as the officers were guiding her into the lifeboat. It was the right timing, and Rafayel calculated that perfectly in his head, knowing that Arielle would be stopped if she even dared to get off the boat and endangered the passengers and officers who were already secured in it.  

“Rafayel!” Arielle shouted, her voice rising in disbelief as she tried to snatch his arm. “What are you doing?!”

“Madam, stay put!” 

“Get your hands off me—Rafayel, come back! You bastard!”

He didn’t answer. He simply didn’t give a damn about her anymore. And he only turned, his legs moving with purpose, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of those around him. He could hear Thomas calling after him, Arielle bursting into frustrated tears at seeing him escape, but their voices soon faded amidst the furor. 

His mind was made up. Right at the beginning. He was going to find you, no matter what it took, no matter what happened to him. Rafayel knew he was running against time here, against the very odds of survival, but he didn’t care. No. His feet pounded against the deck, his breath coming in harsh bursts, as he made his way toward the lower decks. 

He was coming for you. And nothing, not the cold, the water, nor the imminent doom of the Titanic, would stop him now.

~~

The water was up to your waist now, freezing and relentless, biting into your skin with a cruel ferocity that made your entire body tremble. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably as you banged your fists against the locked door, your hands now raw and bruised because of it. Every breath felt like a knife in your lungs, and every exhale was a desperate sob. Pathetic. You felt weak, hopeless, with the cold sapping every bit of strength you had left. You were shaking, shivering, down to a point where you became numb.

I can’t think straight… 

The water climbed higher, reaching your lower abdomen, then your stomach, and you felt the sorrow settle in. It was about time you gave up. Resting your forehead against the cold metal, closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheeks being the only warm thing you could feel on your face.

This is how I’ll die…. 

No, not yet. Because suddenly, there was a loud crash—the sound of wood splintering and metal bending. You blinked, too disoriented to understand what was happening beyond the door that was forced open. A rush of water followed, and there he was.

There he goddamn was. Rafayel, soaked and breathless, his face clouded with fret and remorse. 

“R… Rafayel?” you exhaled his name, eyes wide open, wondering if you had already died and this was nothing more than a hallucination. 

But he brought you back to reality as he surged forward, pulling you into a desperate, breathless kiss, with lips that were cold but full of life, of urgency, of love. “I’m so sorry," he whispered against your lips, the apology written on his face was more than any words could describe. “I love you… I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t.”

Tears pooled your eyes the same way the gelid waters filled the room, and you cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cold fingers. “Y-You c-came back,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion as you spoke through gritted teeth. “I thought you—”

“I did. I’m here now. I’m sorry, Y/N. I love you, I’m so sorry.” He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands trembling as he embraced your body. “We need to go,” he said urgently, pulling you with him. You didn’t exactly have the leisure of time to have an emotional exchange right now. “Come on. Can you swim?”

“I can… a little.” 

With that, you waded through the freezing water together, your legs numb and heavy as you fought against the strong currents. The corridors were eerily quiet, flooded with icy water that was quickly rising like it was filling up a tank. Had you been alone, without a man holding you in his arms, you would have been swept away by the harsh waves. Your body alone was already shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but Rafayel held you tightly, guiding you through the flooded passages as he focused on looking for the way out. Honestly, you admired him. He was doing so much better at handling a situation like this than you, and that came from someone with a social standing like his. It was as though he had always navigated hardships, so used to dealing with different crises.

“Raf, I-I’m s-so cold!” 

“I know. I’ll get us out of here, okay?” 

Finally, you reached a ladder, and you forced yourself to keep moving, pushing your exhausted legs up the staircase despite the weight of your drenched clothes pulling you down. By the third-class gates, you were already panting, sore everywhere, when you saw a clatter between the crowd of people being held back by stewards. 

You spotted Eliza, her face pale and tear-streaked. It was the first time you had seen her again since this morning, and this horrific way of reuniting with her wasn’t anything you saw coming. “They won’t let us up.” She burst into a sob. “They said we can’t pass through, not until the first-class people have filled the boats!”

Her words made Rafayel’s eyes flash with anger towards the stewards guarding the gates. “This is absurd! You can’t keep them like animals. They have the right to live!” He turned to the other men with a commanding presence. “Gentlemen, come on! Help me break down this gate!”

The men nodded, understanding that a first-class man like him genuinely wanted to help, and together they grabbed a wooden bench nearby and slammed it against the metal gate. Once, twice, and finally, with a loud crack, the gate burst open. Despite the protests of the stewards, the crowd surged forward, feeling nothing but relief as they flooded through the open passage where the freezing waters had yet to reach.

“Go!” Rafayel urged, pulling you along as you ran through the hallways together. You pushed through the panicked crowd, dodging falling debris and slippery floors, until you finally reached the deck. He picked up one of the discarded life jackets on the floor and quickly wrapped it around your frail body, the click of the straps securing you underneath. Before you could even process everything that was happening, you could already feel his lips being pressed on your forehead. “You’re okay. I’m here.” 

“Rafayel.” You looked up at him, hands clutching into his shirt with your tearful, shiny eyes. “How are we going to make it?” 

The night air alone was frigid, and the deck was too crowded with people. Somehow, in the middle of all the ensuing chaos, a group of men—the ship’s orchestra—were playing a symphony of melodies in the background. They held their instruments with complete disregard to the horrors of their surroundings, and your heart broke at the sight. Until the very end, they stuck to their duty of maintaining calm and peace for the passengers. Of playing music, performing for the sake of others. 

Good luck to each of you, sirs.

Rafayel turned to you, tugging your hand. “You need to get on one of those boats,” was his firm insistence. “It’s your best chance.”

You scanned through the havoc, looking for a vacant lifeboat, but the crew was shouting ‘women and children only’. That was enough for you to immediately shake your head in response. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to,” he urged, his voice breaking. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Just go.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you need to listen to me, okay?” He was already pulling you towards one of the lifeboats, pushing through the crowd, to make way for you. “You need to get on that lifeboat. I’ll be okay. I… I have an arrangement with one of the other boats there. Really. I’ll come find you as soon as they rescue us.” 

“No, I—”

“Officer, I have a lady here!” Rafayel announced, his hand carefully guiding you upward. At this hour, the ship was already tilted at an angle of around 5 to 10 degrees while into the evacuation process, so they still had the time and space to get more women into the boat. And as soon as the officer saw you, you were quickly pulled up, but your hands refused to let go of Rafayel’s. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I’ll meet you later.”

“Come on, ma’am. Get in the boat!” 

As the pressuring eyes pierced through you, you reluctantly nodded and let go of his hand, swallowing back the tears as you climbed onto the lifeboat. But as you sat there, the arctic wind whipping against your face, you looked at the crying women and children around you. Their faces were draped by the anguish of seeing the men they were leaving behind—fathers, husbands, lovers, and sons. You looked back at Rafayel standing on the deck next to those men. And among them, his eyes were filled with love, of relief knowing that you were safe now like it was his only goal. You suddenly remembered the words you had told him not long ago, about figuring this life together.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t leave him.

With a burst of adrenaline, you leaped off the lifeboat and back onto the deck, nearly losing your footing and the railing hitting your stomach as you landed, but you didn’t mind it. You had to reunite with him. 

“No!” You could hear Rafayel shouting while you ran toward him. “Goddamn… Y/N! Are you crazy?!”

You ran and ran, pushing past the people, carrying your heavy feet across the slippery floors until you finally met with Rafayel by the upper decks, panting heavily and feeling your legs wobble from the strenuous effort. “I can’t—I’m staying with you!”

Rafayel’s eyes were lachrymose as he saw you, catching you in his arms, holding you tight as lips passionately crashed into yours. “You’re so stupid, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, though his voice was filled with such raw emotion. “Why did you do that?! You’re so stupid.” 

“Maybe, I am,” you whispered back, hot tears falling from your eyes like waterfall. “But I’m not leaving you.”

You shared another kiss. A deeper kiss this time around, as you felt each other’s lips embracing the remaining warmth it could offer. It was at that time where you realized that you had never felt any kind of love that was nearly as pure as that.

And across the water, on another lifeboat that was already rowing away from the titled ship, Arielle watched the two of you with tears gushing down her face. Her maid tried to rub her back, seeing that your romantic interaction with her then-fiancé was a sight for sore eyes. Though the frustration igniting in Arielle’s veins was hidden under her curtain of clothes, her hands were trembling as she clung to the edge of the boat. She was cursing the two of you under her breath, and could feel her heart breaking apart as the distance between her and Rafayel grew wider, especially as the realization sank in that he would never be hers. Not now, not ever.

But you didn’t see her. She was completely out of the picture between the two lovers on the upper decks.

Because you only saw Rafayel, and he only saw you. 

~~

Contrary to the quiet of the sea, the screams around you were deafening. 

The ship had tilted sharply by now, the deck at a steep angle, and every step urged you to fight against gravity. It was heavy, it definitely was. But you fought through it knowing that Rafayel’s hand was tightly intertwined with yours, his eyes scanning the rapidly flooding deck for any sign of a lifeboat, any hope of escape.

But there was none. 

The lifeboats were all gone, already drifting far away into the dark waters of the Atlantic, leaving behind only the desperate and the doomed. A distress flare shot up into the sky, bursting into a bright, fleeting light before fading back into the cold, endless night. It illuminated the panic-stricken faces around you for a moment, then disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.

You could hear the officers yelling for the boats to come back, demanding that they weren’t even half-filled. You could hear passengers shrieking as some of them slipped through the tilted floors, their bodies hitting the obstructions with a loud bang. Prayers were sent out by the priest who was holding onto a railing, with the other believers clutching his hand as the ship continued its incline. Others had already given up on staying on the ship, jumping instead to the crisp waters of the ocean thinking that their life jackets would be enough to keep them alive and afloat for another hour. 

Rafayel looked at you with a determined face, unfazed by the growing number of lost souls around him. “We need to get to the stern,” he urgently told you. “It’s our only choice.”

You nodded, your heart thumping loud and fast, and together you began to climb, pushing with your all might against the sharp incline of the deck. Water rushed in from all sides, pouring over the railings, swallowing everything in its path. But you wrestled against the pull, your muscles burning as you climbed upwards, gripping onto anything you could find—the rails, the sides of doors, anything to keep yourself from sliding back into the icy depths below.

“I’m falling—!” 

“I got you.” Rafayel was right beside you, pulling you up when your strength faltered, guiding you through the path. 

The ship groaned beneath you, the metal screaming in protest as it began to break apart, the sound like a giant beast roaring into the night. It was scary. God, it was the most frightening sound you had ever heard. But you kept moving, kept climbing, until finally, you reached the stern, the very back of the ship that rose high into the air above the freezing water.

“Quick. Cimb over!” Rafayel urged, helping you over the railing. “Hold on tight. No matter what happens, do not let go.”

You did as he said, your fingers gripping the cold, wet metal of the railing. It was getting more and more difficult for you to think straight, to think rational, as the temperature of your body dropped low. The stern was now almost vertical, towering above the rest of the ship that was disappearing into the dark, unforgiving sea, but Rafayel’s voice kept you steady and awake. He climbed over beside you, his face close to yours and the fog of his breath visible in the cold air. 

“Th-This is where w-we first met,” you reminded him, your voice trembling from the subzero temperatures. “Right h-here… on the stern.”

He displayed a small forlorn smile. “And it’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied softly, his voice carrying over the wind as he briefly pressed his lips onto yours. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I couldn’t exchange this memory for the world.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, your chest tightening because of this heavily poignant scene. The ship shuddered violently, and you gripped the railing even tighter as Rafayel reached out, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” he continued, mellow eyes staring straight into your soul, “You’ve shown me what it means to truly live, to feel, to love. I saw the most beautiful art in you.”

“I love you.” You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat. You couldn’t even hear your voice anymore as the words trembled on your lips. “I love you so much.”

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead in return. “I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible. And I promise… after this night, you’ll be sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. In my arms. Under a blanket. It doesn’t matter how, Y/N. As long as you’re safe. I won’t let go.”

“Raf—”

The ship groaned again, louder this time, and you felt it begin to shift beneath you, the stern rising even higher into the air. “Hold on tight!” Rafayel shouted over the roar, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. “Just hold on!”

“Aaah!” 

“Haaaaah!” 

The ship tilted further, and you clung to the railing with everything you had, your body pressed against his, locked between him and the metal railings. It was ironic, truly, how the cold Atlantic wind whipped around you, while the stars above flickered like distant, indifferent eyes as if the universe was seeing all of it unfold. The clear skies could only watch the disaster like a silent audience. While deep below, the ocean was a dark, churning mass, ready to swallow everything whole.

“I’ll never let go.” You held your breath and leaned your face close to your lover’s chest. “No matter what.”

“Together,” he promised. “Until the very end.”

And as the ship continued its descent into the icy abyss, you held on, holding each other close, refusing to let go. The ship was slowly dragging you and Rafayel down with it, and you could feel the brisk waters rush up around you, like a torrent of cold that bit into your skin and stole the breath from your lungs.

“Hold your breath in as long as you can!” Rafayel shouted, his voice muffled against the growling ocean. You tightened your grasp onto the railing, your hands numb and slipping, as the ship sank deeper and deeper into oblivion.

And then, with a sudden, violent pull, the ship disappeared beneath the surface, and you were plunged into the bone-chilling depths of the North Atlantic. You expected the cold to be immediate and shocking, like a thousand needles penetrating your skin and making you numb. Yet, in spite of the lack of sensation, you kicked and fought against the water, your lungs burning as you struggled to find the surface.

Need… to stay… alive, you thought. For him. 

As soon as your head broke through the icy water, you gasped and choked on the cold air like a fish on the surface. Around you was a sight of horror—people flailing, gasping, some disappearing beneath the waves. Screams and cries filled the void, with their despair being the last horrifying things you had heard. You spun around, desperately searching for Rafayel, hoping that he was somewhere near. Safe. Alive. 

Then you saw him—his pallid pale bobbing up and down among the waves, his eyes looking for yours among the throng of flailing passengers. Without second thought, you swam desperately toward him and longed to be embraced by his arms again. “R-Rafayel!” 

“Y/N! A-Are you okay?” he asked, kissing your face over a million times that night. 

You two waded through the agonizing pressures of the polar water, and you tugged at his hand, suggesting you couldn’t move any more than you have. The exhaustion, the lack of oxygen, the subzero temperatures were beginning to overcome you. You were freezing to death. “I can’t… a-anymore!”  

“No, Y/N. You can do it. Come on, over there!” Rafayel shouted, pointing to a floating piece of debris—a wooden door bobbing nearby. He reached for your hand, guiding you toward it through the frigid water. “Climb up!”

With a tremendous effort, you managed to haul yourself onto the door even though your body was shaking uncontrollably from the cold. You reached out to Rafayel, pulling him toward the edge, but as he tried to climb up, the door tipped dangerously, threatening to submerge again. That was how he landed on a decision to leave it be. 

“It’s okay,” Rafayel murmured, his voice weak but accepting. “You stay. Stay up there.”

He remained floating beside you, ensuring no one would try and push you off the door, while his lips turned blue and his face became pale. You could hardly even recognize the color of his eyes, nor his hair, nor his once rosy cheeks. 

“Rafayel, p-please,” you begged in a raspy voice, desperately trying to pull your weak body up until he stopped you. “W-We’ll find another way.”

He shook his head, his eyes soft as he looked at you. His gaze was the only warm thing he could offer against the cold. “This… this is enough. Just stay there… please.”

Tears began to blur your vision, but they froze on your cheeks before they could even warm them. Still, you held his hand tightly, your fingers gripping his as if you could tether him to life itself. “All y-you did… since the d-day we met… was s-save my life.” 

“A-And I’ll s-save you again,” he struggled to speak as his body shook from the cold, his jaws clacking with every shiver. “I’ll save you again a m-milion times, okay? Y-You will live, Y/N. This isn’t where y-you’re supposed to b-be.” 

Holding his hand, you pressed a kiss on top of it. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

~~

The watch on your left wrist said it was already past 2:00 am, yet time passed by in an excruciating crawl. 

By this time, screams around you had long faded, replaced by the chilling silence of the dead and dying. You didn’t think there was anything more terrifying than the Titanic sinking, but this deadly silence was all and everything that would traumatize you for years to come. 

Your fingers were already benumbed, the cold penetrating deep into your bones, but you didn’t let go of Rafayel’s hand as you held onto him and prayed for a miracle. While staring into the clear, starry skies, you imagined how your life would become after this night. Perhaps, once the boats come back to rescue you both, you could truly start fresh with him. 

You could imagine Rafayel pursuing his passion for art by starting off as a small artist. You could imagine his paintings being celebrated again, and how you’d be by his side during his exhibits, proud of how far he had come without the help of anyone but himself. 

You could imagine your own bit of success too, having the chance to perform at Broadway, even as a mere extra, and being able to bring your mother and sister with you to live in the beautiful New York City. 

You could imagine all the beautiful kids you’d raise with Rafayel. Those mini carbon copies of his running around the house, playing around as carefree as their father. 

“Rafayel?” you whispered after a long silence, turning to him and shaking his hand lightly. “Where do we go after this?”

But his eyes were closed now, his face unnaturally still, his body half-submerged in the freezing water. His skin had turned a pallid blue, his lips white and cracked. No… You shook him harder, panic rising in your chest as his face was as solid as a block of ice. “Rafayel!” you called out, your voice trembling at the suggestion of his current state. “Wake up! Please… wake up!”

Silence. Nothing but heartbreaking silence. The lack of response made you sob, but you still managed to pull his hand closer to your chest, feeling your heart being torn asunder as you looked at him. “No, no, no… please, no…” You clutched him desperately, feeling the weight of his cold, unmoving body against the wood. “Rafayel, please. Please. Open your eyes. P-Please… You said you’d n-never let go.” 

Along with your quiet tears, the ocean around you had become lull as if a deathly silence fell over the waters. The shrieks and cries were no more, replaced by the soft lapping of the waves and the distant creaking of the lifeboats. 

And the Titanic, once called the unsinkable ship, was nothing more than a myth.

If not for the faint voice carried over the water, you would have passed out. But someone was calling out, a beam of light flashing your way, forcing you to stay awake. You turned your head, blinking away tears, and saw a lifeboat finally coming back. After what seemed like eons, the crew shone their lights around, searching for survivors, hoping to save anyone at all. 

But for the most part, they were too late. 

“Over here!” you screamed, waving your hand frantically as your voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. “Please, help us!”

The beam of light turned toward you, and you heard the oars slicing through the water as the lifeboat approached. Relief may have flooded through you, but then you looked back at Rafayel, his face still and peaceful, like he was sleeping.

“Miss, let him go,” one of the men in the lifeboat carefully said, reaching out to you. “He’s gone… you have to let go.”

“No!” you protested, holding onto Rafayel’s hand tighter, eyes filling up with tears again. “I can’t. I can’t let him go.”

“Please, miss,” the man urged, his voice softening into a pained tone. “You have to let go… or you’ll go down with him.”

Your chest tightened with agony, every fiber of your being screaming to hold on. To never let go. You promised him. You made a vow to him that you would figure everything out together. But as you looked at Rafayel’s face, so serene in death, you knew he was already gone. He had left long before you could say goodbye. 

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned down, pressing a final kiss to his cold, unresponsive lips. “I love you,” you whispered, voice breaking into a sob. “I’ll never forget about you.”

With trembling hands, you released your grip on his hand, watching as his body slowly slipped beneath the icy water, sinking into the heart of the ocean. Your heart shattered as you watched him disappear, Rafayel, the love of your life slipping away forever.

Strong hands soon pulled you up into the lifeboat, and you collapsed, your body numb and cold, but nothing compared to the emptiness in your chest. It was as though someone carved a massive hole in your chest, excavating your heart out, only to leave a hollow space. The men wrapped a blanket around you, their voices were barely registered in your mind as they asked if you were okay. 

But you weren’t. You would never be the same again. You stared out into the endless, dark sea, where Rafayel had disappeared, knowing a piece of you had gone with him, lost forever in the cold, unforgiving waters of the Atlantic.

~~

The room was quiet and still, filled with the soft light of the morning sun glowing through the windows. Meanwhile, you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your dress and your fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the hem. The reflection staring back at you seemed almost foreign—older, wiser, yet with the same eyes that saw the tragic event that had happened in the years since that fateful night.

A soft knock on the door broke your reverie. Then, Zayne’s gentle and patient voice came from the other side. “Are you ready, love?” he asked, his tone careful, knowing this wasn’t easy for you. “We don’t have to do the interviews if you’re not feeling up to it. I’ll tell them you’ve changed your mind. No one can blame you.”

You turned around to meet his warm, olive eyes as he entered the room. His presence had always been a comforting, steady anchor in the storm that had been your life since the sinking. Beyond being your husband, he had been your rock, your safe harbor, ever since that day. He never pressured you, never pushed for more than you could give. He had simply been there, and over time, you had found solace in him.

“I’m okay,” you spoke almost inaudibly, though he could recognize the uncertainty in your voice, worried that you might not be able to go through an interview as a survivor of the most tragic maritime disaster in history. “I’m fine. I just… It’s surreal to me that it’s been ten years.”

Zayne nodded, coming closer and taking your hand in his, letting his thumb brush over your knuckles in a soothing motion. “I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you do, I’ll be right by your side.”

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his hand reassuring you. But before you could respond, a younger voice suddenly cut through the room.

“Mom? Dad?” It was your son appearing in the doorway, his purple hair catching the light, and his eyes a striking kaleidoscope of indigo and magenta. “Can we go now?”

Your heart clenched as you looked at him—so young, so full of life, and yet a constant reminder of the man who had given him that life. The same man who had given you so much more than he ever realized.

“We’re coming, sweetheart,” you assured him, reaching out to smooth your son’s hair. He looked at you with a curious tilt of his head, and for a moment, you saw Rafayel’s mischievous grin, his playful personality shining through in the child you had brought into the world.

You exchanged a glance with Zayne, who offered a small, understanding smile. He had never asked about your traumatic past, about the love that you had lost to the cold depths of the Atlantic, because he knew that part of you would always belong to Rafayel. And he accepted that. He accepted you and loved you despite it.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up with a more determined mien. “Yes, we’re ready,” you said, more to yourself than to anyone else. 

The world deserves to know who he was, what he did… and his story.

As the three of you walked out of the room, your son chattered excitedly, blissfully unaware of the history you were about to share to the world. But as you looked at him, you saw Rafayel’s spirit through his eyes. Instead of it being a haunting image, you felt warmth spreading through your chest. 

Because Rafayel had given you so much more than a son—he had given you a story of a lifetime, one that was worth telling.

[cloudstrky]

After Sun - rafe cameron smau

ch 5: best friend's sister

tags: best friend's brother!rafe, f2l, older!rafe,

warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol

an: this part is written sorry if u don't like that :( really wanted this scene written out but im literally shit at writing so i hope it doesn't give u the ick

mlst

Rafe Cameron was having fun. Scratch that, Rafe Cameron was having a blast. You, on the other hand, not so much. It didn't take long to convince Sarah to go to the country club with you after seeing that picture of Rafe. Selfishly, you wanted to grab his attention and prevent him from having another random fling. Sarah was just down for the drama.

You didn't expect to spot him so quickly. You half expected him to already be locked away in some room. You also half wished he was in a room after seeing the way he was pressing the girl from the picture against the wall.

His big hands on her thighs, her toned arms around his neck. God, this felt like torture.

"Do you want to leave?" Sarah asked as soon as she spotted him.

Yes.

"No," you sighed, turning to her. "This is what we came for right?"

Sarah smiled before grabbing your hand and pulling you further into the club, towards an empty table. "So what's the plan?"

You had an even better view of Rafe from your table. You could see every muscle in his arms flexing as his hands ran up and down the girls body. You couldn't be more jealous of a person.

"So," you said, tearing your eyes away from them. "I need to find someone to entertain."

"Easy," Sarah said, pointing at numerous guys before you even had a chance to look around the room.

"You're more eager than I am." You laughed, glancing over your choices. The truth was, no one was coming close to beating Rafe. No one could even count as competition.

"No fucking way," Sarah gasped, "Tyler."

Your eyes widened, looking over to where Sarah was pointing. "No fucking way Sar!"

"PLEASE!" She yelled, grabbing you by the shoulders. "You know how much this is going to annoy Rafe!"

"Sar he hates him!" You yelled back before turning to look at Tyler. "Although he has gotten seriously hot."

Rafe was known for being a hot-headed teenager and an even more hot-headed adult. He was mostly liked, or at the very least respected throughout high school, but he had certain people he just couldn't stand (and they couldn't stand him).

He and Tyler were rivals in high school since they were both captains of the two rival basketball teams. You remember Rafe being on the verge of expulsion after a game because Tyler had elbowed him so hard on the nose that he had to sit the rest of the game out and so when the game was over, he performed a tit-for-tat show, punching Tyler in the face.

They were both older now and more mature, but the hatred didn't seem to slip away with the years. Just last year, they had gotten into a fight at the beach, and you had stepped in because Topper was too busy oiling up a girl blissfully. You remember Tyler had been very respectful of your presence and had walked away immediately, although Rafe had been the one to step away first.

So yes, Tyler would be the perfect candidate for your evil plan to work, but he also would be the lowest blow.

"Yn, you know this is the best timing ever." Sarah was almost shaking with excitement. You were almost shaking with anxiety. What if your plan didn't work and instead all you could manage to do was make Rafe hate you?

"Isn't this low Sar?"

"You know what's low? Topper making out with Allison. There's no way my brother doesn't know. Tit for tat. Now, wave him over before I do."

You sighed, looking back at Tyler. He was already looking in your direction, so you quickly took your chance to wave him over. He was skeptical for a second before letting his friend know he'd be right back.

You watched him make your way over to you and watched as Sarah slipped away slowly, giving you the thumbs up.

"Yn," he yelled over the loud music as he reached your table. "Hey!"

"Hi, Tyler!" You smiled before he pulled you in for a half hug. "Sorry I waved you over, I was just shocked to see you." You made up a quick lie as you both pulled away from the hug.

He smiled for a moment, taking you in before looking around the club, "You here alone?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, actually, I'm here with Sarah. Remember her?"

"Cameron's sister, yeah." His eyes moved back to you as his smile returned to his face. "Well, you've certainly grown."

"College treating me well, you see." You blushed, almost forgetting about your plan and why you were talking to him in the first place.

"You're in college now, huh?" he sighed in disbelief, "Are you drinking anything?"

Now he was getting to the point. You looked around and you felt your heart race as you caught Rafe staring at you from across the room. The girl was gone from his arms and a beer had taken her place in his right hand as he was leaning against a wall, talking to someone. He looked so pretty in his striped shirt, the first few buttons now undone, giving you a full view of his toned torso and his shiny chain. His hair, slightly wet over his forehead from the warmth of the summer night. His eyes burnt holes into you before focusing on Tyler.

You snapped your head back towards Tyler, "A lemon vodka would be nice."

He grinned, nodding swiftly. "I'll be right back."

You watched him leave and head towards the bar for a moment before your eyes were searching for Rafe again.

You found him still staring at you, an unreadable expression on his face. You gave him a short smile and a weak wave. You knew he didn't want you here. You had asked if you could come, and he had said no, so you were already overstepping before even talking to Tyler. You saw him give you a confused look before taking a sip of his beer. You furrowed your brows at him, mimicking his expression, and he rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the person who was talking. He thought that was the last of your interaction with Tyler.

As soon as you turned your head away to look for Sarah, Rafe's eyes were back on you. Now that he knew you were here, he couldn't get you out of his mind, and so he wouldn't let you out of his sight.

"I'm just not interested in paying 2m's for a fucking boat y'know?"

No, Rafe didn't know. He had stopped listening seven minutes ago when he spotted you across the room. "Yeah, man, definitely," he answered mindlessly, something that didn't seem to phase the speaker because he kept rambling on, saying his piece.

Rafe watched as you looked around the room. He watched as your black open-back mini dress stopped dangerously high on your hips. He watched as the dip of the open back lingered dangerously low on your spine. Watched as your hair moved flawlessly around with the summer breeze, watched as your fingers anxiously snaked around your gold bracelets, and watched as Tyler came back with your drinks.

Rafe was sure he hadn't felt so angry in ages. Probably since he crashed his back four summers ago. Or maybe seven summers ago, when he was forced to sit out the most important basketball game of his life, causing him to lose the scholarship he so badly wanted because a certain rival had decided to do everything in his power to secure a scholarship.

So, in other words, Rafe was fuming. He watched as you took the drink from him with a big smile. The sound of his heart racing and his blood boiling overshadowing every other sound around him.

Clueless to what was going on around you, he watched you take a sip. He had to stop himself from racing over to you and snatching that drink from your hands.

"Excuse me," he said to the guy next to him, who was left confused as he watched Rafe walk away.

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring people calling his name.

"Party's over, let's go." Rafe's voice sent shivers down your spine. His tone has never been like that around you. His voice, soft and silky, was always a sound you cherished. And it couldn't be more different than his voice now, low and threatening.

"Rafe," you breathed as you turned to look at him. His eyes dark and heavy, show and tell that he had been partying.

"I think it just started, man." Tyler spoke, a massive grin plastered across his face.

Rafe didn't turn to look at him. "Yn." His voice was firm. With the beer in his hand long gone, he reached out his right hand to touch your lower back gently. His rough hands firm but soft on your exposed skin made you shiver unwillingly. Regret was quick to wash over you as you realized how low you had stepped because of your jealousy.

"I think she wants to stay, brother." Tyler rasped from next to you. His hand gently pushed your hair out of your face as he leaned in closer, "Don't you?"

If Rafe hadn't been pushed over the edge, he was now.

"Get your fucking hand off her." He growled, shoving Tyler's hand away.

Tyler taken aback, took a step forward.

"Walk away." Rafe rasped pulling you closer.

"Rafey, let's go." You turned towards him, leaving your drink on the table.

Rafe's eyes softened at the sound of your voice. He could feel his hand burning at the bottom of your spine. He guided you away from Tyler before he could get a word in. All you heard was a loud scoff and something about the drink.

The walk out of the club was tense. His hand on your lower back made you feel as if you were on fire. His breath hitting the back of your neck pointedly, smelling of beer and mint. You didn't even notice you were shaking until you stepped completely off the club's terrace and headed towards the parking.

Rafe's hand was gone in a heartbeat once you entered the parking area. He walked behind you in silence, the hand that was touching you flexing by his side, aching to get rid of the burning sensation.

"Rafe-"

"Get in the car, Yn." His voice was firm. You stopped in your tracks and turned to look at him, observing him as he stepped around the car and into the driver's seat.

You followed and got into the passenger's seat. He didn't start the car, and so the silence became so thick you felt like you were choking.

"Sarah is also here..." You said weakly, scared of his silence.

"Fucking great."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and you watched as he texted Topper. He locked the screen and threw his phone on the dashboard. His head fell back on the headrest, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

"Rafe-" you tried again.

"Are you into him?" he finally asked, looking over at you. His features tired and dark and filled with confusion.

"What?" you muttered, unsure of what he actually meant.

"Or do you hate me?" his voice was raspy. The firmness was long gone, and exhaustion had taken its place.

"Rafe what are you-"

"Do what you fucking want doll. Have JJ. Have Tyler. Fucking have them both. But don't do it in front of me because I won't stand for it." He breathed heavily. "You know how hard it was for me to not break his slimy fucking hand?"

You were at a loss for words. Your hands still shaky, adrenaline rushing through your body so quickly, making it hard to breathe. He looked desperate. His eyes tore away from you as he started the engine.

You reached out, your small hand grabbing his. He pulled away as if you burned him and got out of the car. You stayed still, your eyes wide. You had never seen Rafe like that before. His back was turned to you but you could tell from the way it moved he was breathing heavily. You turned back and looked out of your window, deciding to give him space.

Seconds later, he was back in the car. The way home seemed longer than it was. His eyes didn't roam, and neither did yours. You kept looking out the window until he pulled into the driveway of the summer house. Neither of you moved and after a minute of silence, you undid your belt.

The tension was thick. You had never felt so claustrophobic before in your life. You knew what you did was wrong but you didn't think it'd bother him this much. Or perhaps you did.

"You're my best friend's sister. So please, doll, don't make it so fucking hard for me."

And then he was out of the car.

[heavensoutofsight]

gf billie eilish thoughts 💭 (fluffy ver)

summary: this is just what i daydream about on the daily 😭 i am very down bad...

author's note: first post here. i am very nervous lol. hope you guys enjoy <3

word count: 521 (bullet points)

• loves to buy you things, obviously. clothes, jewelry, and anything else you might want. doesn't matter how expensive you are, if you want it, it's yours

• loves to drive you everywhere too. drives with one hand on the wheel while the other rests on your thigh (RAHHHDGDGD)

• loves backhugging you and kissing your face/neck. doing the dishes? surprise backhug. folding laundry? surprise backhug

• physical touch in general is huge in the relationship. she really can't keep her hands off of you sometimes and you don't mind one bit

• always writing and performing songs specifically for you. they're special songs, not to be heard by anyone else except you.

• expect a lot of laughter in the relationship. I'm talking holding onto each other for dear life, rolling around the floor, tears falling out of eyes laughter. she'd always be making you laugh and vice versa

• cute Instagram posts of the both of you. she takes lots of adorable mirror selfies where you two have on coordinating outfits. she also loves taking more candid photos of you.

• when you go with her to promotional shoots, she'll always sneak in a kiss during breaks.

• when she's away on tour or doing more promo stuff (and you can't make it) she will call you every day that she's gone and always asks how you're doing ("hey pretty girl, just checking on you")

• when she's in the studio alone, she loves when you sit with her, even if the two of you don't speak; just existing in the same space is enough

• lets you wear her huge shirts. she can't get enough of you in them

• lets you play with her rings whenever you want, especially when you're anxious about something

• LOVES having you in her lap whenever

• loves cooking cute little vegan recipes with you. although there might be a lot more kissing and tomfoolery than cooking...

• she cares so much about you that she doesn't even think about herself sometimes

• she loves getting your opinion on her outfits for the day

• also loves hearing your opinion on music she's working on. she deeply appreciations any and all feedback you give her. you might even help with small background vocals sometimes.

• protective over you. not in a unhealthy, toxic way; she's just always looking out for you <3

• gets a little jealous sometimes too. again, not in an unhealthy way. for instance, maybe you're at an after party after an award show and someone's a bit too flirtatious with you; billie will walk over and just silently wrap her arm around your waist. it honestly makes you melt every time.

• she's your BIGGEST fan and your BIGGEST motivator.

• of course you're with her for certain red carpet events and the both of you always steal the show. billie will always kiss your cheek in front of all the photographers just to make you giggle.

• she never forgets to mention you in her speeches when she wins an award and she will always look directly at you and blow you the biggest kiss

• she just. loves you so much. she loves so deeply and intensely.

[choerypetal]

Yooooo!!! That Snow fic you recently released involving the reader and Treech being in love? Absolute masterpiece! So hear me out: what if you wrote about their connection and how it progressed? Like, before Coryo got his clutches on the reader. There was a moment you described where Treech and the reader snuck out, I’m pretty sure. I’d love to see a story on that. Maybe end it with those dying words you mentioned? Just utter fluff with that heartbreak of an ending.

Capitol's love birds. / Treech

summary : being Snow's twin meant being exactly like him, even though your appearances were slightly different. As a mentor yourself, you were assigned to District 7's male tribute, Treech. it was only in the wagon on its way to the Capitol that the chemistry first sparked, ultimately solidifying your status as the Capitol's favorite lovebirds.

ps ; english is not my native language, and I appreciate seeing your requests for ideas that I may not have thought of. Hopefully, you find the suggestions helpful. please refrain from plagiarizing my work without my permission or proper credit, as doing so may result in being flagged or banned. thank you.

Mentoring proved to be a challenging responsibility, but the greatest struggle arose when love entered the picture. However, this was no ordinary affection; it was a type of love that some might view as disgraceful, while others perceived it as a form of admiration amid the Games. Although Treech wasn't particularly interested in getting to know his mentor, let alone encountering them in another restricted enclosure, it was within those confines that the two of you crossed paths. Despite being Snow's twin traditionally constantly at his side, it was unquestionable that you, too, were destined to trail behind him to discover who your tribute was. 

While taking pride in mentoring someone from a district not situated at the lowest rungs of Panem's hierarchy, you were fortunate enough to maintain a semblance of dignity, given the reputation of the district you represented for its familiarity with victory. However, Lucy Gray Baird's captivating performance, the talk of the town since the reaping, cast shadows of doubt over your confidence. All of this, while your brother engaged with fellow tributes, attempting his best to establish his temptation not to gith back. 

You couldn't help but notice the stark class distinctions. Dust still clung to their attire, indicating a lack of access to basic amenities like showers before arriving. A twinge of sympathy crept in. "What's a pretty face doing here?" Reaper Ash remarked, catching you off guard. Initially assuming the comment was directed at Coriolanus, you soon realized it was aimed squarely at you. The revelation that you, too, were to become a mentor became apparent. And that the unspoken pressure to make a positive first impression on the fortunate second tribute who had the early opportunity to meet you loomed large. But Ash simply laughed at your brother’s reaction by ordering you stay behind him. Although poorly as his arm performed itself as a fence initiating to any tributes not to go further. "Relax, pretty boy. I won't touch her. Just asking for a friend, that's all." 

That friend happened to be Treech, whose imposing silhouette positioned itself in front of you a little closer this time. His gaze had been fixed on you from the moment he laid eyes on you. While you initially attributed it to natural human interaction, the persistent feeling of being scrutinized lingered throughout. It seemed as if Treech was almost surprised or even deceived to have you as his mentor, likely influenced by how your brother had fared so far. "Looking for District 7." You mentioned exchanging quick glances with the tributes to assess who would be best with an axe.

 As expected, your eyes landed on the red-headed girl who endeavored to present herself as the ideal candidate for you. "A boy." Your brother corrected, noticing as Lamina stood up, but Treech, adopting a protective stance, advised her to remain behind, much like your twin had done. After all it was a one-on-one game for the time being. "That must be my lucky one." Treech expressed sarcastically, stating it as a matter of fact, causing a subtle pink shade to color your cheeks – a reaction you tried hard to control. After all, it was your very first time you had seen someone outside the District ever. "You get to have the other pretty one." Ash teased playfully, suggesting that, despite Treech's charming demeanor, he was seemingly destined for a grim fate in the arena upon arrival. “I’m a little jealous.” Ash generously said.

Upon reaching the Capitol, you and your brother were taken aback as you discovered an unforeseen aspect of the tributes' journey. The initial understanding was that Flickerman, the Capitol's esteemed journalist, would be present to introduce each tribute upon their arrival. However, what they were unaware of was the presence of two mentors among the tributes, perhaps trespassing without official permission. This, however, was a matter for another time. Despite the somewhat unconventional transportation, Treech remained fixated on you throughout the journey to the Capitol. He seemed entranced by the striking resemblance between you and your brother, sparking a sense of compassion. Observing your interactions and the way you closely accompanied your brother, it was rumored that you were akin to his pet, only permitted to speak when approved by Coriolanus. Despite his disdain for the District, your brother demonstrated a surprising degree of protectiveness towards you, although in the midst of the situation, allowed  some space during the encounter with your tribute in an unexpected location. 

Fortunately, your keen observation allowed you to realize that you were reaching your destination, a detail that eluded many, including Coryo himself. Swiftly grasping your twin’s arm, a gesture he had ensured, the sudden tilt of the wagon hinted at the possibility of your feet slipping and sliding. Treech's eyes widened at your momentary clumsiness, seizing the opportunity to support you. As your back met the uncomfortable mud of the Zoo, he was determined not to lose his mentee on the spot. 

Cameras focused intently on both you and your brother, eliciting a crowd reaction filled with exclamations such as, "It's Snow's boy!" Swiftly, the onlookers noticed your presence next to your brother, who rose and asserted himself. There you stood, a captivating spectacle, with Treech's arm securing your waist and his unwavering gaze fixed on yours. A sly smirk played on his lips as the rest of the crowd declared your presence as well. "And look! The other Snow!" The citizens of the Capitol, already entranced by the presence of the twin siblings on their tributes' first day, began expressing confidence in your victory. This added an additional layer of challenge for the other mentors who were absent from this captivating spectacle. "It's your cue, princess." 

"Princess" was the first word he used to address you. Ironically, it took you a moment to realize that all the cameras were focused on you. Your brother had already made his mark, keeping a careful eye to ensure your tribute didn't make any missteps, especially when it came to touching you. However, you were completely under Treech's influence. With a confident smile, he waved at the cameras, making it a bit easier for you to face the potential embarrassment later at home. "She's alright!" He assured, shifting his gaze quickly to your relieved brother. He could have sworn he saw a few Capitol ladies, with similar makeup to yours, watching in awe at how Treech gallantly assisted you. As he watched the scene unfold with Lucy and Snow not far away, he too decided to play the role of the Capitol's love bird. 

As preparations for the 10th Hunger Games were underway, Flickerman's team mandated interviews with every tribute each year. From the very beginning, you managed to establish trust with Treech, a bond that proved beneficial. Not only did you ensure he was well-fed, but you also took the initiative to fetch Lamina additional food, given her mentor's apparent neglect. Treech appreciated the maternal role you assumed for Lamina. On one occasion, he confessed that he would go to great lengths for her, even if it meant risking his own life to secure her victory as the final tribute. It was all in the pursuit of making District 7 proud once again, for a Lumberjack always harbors a wealth of secrets up their sleeves. 

During his time at the Zoo, Treech found increased joy in your company, particularly when you accompanied him for a quick visit to the arena. Following suit with other tributes, he decided to take the initiative in making the first move. It happened on that initial day when he casually attempted to hold your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You discreetly glanced at him, careful not to make it too obvious given the presence of the assigned tributes and their mentors. With Coriolanus behind you taking notice. Yet, observing Treech's attempts to connect with you, he sensed a deeper connection between the two of you. Realizing this, your elder sibling understood the need to strengthen his bond with Lucy. To Treech's delight, he could only imagine your brother envying a love that he would never receive in return. 

With insider knowledge of the arena and sneaky routes into the Academy, Treech and you managed to slip away after the arena visit. Observing his interaction back with District 4's tribute and noticing his vigilance, a few teases were all it took to provoke Treech into throwing a punch, especially when faced with comments like. "Your girlfriend wouldn't mind if I speak with you?" While it was clear that others were aware of your connection, Treech dismissed it as a mere game, refusing to believe that it held any deeper significance. However, his sentiments towards you had sparked an unexpected depth of emotion within him. "Just a reminder." He sternly directed at the other tribute, his gaze darkening with offense. Spotting you behind him with Lamina by your side, Treech asserted. "You don't speak such filth about Y/N." The onlookers chuckled at his protectiveness and the evident depth of his emotions. "Or else?" They added, challenging anyone who dared to disrespect you. 

"Or else, I won't hesitate to cut your head off with my axe. Watch yourself, because I can do it in the blink of an eye." With those words, Treech revealed what you truly meant to him. He could vividly recall Snow's concerned gaze as he tried to pull you away from the escalating situation. However, you had refused that day, meeting Treech's eyes the entire time after discussing the tributes he would be teamed with. "For Lamina's sake," You had pleaded, urging him to be cautious. "Those individuals only seek your vulnerability. They may be from District 4, but they don't understand the power of an axe." Was what Treech said reassuring you with a smile. A smile you’ll never forget. 

In that very moment, you decided to take Treech with you for a clandestine escape from the arena. It was a day when even the tributes were granted the freedom to either stay at the arena for practice or wander under the watchful eyes of the Peacekeepers. However, Treech and you had a different agenda. You used the excuse of wanting to make his training more convenient as a cover. For some inexplicable reason, you had the approval of Dr. Gaul, who only instructed that Treech needed to return to the Zoo before midnight. It seemed that being Snow's twin had its perks after all. 

Upon your arrival at the Academy's Greenhouse, both of you maintained a quiet atmosphere. This place held a special significance for you, offering tranquility during moments of anxiety or family pressure. Though it was suspected that you were in charge of the Greenhouse, under your grandmother's watchful eye and constant reminders to enjoy tending to flowers like she did, you chose to share this haven with Treech. It was the same place where you had once spoken briefly to him, and he was thrilled not only to spend time alone with you but also to witness the real person behind the facade of prestige and elegance showcased in public. Trying to ease the slight tension, Treech remarked. "You know, I'd be damned to see your brother's face if he were here." It was a fact that you were gradually opening up to someone. The type that was once a stranger and now someone to feel loved by. "Brother could care less; he has Lucy wrapped around his finger right now.” You added, acknowledging the complexities of your relationships within the family. 

A smirk played across Treech's face, revealing his amusement at the thought of your brother feeling jealous. Although they were in similar positions, this time the connection between you and Treech was authentic, not just for show. Playful teasing began to permeate every event at the Academy, serving as a tactic to expose vulnerabilities in both of you. However, with Treech's mentor skills and the insights gained from your brother's tips, he honed his skills and strength, making it increasingly difficult for others to exploit weaknesses or gain his trust. "And would it be fair to say that I, too, have my little finger entirely wrapped around you, Princess?" He added, playfully reciprocating the banter. 

His words caused a warm blush to spread across your cheeks, especially when he directed his attention toward you during wound care in practice. The worry in your eyes whenever he made a slight mistake was met with a reassuring thumbs-up and the smile you cherished. There were moments when it became challenging for him to stay focused, particularly when he saw you engaged in conversations with your other classmates. Despite the casual nature of those interactions, he couldn't resist the urge to draw your attention back to him. In response, you chuckled softly, suggesting a meeting on the rooftop of the Greenhouse to admire the stars. "Anything that involves being with you, I'll gladly say yes." He replied with a smile. “You know, I love when you blush more. Especially for me.” 

Without uttering a word, you playfully dismissed his comment, rolling your eyes in a teasing manner. You extended your hand, a gesture he effortlessly accepted. "Show me the way, Princess." He said, and together, you ascended the stairs. Luck was on your side as you reached the rooftop just as the sun of the Capitol dipped below the horizon, signaling the arrival of dawn. The sky was clear, and the stars of Panem glittered above, creating a breathtaking scene just for the two of you. "Looks like I'm the lucky one." He marveled at the view. "Having a beautiful face to look at and a beautiful scenery to enjoy all to myself. I'd be damned not to win these Games and return home to a beautiful angel." He confessed, and this time, he genuinely meant every word. 

On the other hand, you remained completely silent. Initially, you wanted to express your gratitude, but as the Games drew nearer, uncertainty crept in, even with Treech's skills. The looming uncertainty, especially regarding Lucy's well-being and Snow's single-minded pursuit of victory, left you unsure. Despite your love for your brother, his focus was solely on winning, regardless of the familial bond. Treech noticed the tension as the two of you sat next to the bench, and he tried to bring you closer. In an unexpected reaction, you flinched—a rare occurrence. "Hey—" Treech began, but he immediately noticed your slightly swollen face and your eyes fighting back tears. The man you loved had become, overnight, a complete stranger at best. "Look at me, Y/N." He pleaded, adopting a worried tone as you broke down in front of him. The situation must have been incredibly embarrassing for you. 

"What's wrong?" His voice softened as he looked at you, tender care evident in his gaze. He took immense pride in having you as his partner during the Games and falling in love with the most exceptional mentors he could have ever asked for. He harbored concerns about the possibility of you crying over his lifeless body, should the worst come to pass. The thought of hearing you scream his name filled him with worry, although he made a concerted effort not to show it. His overarching plan was to make you proud and, above all, to be loved by you until his very last breath. 

"Have you ever genuinely fallen in love?" Your question resonated with Treech. Of course, he loved you. You were an unexpected and, ironically, his first love. And so for you. The circumstances of your meeting might not have been ideal, but as long as he was with you, that's all that mattered. And if things worked in his favor, it was not just for him but for Lamina as well, given that she often regarded you as someone she could trust. "Like genuinely." You added, trying your best not to burst into laughter. Your tears didn't make it any easier, giving you a slightly maniacal tone. 

“Of course, and that person is sitting right in front of me.” His eyes not taking his gaze from you. How he watched you loosing yourself entirely in the moment of a mere seconds. Your old habits resurging as you would try to numb the pain of your fingers by scratching the very last skin until it bled. To which Treech could not help to notice the moment he had met you. He grabbed your fingers, making you to stop it quickly as he began to peck every single fingers. “And I have made a promise to myself, that if I’d ever win. That we will be reunited together. Build a family, run away together. Be the lovebirds the Capitol wants us to be.” 

A mixture of remorse and relief surged through you as you heard every word from Treech, assuring you that he would stay alive and well. If only you could muster the same confidence he exuded. Despite your attempts, he gently wiped away your tears, his fingers delicately holding your chin to meet his gaze. "You know, even if it's not the conventional way to confess one's love to another, I might be able to let myself do it." He said, leaning in to press his lips against yours. They were soft, just as you expected, carrying the comforting scent of wood he had kept upon his arrival—a reminder of home, a home with both you and Treech. 

"I love you to the bottom of my heart. I know our first meetings weren't the best, but the way you cared for Lamina, and even showed care to me, proved something deeper. If we can continue doing that every night until the Games, I'll make sure you genuinely know that I love you." He confessed once the kiss broke. His words carried a weight that nearly brought tears to your eyes, holding you in place. The both of you chuckled at the irony of the situation, yet a newfound sense of confidence enveloped you—something you had never experienced before, especially as someone from a District. 

"Man, I wish we could continue this, but I don't want you to get punished for bringing me here—" This time, you swiftly cut him off, recognizing that it wasn't the right time for such activities, especially just a few days before the Games. Instead, you proposed a deal—a deal he seemed to enjoy a little too much. Every time you had the chance to train with him, just before returning him to the Zoo, you would indulge in cuddling and sometimes reminisce about home. Occasionally, these encounters escalated into intense make-out sessions, leaving him with a desire to mark you visibly. The marks led to teasing from some classmates, making you blush, and occasional interventions from your brother. Despite casual warnings, Treech took pleasure in denying everything with a smirk that your brother despised. To add to his delight, that same night, Treech deepened the marks, leaving a lasting impression. Just to see Snow’s furious face once again. 

Although this little pleasure was only going to last very soon, when the Games were officially commencing and you knew that. With you being at least able to say your final goodbyes to Treech, he could to feel your worrying about his situation. Cupping your face so delicately as a mention that everything was going to be alright. It was the last time that you also felt his lips brushing against yours. A kiss you would not forget so easily. 

During the Games, you and the remaining mentors, alongside your brother, watched with stress and concern for the well-being of your tributes. While your eyes remained fixed on Treech, you also tried your best to ensure Lamina's safety. However, the situation took a dire turn when the poison finally affected Treech. Feeling helpless, you did everything in your power to find a remedy, attempting to prevent the symptoms from worsening and to make them last until only one tribute remained. "The poison!" You angrily tried to draw attention, tears welling up as you called out to your brother, who paid no heed. Seeing you suffer for the one you loved was what he had envisioned from the start. His pleasure lay in witnessing Treech's suffering on screen. "Please! Give him the medication!" You appealed to your District 7's female mentor, but it was too late. Treech's coughing worsened, and your eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Treech..." was all you could say. 

Treech sensed that you were watching him, but whether it was with shame or grief, he couldn't discern. What he was certain of was seeing the expression on your face—a face that conveyed concern and a desperate desire to help. He knew that if the poison were to affect him, you would swiftly send the medication. However, it didn't happen, and he realized it was too late. Lucy had managed to escape, unlike him, who became the prisoner of an inevitable and senseless death. As he noticed the cameras focused on him, he understood that by now, you would be looking at him. "Y/N..." he began to cough in the middle of his sentence, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, including your brother. "I loved you since we met. Please, once I am gone, I want you to know that I genuinely loved and will always love you." 

"No!!" Your voice wavered between tears, desperately trying to advocate for the medication option repeatedly. Cursing under your breath, you fought against Pliny Harrington, who did his best to restrain you. "Y/N..." he tried to console you, sensing the profound grief from everyone's tributes, including yours. What he failed to comprehend was the deep connection between you and Treech, destined to become the Capitol's favorite lovebirds. "It's too late..." His voice turned into a plea for you to stop. It was at that moment that your entire body went numb. In Pliny’s arms, you managed to sit down, and as Snow's victory loomed over you, you realized that your confidence was about to be completely overshadowed once again. You would become Snow's source of pride and victory.

A man you had once loved would forever reside in your heart. In the heart of District 7, you were revered for your role as a caretaker for both its female and male tribute. What you were not aware of was that, unlike Snow, you became the face of purity and trust—a bond between the District and the people of the Capitol. It was a paid respect for the Capitol's most famous lovebirds.

[maislovebot]

I just threw out the love of my dreams

Chuuya x reader

This one won the pole! So here it is, expect that Aku and Atsu threesome soon, don’t worry:3

Contains: afab reader, they/them prns, makeup sex, Chuuya spoils you after an argument, porn with plot, but the plot is just buildup for smut, foreplay, Chuuya calls reader pretty + darling + doll, face sitting/riding/oral (reader receiving), slight hair pulling, overstim, brief dry humping, Chuuya’s needy and vocal, squirting, creampie & belly bulge BUT I don’t explicitly mention either of them, reader is wearing a dress, proofread, aftercare

Chuuya considered himself an angry person. Things can easily tick him off, but he’s learned how to manage his anger pretty well when it comes to you. He would shut his lips whenever he felt like making a snide remark because he had a particularly bad day, and whenever things did slip, he’d apologize right afterwards.

This, however, was not one of those times.

He wasn’t even mad at you, you were just..there, and you wouldn’t stop asking him how his day was. He was really mad at Dazai, who he had happened to run into in town, and Dazai just wouldn’t leave Chuuya alone. He wouldn’t quit teasing him about his height, ‘ugly’ hats, and so on. It was mainly just light teasing though, so he decided to be the bigger person and just grumble and walk away. It clearly left Dazai dumbfounded, as he had never met a Chuuya who turned the other cheek. It stunned him, and that did uplift Chuuya’s mood a little. That was until Ougai interrupted his wonderful shopping and forced him into a mission, when he was off the clock. Ougai was claiming that times have been tight, and he needs more help than usual, but considering the type of person Ougai is, Chuuya was suspicious that the boss was just giving him more work because he knew Chuuya was in a long term relationship, and he wanted to make life as hard on Chuuya as physically possible.

The mission in of itself was fairly simple, trick some cops into thinking that the Port Mafia had absolutely nothing to do with a case (they had everything to do with the case), and considering how good of an actor Chuuya is, he was the prime candidate.

Many cops are corrupt and just want to close a case as soon as possible, so Chuuya assumed he wouldn’t need to put on a very convincing performance, but he was gravely mistaken by a certain cop. She was extremely observant, and clearly well respected in her profession. She wanted to do this thing called ‘actually getting to the bottom of the case’, and while that is a respectful ideology, it made his work so much harder than it had to be.

All that Chuuya really wanted to do was go home to you, have sex, hang out, and go to bed. But clearly he was going to have to push that schedule back.

He ultimately managed to get the cop to believe him, and he went on with his day. Briefly reporting to the boss, and going home on his motorcycle. He was just dreaming about going home and holding you close after such a long day, but he fucked that all up.

It really wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t help but get annoyed.

“Chuu, how was it? How’d shopping go?”

You were met with silence. You assumed he didn’t hear you.

“Uhh..Chuuuyaaa how was your day?”

Chuuya grumbled, not really saying anything. Keep it in, he thought to himself. It isn’t their fault. You heard his grumble, tilting your head, attempting to grab Chuuya’s hand as he walked to your joint bedroom.

“Chuuya? What’s wrong?” You questioned.

“Leave me alone..”

“Why?”

Chuuya took a deep breath in, “please. Just leave me. the fuck. alone. I don’t wanna talk about it.”He raised his voice. “You’re being so annoying right now.”

He never did that. He’d leave a snide remark here and there, sure, but it was always apologized for pretty much the second it left his mouth.

You pulled your hand away, freezing for a few moments. You waited for an apology. He always gave you an apology.

He didn’t apologize.

You shook your head, coming back to your senses. Chuuya noticed you grabbing some shoes and a coat, then your keys. What Chuuya had done finally settled in his mind, and he grabbed your wrist. He was sufficiently stronger than you, so he did manage to hold you in place, until you jerked your arm away and headed towards the door of the lovely penthouse you two were staying in.

“Doll, I’m sorry—I don’t know why I said that!”

You kept quiet. You could feel tears bubbling at your eyes, making it hard to see as you fidgeted with your keys to find the one to the front door. You finally did, walking outside and to the elevator that took you downstairs. Chuuya followed you out, trying to convince you to talk it out. You two rarely argued, but when you did you always had a problem with running away instead of talking it out. Chuuya tried to understand it from your perspective. You shut the elevator doors on him, effectively shutting him out. Considering his powers, he could probably do something to mess with the elevator doors and make them come back up, but Chuuya didn’t want to force you to be around him when you clearly wanted space. He instead shamefully walked back to the front door, walking in and leaning against the door as he broke into a cold sweat.

He really just did that.

Chuuya looked next to him, and noticed your phone sitting on the side table next to the front door. He had no way of contacting you either.

You needed space, you’d come back in a few hours. He knew you would.

10:24 pm. It was 10:24 pm and there was still no sign of you. Every time he heard a car passing by he’d jump up and check the window to see if it was you, and it never was. He was seriously worried, after all, you had no phone and he had no other way of figuring out where you were or if you were in trouble. To make things worse, he knew you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. You never did. Anytime you were upset you were gone before anyone could even ask where you were going, and it was really biting him in the ass.

He wanted to give you space, but he was seriously worried, so he decided to get onto his motorcycle and bring his extra helmet with him. He didn’t know where you were going, but he had a pretty good idea.

You really fucked up. You would always go places without telling anyone, especially when you were sad, and now you were seriously regretting it. You had realized you’d forgotten your phone a while ago, and you had driven to a dirt road in the woods, one you always went to when you were bored, or upset, or honestly just because you could. You ultimately came here because you wanted to get away from everyone for a little bit, only to realize you were completely out of gas and parking on the side of the road. You had absolutely zero gas left anywhere.

You would consider walking down the road until you found somewhere to go, but it was currently dark out and you knew it would be rash to walk in the middle of the woods in a short dress with no phone or car, or even a map. If only you’d just stayed home.

Your car door was locked tight, scared of what might happen if it wasn’t. You simply sat in the drivers side, sort of dumbfounded. What the hell were you gonna do? You took a deep breath in, okay, to start, let’s move to the back seat and lay down so no one sees you in the car. Then, sit and wait till someone gets you?

‘God I really dug your own grave with this one,” was all you could think. Your own mistake bounced around your head on repeat, regret filling your veins

You couldn’t help but think of Chuuya. You missed him so badly, and even if you were still a little hurt by his outburst, you would kill to just be home with him again. You couldn’t help but think of what you’d do with Chuuya once you got home. You’d hold him close, cradle his face, kiss him and feel him up.

You were distracted from your thoughts from hearing a motorcycle driving up behind you, and you couldn’t help but perk up praying it was Chuuya. You expected it to be a pipe dream, but you noticed the motorcycle slowing down, and it was definitely his. He parked it in front of your car, before walking back and you scrambled to the front seat to unlock the doors. He opened the door and placed his helmet in the back seat, barely having enough time to move his hands back before you moved yourself over the center console and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I was so scared I was gonna have to stay the night here..”

“I’d never let that happen.”

“How did you find me anyways?”

“I remember you saying something or other about this mountain being a nice place to relax. It was just a lucky guess.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you nestled your face in his jacket, and he raked his hands through your hair. He held your head in place to help calm you down.

“Listen..I’m so sorry for what I said..it was an asshole move.” Chuuya grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back, kissing you on the cheek quickly before pulling away.

“It’s fine..just don’t do it again.” You said, looking away from him.

“Is that it?” Chuuya questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well..I caused all this, why forgive me right away?”

You shook your head.

“What, do you expect me to ask you to get on your knees and grovel at my feet?” You poked his cheek and looked at him with a grin.

“Well, no but..”

“Listen, Chuuya, you apologized, and that’s enough. Just make an effort to not do it again.”

Chuuya nodded, before getting a sly expression.

“Well..I should still try and say sorry for what I did, right? Should I spoil you once we get home?” Chuuya’s question had undeniable flirty undertones, and you couldn’t help but heat up at his insinuation.

“Well? Should l?”

You looked right at Chuuya.

“Of course you can. But..” you trailed off.

“What is it?”

You looked at Chuuya with a dumb look. How does he not know?

“Well my car is out of gas and I don’t really wanna leave it here overnight..”

Chuuya giggled, looking overly confident. What bullshit was he gonna stir up now?

“I think you’ve forgotten I can control gravity.”

You laughed at what he was insinuating and how proud he looked at his rebuttal.

“Alright but you better not drop my car!”

Chuuya nodded, chuckling and leading you to his motorcycle.

Luckily, Chuuya didn’t drop your car. You honestly didn’t know how he managed to hide it from everyone and drive his motorcycle at the same time, but he is a man of many talents.

Once you and Chuuya arrived at your shared penthouse, he entered the elevator and picked you up bridal style and carried you inside of your house, and once you entered the door you pushed Chuuya up against the door. Chuuya looked taken aback at your bold move, but he quickly melted into the kiss and let you wrap your arms around his waist. As much as Chuuya loved how you pressed him against the door and yourself against him, he wanted to pamper you today, and he couldn’t really do that like this. He gripped your arms and spun until you were pressed against the door instead, and he leaned back in to keep kissing your lips. He pressed his knee into your crotch while trailing down to kiss you on your neck, and settling atop your chest, kissing and licking your exposed skin.

Chuuya kept one hand on the side of your head and the other slowly crept up your shirt, until he made contact with your bra and reached behind your back to undo the bra strap. Once your bra was undone, he brought both of his hands down to lift your shirt up and over your frame. He was still kissing you, running his hands over your chest and pulling and twisting over your nipples. You gently moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. The new position gave Chuuya more power, so he relentlessly pressed you into the wall and kissed you even deeper, reaching his hand down into your shorts to rub short circles into your clit.

You moaned louder into his mouth, and Chuuya finally decided that was enough and carried you over to the bed and sat down on it with your legs still wrapped around him. He moaned at the way you tugged on his hair when he gently bit down on your nipple.

Chuuya removed your shorts and underwear by hooking his finger on them, adoring the way you kicked them off of your legs. You reached down to unbutton his vest, and he sat up to pull his jacket and vest off in one go. He reached up and unbuttoned his white button up shirt, letting it sit on him like a jacket.

Chuuya laid back, gripping your ass and trying to push you up.

“You wanna sit on my face?”

Your eyes widened, before turning away embarrassed.

“What’s the hold up?” Chuuya asked.

“Well it’s a little embarrassing,”

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

You swallowed thickly, “and every time it’s embarrassing.”

Chuuya smiled, rubbing circles into your thighs to calm you down.

“You’re so pretty, especially when your pretty cunt is all over my face.”

You would’ve been more worrisome, but ever since you got home you’d been desperate. Chuuya was so good with his tongue, you couldn’t help but fantasize and subconsciously lift yourself up and over his face.

“There you go,” Chuuya praised.

You hovered over Chuuya’s face, and Chuuya was running out of patience. He gripped your thighs to bring you closer to him, and once his tongue made contact with your cunt you saw stars. You shamelessly ground yourself onto his tongue, as Chuuya guided you back and forth on his face, rocking you back and forth. Chuuya loved the small moans that left your mouth.

“Mmnn..Chuu..”

“Hm?” Chuuya hummed from under you.

“Feels good..” you mumbled; Chuuya chuckled. He kept licking your clit to the best of his abilities, proving to be slightly difficult as you rocked yourself against his face. Chuuya loved your desperacy, but he wanted to please you himself. He felt awful about what he said to you earlier, and all he wanted was to was fuck you so good all the crying and negative thoughts swirling through your head from his unkind words would be completely forgotten, and instead replaced with pleasure. He gripped your thighs tight enough to keep you in place, using the opportunity to swirl his tongue around your clit. He loved how your thighs tightened around his head.

Chuuya was practically drooling at the taste of your cunt, small amounts of saliva dribbling around the corner of his mouth. He licked a stripe up your cunt, moaning at your taste.

“So good..” Chuuya mumbled, voice muffled by your thighs.

Chuuya reached his tongue up to your hole, licking around it before slowly pushing his tongue inside. You jumped at his actions, grinding your cunt onto his face. You feared you may hurt him if you kept at it, but the feeling was so addicting you couldn’t stop.

Chuuya’s tongue was as deep inside you as it could go, thrusting his tongue desperately. You tasted amazing, your sensitivity was alluring, you looked amazing above him.

How had he ever said those terrible things to you?

You grinding yourself into Chuuya’s mouth eventually evolved into you just riding his face. His nose swirled your clit as you humped on him, and your legs started shaking even more as you gripped the bedsheets and Chuuya’s hair. Chuuya was barely even moving his mouth at this point, as you were doing most of the work for yourself. Chuuya wanted to do all of the work, but he let it slide because he could tell how good it felt.

“Chuuya, ‘m cumming!” You yelped out. Chuuya couldn’t help but reach his hand down to touch his raging hard on. He rubbed on it, causing small whimpers to leave his mouth, the vibrations sending you over the edge and making you cum with a cry. Your cum dripped down onto his face, and he had no shame in licking it up. Still leaning over his face, he would lick your sensitive cunt while cleaning up your cum, and he would always twitch at your overstimulated cries. He couldn’t help it anymore, he shamelessly began to tug his pants down while you were still lingering above him and catching your breath. He tugged his pants and boxers down until there was just enough room for his cock, and he began pumping himself desperately.

“You taste so good..I can’t help it..” he said. His voice had a tinge of regret in it, and you could tell he was sitting in shame from what he said to you.

You lifted yourself off of Chuuya on shaky thighs, and Chuuya gripped your thighs to help you gently lift yourself off of him. You fell to Chuuya’s side, lifting yourself to lay your face next to him. You rested your hand in his hair, ruffling it.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole earlier.” Chuuya grumbled, not towards you but himself. He still couldn’t get over how dumb he was. What was the point in insulting you? Why did he say those things? Why would he ever say anything to hurt you when you’ve never shown him anything but kindness? You’re so patient with him, he can’t even imagine why he would ever hurt you, even if it was a fit of anger.

“Don’t freak out, Chuuya. It’s fine now. I know you’re sorry.”

“Even if you forgive me, let me treat you good. Make you forget all those things I said.” Chuuya said as he turned over to you and leaned above you, towering over you with his hands on either side of your face. Chuuya currently had his pants and boxers pulled down to his mid thigh, and you giggled when his legs faltered from above you because of the lack of space. Chuuya noticed this and reddened a little bit, pulling his pants the rest of the way down. With this he took his white button up off the rest of the way, leaving himself completely naked. He straddled your hips so he could lean down and kiss and nibble on your neck, and you giggled as he prodded into your thigh.

Chuuya brought his hand down to rub circles on your clit, and you jumped at the overstimulation. He ground himself against your leg as he slowly pushed two of his fingers past your tight hole. Pulling his fingers apart to scissor and stretch you out as preparation. You felt dizzy, partially from crying in your car earlier but also from his actions. He slowly pushed a third finger inside, and you groaned at the stretch. The burn was slight, but you couldn’t even think about that as you thrust your hips up and down on his hand. His fingers were so nice. They were pretty and long and had little scars spread sporadically across them from what you presumed were past battles, leaving some spots white in comparison to the rest of his skin.

He leaned down, his chest flush with yours as he panted into your neck. He would occasionally suck on the side of your neck until it turned purple, keeping a firm grip on your hair in the process. Chuuya’s cock was throbbing, and he couldn’t help himself from grinding himself down on your thigh here and there.

“Pretty..”

Chuuya has decided that he had stretched you out plenty, so he slowly pulled his fingers out and licked them clean as you stared at him in awe. Chuuya lifted himself from your thigh, twitching at the warm feeling of your pussy as he slowly pushed himself inside. He only had the tip, but it was more than enough for him to whimper slightly. He wasn’t typically this sensitive, but after everything that happened today, he was pitifully needy. He needed to feel you around him and taste you on his tongue, and so much more. He had to make up for everything he did.

Chuuya slowly pushed himself past your tight entrance, throwing his head back as you clenched around him. It was strange to see him so needy, but it certainly wasn’t bad. It was foreign but comfortable despite it. He finally reached the hilt, and he almost immediately started pulsing and twitching inside of you. Chuuya sat there for a few moments, waiting for you to adjust, before you whined and started thrusting your hips yourself.

“Please move..Chuuya..”

Chuuya wanted to let you get comfortable, but you clearly had other plans, and who was he to deny you what you wanted? Tonight was all about you. Chuuya gripped your hips, holding you in place.

“Let me do all the work, darling.”

Chuuya slowly pulled out to the tip, snapping his hips back in place. You yelped, moving your hands up to hold his shoulders to get some sense of stability, but you ended up digging your nails into his shoulders to help ground yourself. Chuuya could feel the sting as his shoulders turned white where your nails were, but he loved it. The sting felt so good, almost deserved. Even if you didn’t do it with any malicious intent, or do it for some revenge plan, it helped him to feel somewhat even with you. Not to mention, it just felt really good.

Chuuya kept thrusting into you relentlessly. After getting some semblance of self control, he started aiming himself towards your g-spot, which he knew by heart. He knew exactly where it was and how you liked to have it touched, and once he quickly found it, he started targeting that spot without stopping. It was, for lack of a better word, overstimulating. You pulled Chuuya down towards your face, wanting to hold him close. You removed one of his hands from your hips and entangled it with your fingers, holding his hand as it rested next to your head. Chuuya loved the feeling, moving his other hand from your hip as well. He held your hands above your head, leaving you to arch your back up into him. You reached your head up just enough to make contact with his lips, and he pushed your head down into the mattress, kissing you deeply. His tongue danced along yours.

He moved his lips to barely hover over yours, moving his dominant hand down to press on your stomach.

“You like that, pretty? Like how deep you can feel me?”

You whimpered and nodded your head, moving your now free hand to tangle in his hair. Chuuya trailed his hand down to brush over your stomach and eventually your clit, rubbing circles on it. You cried into Chuuya’s mouth, the sound muffled. You moved your hand down to his back, holding him in place.

“Keep going, ‘m close..”

Chuuya kept his pace, his legs never faltering. He rubbed circles on your clit with excellency. You always wondered how he had gotten so experienced despite his lack of free time. You kept holding Chuuya in place, pulling him to lay flush with your stomach. His lips still lingered over yours, and you tightened around him and came with a loud moan. What you didn’t realize, however, was that you had squirted, drenching his entire lower abdomen in your cum. Chuuya’s eyes widened at this. Chuuya lifted himself up and looked down to where your bodies met. He smirked at the sight, and when he looked up and saw your embarrassed face he grinned, kissing your temple.

Chuuya could feel himself twitching inside of you. He was right on the edge. He was so close, and it was making him feel emotional.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I called you annoying.”

Chuuya was teetering so close to the edge, and the way you held him close only made it worse. He was feeling so many conflicted emotions, he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know why I told you to leave me alone, I don’t know what I’d do if you really did.” Chuuya cut himself off, rubbing circles on your clit again. Overstimulated, you shut your eyes and dug them into his neck.

“You being gone for just a few hours was driving me crazy.”

You pulled your head away and brought your hand up to play with Chuuya’s hair.

“It’s alright, Chuu. I know you’re sorry. You don’t have to be mad at yourself forever.” You brushed your fingers through Chuuya’s hair, curling his hair around your finger in a perfect manner. “I’m not even mad at you anymore.” As you spoke, Chuuya was slowing down his movements and he came. You forgave him, and he could rest easy. The confirmation slowed his heart rate down, his body slowing down as well before eventually leading to a halt. He kissed your collarbones and nipples before pulling out of you. Chuuya flipped your positions so you could rest above him, burying your face in his neck as your legs intertwined. Chuuya smiled when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He rubbed gentle circles on your hips to help soothe what he could only assume was sore, before lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

“You did so good for me,” Chuuya whispered right in your ear as he carried you, placing you inside the bathtub.

“‘M sorry..” Chuuya mumbled yet again, clearly a little ashamed.

You didn’t respond, instead gripping his arm to pull him into the bath with you. Chuuya landed on top of you and you giggled. All he could have hoped for is that you’d forgive him, and it seemed like you did.

Wc - 4.3k

When Chuuya pinned reader to the wall, all I could think about was how he’d have to be on his tippy toes to kiss me bc I’m so much taller than him😭 he’s so cute :’)

[particular-one]

my ivy grows — and now i’m covered in you.

synopsis. you just opened your humble floral shop in the neighborhood and it has quickly become your biggest pride and joy. what you hadn’t anticipated was garnering the affection of a customer that had caught your eye. [modern au] characters. march 7th, dan heng, gepard, jing yuan, blade, luocha x gn!reader (separate) author’s note. two posts from carlyle in less than 24 hrs??? and a fluff post at that??? i’m finally back with my laptop 💖 this idea was prompted cz i stumbled across way too many flower shops/stalls during my trip and now i’m daydreaming about receiving one someday too :’) enjoy!

march 7th had been looking for inspiration for her photography hobby when she stumbled across your shop. she was fascinated with how you decorated your shop, but moreso of you. she had observed you work inside the shop, sometimes going inside to buy something and chat with you, until she had a big idea. the following day, she actually summoned the courage to ask you to be the subject of her photographs in exchange for professional photos of your shop. the both of you went around the neighborhood and march kept taking candid pictures of you wherever you were for the rest of the day. you ended the day with march promising to take the photos of your flowers for you, and you were very happy with the results. you joked how the day felt like a date more than a favor, just as when march actually held up a flower she had swiped from your basket since the morning and handed it to you, asking if you had wanted to do this again but like, an official date this time.

dan heng entered your shop one fateful day, and you just fell for him way harder than you imagined. maybe it was because it was a hot day, maybe it was because he entered your shop when you had just tended to romantic couple after couple. you made lots of arrangements in the past, but preparing his was utterly nerve-wracking — especially when you could feel his eyes on you that it had made you really, really self-conscious. he thanked you, but before he left, you gave him a small carnation flower, hoping he wouldn’t ask for its meaning, and before he could ask even further, you moved on to the next customer. somehow, dan heng continuously came back to request and pick up orders, becoming one of your most loyal customers, and you never failed to give him a small carnation. though, you hadn’t anticipated that one rainy day, he was soaked wet but rushed into your flower shop. he looked incredibly red with something big that he hid behind him. unbeknownst to you, he kept every single carnation you gave him and preserved it in his journal, before he had the bright idea to search what it meant — before you could come up with an excuse, dan heng held up the bouquet of carnations that he painstakingly arranged himself for you.

gepard actually entered your shop looking for flowers to give to his sister for her first sold out concert. yours just happened to be near where she was performing, but upon seeing you, he was definitely whipped and oh-so-infatuated with you. it was a struggle for him to not constantly blush when he tried talking to you, but he earnestly listened when you gave suggestions on what flowers to give his sister. you prepared him a special bouquet to hand to your sister, and off he went. days passed, before a blonde haired lady asked for you. she introduced herself as serval, who you remembered as gepard’s sister. she liked your flowers a lot that she went back to pick up another one, but she also mentioned how much gepard wouldn’t stop talking about you— just as gepard went inside to try and stop her. you were really flustered about that, but gepard even more. he apologized consistently for his sister’s brazenness, but you told him that it was all good — and that you enjoyed that he enjoyed listening to you ramble. from then, gepard consistently visited your shop, sometimes to pick up flowers for his sister but most, if not all the time, he was there to see you and build that courage to ask you out.

jing yuan didn’t really go around your neighborhood frequently, nor did he take leisure walks that often. he was a really busy man engaged in a lot of corporate work, but an accidental free day drove him to stumble across your flower shop, which he could smell from a mile away. you had eagerly engaged with him when he asked you about your humble stall, you rambling about how much this whole shop meant to you. he watched as you transacted with customers, and though you were a little unnerved that he was simply watching you, you just allowed it. jing yuan found your charm quite endearing, that he lost track of time and in no time, the day was spent and you were about to close up. as jing yuan helped you move the remaining empty boxes, when he suddenly asked you what your favorite flower was. confused, you answered his question, to which he replied if he could make a special request for a bouquet of your favorite flowers. you quickly made his order and handed it to him but before that, jing yuan asked if you could write a note on the bouquet — “would you like to go out sometime, y/n?”

blade was someone you saw pop up inside your flower shop but each time you tried to interact with him, he left almost immediately. you were pretty much determined to find out what he wanted, that you carefully planned out and observed how he was inside your shop. when you finally were able to ambush talk to him, that was when you recognised him. he was your childhood friend back in high school that you had lost contact with when he moved away all of a sudden. you were surprised that he still remembered you, but he instead looked really bashful about it — he never exactly forgot you — a sight you never thought you’d ever correlate to the blade you knew. he had initially simply wanted to observe you from afar, thinking that he had no right to barge into your life after he disappeared without a warning, but you were easy to dismiss this and how much you missed him. you gave him the key to your shop and offered to stay around for the time being if he had nothing to do. at first, blade was hesitant in accepting your offer reciprocating to your warm gestures, but getting to spend all that lost time with you was enough to thaw that cold heart of his from icing you out like he did in the past. one day, you were surprised to see a paper flower folded neatly on top of the counter when you first opened the store in the morning, but there was probably only one person who would have the key and be responsible for this.

luocha was actually one of the more… interesting customers you had. one day, you just found him mumbling some incoherent gibberish that honestly scared you. you may have contemplated on calling for help, but instead, you asked if he needed any help. luocha smiled at you, before shaking his head. you went back to work, but moments later, he called for your help — he requested if you can point at your flowers and he’d mention it’s scientific name. gathering from your obviously puzzled expression, luocha just laughed and said that he was studying botany, but more on the scientific side — so that was the gibberish he was speaking. clearly you never listened in biology. it became a funny side activity that you did with luocha whenever he came by. one time, he came by with a red rose in his hand. he asked if you knew what this meant, and you had initially answered him it’s scientific name, which made him laugh. as you were about to go on, he cut you short by answering that it actually just meant his affection for you.

written by carlyle (@particular-one) copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

[percheduphere]

Hi, I’m @loki-us and if you ever need inspiration, I’ve always been curious to see someone do an analysis of this scene from 2x2, because I believe it’s the only time that Sylki is mentioned/referenced in season 2 and I can never tell how Mobius is feeling here — his words sound a bit bitter/jealous but it also might be showing that he’s accepted Loki’s interest in someone else and just wants him to be happy like Mobius did when he came to let Loki out of the time cell in 1x4 ?? I keep thinking about this scene and would be interested to hear your thoughts if you ever run out of ideas. Love all of your analyses, thanks!

Mm ... I love doing analysis dealing with specific scenes! Thank you for the ask @loki-us!

Before we get into this specific scene, it's important to highlight that at the beginning of this episode (S2E2), Loki assumes that a film premiere in London 1977 "isn't Sylvie's style" because it isn't apocalyptic or chaotic enough. Yet the audience knows that Sylvie is now living a quiet life in the midwest, working at McDonald's. This signals to the audience that Loki, despite being the same as Sylvie, doesn't understand what she really wants.

When Loki, Mobius, and Brad enter the McDonald's, Sylvie's automatic reaction upon seeing them is understandably fear.

From Sylvie's point-of-view, it's likely a couple years have passed (based on her hair length) between the time she kicked Loki through the time door and the time she established herself in Broxton, Oklahoma 1982. She no doubt did not expect Loki to find her.

A confrontation with her ex is bad enough, but Loki also has with him one of the highest ranked agents at the TVA, Mobius. Next to Mobius, she sees a man in a TVA jumpsuit and collar. All of this must signal to Sylvie that she is about to be apprehended.

Mobius, who is high on emotional intelligence, seems to recognize what this might look like.

Mobius therefore puts on a friendly smile. He then slides his hands into his pockets and assumes a slack posture to show he is no threat. He avoids using his trademark "dominant pose" of placing his hands on his hips, which may come across as authoritative and intimidating in this context.

Mobius's micro-emotions and attention in the gif below are subtle but interesting. Though his body language remains relaxed, his smile from earlier fades to a neutral expression, and his gaze darts between Brad, Sylvie, and Loki. He is likely assessing a few things at once: how likely Brad might flee, how Loki is feeling, how Sylvie is feeling, and if the confrontation between Loki and Sylvie poses any risks.

Once Loki arrives at the counter and it's established no physical harm is forthcoming, Mobius adjourns for lunch with Brad.

While Loki and Sylvie are outside, it is Brad, not Mobius, who questions the nature of Loki and Sylvie's relationship.

Unlike S1E4, Mobius's response is mild, reluctantly supportive, and frustrated.

The scene is meant to be played for humor, which it certainly accomplishes. However, the way Owen delivers the line, "They say opposites attract. No" sounds jealous. Through this line, the audience can infer from subtext that Mobius sees himself as Loki's opposite, and therefore it is Mobius who should be the most likely candidate for mutual attraction. He is annoyed to be reminded that isn't the case.

The micro-emotions Owen performs after this line are a treat to observe as well: Mobius shakes his head, comfort drinks, pauses, and stares. Whatever is happening between Loki and Sylvie outside is of blatant interest to him, and like Brad he jumps to the conclusion that the pair are still romantically involved. But because Mobius cares about Loki's happiness, he chooses not to interfere. Unfortunately, he can't stop looking on in envy either.

Envy creates resentment over time. Having Brad as a companion-observer briefly provides Mobius with someone who is safe to vent to. With Brad, he allows himself to be a little bit of an asshole, and may be internally throwing himself a small pity party while he can.

As of this is episode, I think it is fair to believe that Loki still has some feelings for Sylvie, but those feelings are not mutual. By the end of this episode, once Sylvie leaves and refuses to help, Loki's romantic feelings for her appear to fade.

Unbeknownst to Mobius, they quietly blossom in his favor.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

I have one!!!

Jim Halpert x gn!reader with fluff prompt

“Sad…I have a blanket with all this room and no one to share it with.”

With that episode ‘After Hours’ (yes I looked it up 🥲) where Jim is trying to get Cathy out of his hotel room so Dwight helps, but then Jim gets stuck with Dwight. So R comes to Jims rescue and offers him to stay with them in their room.

Summary: Jim is sent on a business meeting along with a few other prospective candidates for Vice President. When everything begins to spiral out of control, Jim doesn’t know who to turn to next //AU where Jim and Pam never got together, Pam went through with her marriage and the two children she has are with Roy, Pam is a sales associate, and Reader is the receptionist / being used as Nellie’s personal assistant Warnings: Use of Y/N, switching POV (between reader and Jim), use of the word ‘whxre’ (not at anyone), Author's Note: I’ll be completely honest my friend, I’ve completely forgotten who Cathy is! If she worked as the receptionist for Dunder Mifflin Scranton, then no she didn’t! In fact she’s not from Scranton at all cause reader doesn’t know her so how about that, there we go. Did I go back and rewatch the episode you mentioned? Yes. did i hate myself for it? Maybe a little bit. But it was during work so what else was i supposed to be doing? Work? Nah (ok look i wrote literal notes for this fic like it was a damn english project in school ok pls love this for me) Also on a side note, there needs to be more fics of Jim Halper x Reader ok I am literally dying without them. picture im like a dehydrated person in the desert just dragging my body around ok I need more fics

Arriving at the hotel in Tallahassee should’ve been a lot smoother than it turned out to be. They were all told that Dunder Mifflin had it ‘handled,’ which should’ve been your first clue. What really tipped you off was the number of rooms available.

“What do you mean? There should be one extra-”

“That’s all the rooms we have on record, sorry.”

“No,” You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands, “No, I know. It’s not your fault at all. Just- do you have any extra available rooms? I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.” It’s not as if you were being paid millions to be a receptionist at Dunder Mifflin, but you’d rather not have to ask to bunk with anyone. Everyone here were adults, and half of them seemed dead set on performing some sort of sexual act for the evening.

You had driven over with Nellie after she insisted you both carpool to cut costs. Then you had to suffer an entire car ride about how pent up she was, how she just wanted to get laid and she wasn’t above using her decision on who will be the new VP to get herself into bed. You tuned out before she could start listing names since there was nothing in the world you wanted to know less than what kind of guy Nellie was into.

“I’m sorry, it looks like we don’t have any extra rooms available.”

You were about to speak when you were bumped into, turning around to see the large crowd of Dunder Mifflin employees lining up behind you. You start handing out the proper keys to their proper rooms, having Dwight snatch his key cards out of your hand before immediately pouncing on Nellie. You were extremely thankful when Jim finally squeezed his way to the front. You hand over the card you labelled with his name, then sighed, looking back to the woman behind the counter.

“It does seem like there are a few rooms that have been reserved but haven’t been checked into yet. Their estimated check-in times are varied, so if you wait here there is a possibility that I could get a room for you at some point tonight.”

“I would really appreciate that, thank you,” You mumble over to her, then lean closer to Jim when he starts insistently tapping your shoulder.

“Can you be my new Tallahassee buddy? Stanley keeps going on and on about how we’re both bachelors and I’m pretty sure he’s wanting to get laid tonight. And I’m so not about to be around all of that anymore.” You chuckle at the similarities, shaking your head.

“That’s horrible. It’s like there’s something in the air here. Nellie was saying the same stuff during the car ride!” It was hard to talk with the loud crowd, but you weren’t complaining about how close Jim was standing next to you. “Unfortunately, I won’t be much of a buddy today. I would, but the company messed up, they didn’t reserve enough rooms!”

“They didn’t mess up!” You jump at the foreign voice, spinning around to see Nellie sliding up close to you, practically hanging on your shoulder. She already had Dwight and Packer trailing her closely from behind. “I told them the correct number of rooms, I swear it!”

“There’s not one for me-”

“Yeah, because I told them you didn’t need one!” You furrow your brows in confusion, watching her for a moment. “I figured you’d bunk with me! We’d be bunk buddies!”

“Nellie,” You hesitate, eyeing the men behind her before leaning forward, “There is absolutely no way in hell I’m sharing a room with you, considering what you talked about on the way up here.” Nellie stood there for a moment, obviously confused before suddenly jumping and spinning around to see the men trailing her. She laughs loudly, winking at them before turning back to you.

“Oh! Good idea!”

You watch Nellie just say this, then turn and leave. You sigh again, shaking your head and turning toward Jim. “If things can get settled in time I’d love to, Jim, but I-”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” A woman sidled up close, brushing herself against Jim’s arm. You watched the man jump, then turn and furrow his brow at this woman.

“Cathy?”

“Yes! It’s so good to see you, Jim! If you need a new Tallahassee buddy, I am willing and available.” You choked on your spit at the innuendo, watching her practically rub herself again Jim. You watched him try to take a step back, then bump into the counter behind him. You could feel something burning your chest at the way she was acting toward him. Much too forward, in your opinion, though maybe that’s what Jim likes? Should you do that, would that gain his attention?

“Oh, well, that sounds fun-”

“Great! So we can-”

“Hello?” You turn quickly at the receptionist’s insistence, raising your eyebrows toward her in a gesture that you were listening. At this she smiles back, looking back to her computer. “So the first one that may be available should be checking in within the hour. If by the top of the hour they don’t get here, I can make a phone call for you.”

“Oh, thank you so much. Really, I appreciate it.”

“Of course!”

You turn back to Jim, watching the woman walk away with a sway to her hips. You chuckle, shaking your head. “So you know her?”

“Oh, she works with the company.” He tears his eyes away from her, smiling down at you once more. “She’s willing to sit with me so I don’t have to deal with Stanley all weekend.”

“Oh good!”

“Of course, unless you would like to sit with me?” Jim smiles, and you could tell he was trying to charm his way into the seat next to you. If only he knew you would do anything for him.

“If I’m there in time, definitely. But this whole hotel business is turning into a real-” You’re interrupted by a phone call, cursing quietly and smiling apologetically to Jim. “I’m so sorry- I’ll just be a second,” You answer the phone, stepping aside to deal with some business for Nellie. You miss Jim giving you a longing stare before he finally turns around and begins making his way toward the bar.

  Jim felt lonely. He was almost excited to go on this trip, to get away from Scranton and all of the normalcy and monotonous days and maybe even spend some time with you outside of work for once. Or, as outside of work as he could get. But instead, he was sitting at the bar while nursing a drink and wishing you weren’t busy. Your hotel room hullaballoo lasted throughout the entirety of the company meeting, Nellie having complained that she had to take her own notes, and they still haven’t found a spare room for you.

Jim even offered to bunk with you, but then you had mentioned that there was only one bed in every room that was given out, and you had asked with raised eyebrows whether he was fine with sharing a bed with you. Jim- who obviously was more than okay with sharing a bed with you- had stuttered and mumbled and eventually the consensus landed in the field of no, you wouldn’t end up rooming with him. Nor did you have time to be his Tallahassee buddy. Which was extremely unfortunate, since the majority of the reason he had been excited about this trip was you.

Jim jumped at a weird noise, glancing over to see Packer blowing onto Nellie’s face with Dwight making what was probably supposed to be seagull calls into her ear. Sighing, he finished the rest of the drink he was nursing and mumbled something to himself before getting up and heading for his room. Maybe the sooner they’re back in Scranton, the sooner he’ll be able to talk to you again at the receptionist desk like normal. That would be 100% better than anything that was going on in this hotel at the moment.

When he got to his room he had turned on the tv, flipping idly through until he landed on the channel showing an NBA game. He leans back, watching for a little while. He’s not really sure what else to do, he didn’t exactly plan anything aside from ‘See what Y/N is doing and follow them around while they do it’ except you had said waiting in the lobby of the hotel room was extremely boring and you wouldn’t want to put him through that. He had acquiesced- for some reason- and had wandered back to the bar. Thinking back on it now, if you were bored down there then the best thing he could do would be to sit with you and entertain you. How had that thought only just crossed his head?

He was reaching for the remote to turn the tv off when he heard a knock at the door. Redirecting his attention, he left the remote for a moment and went to go see who could possibly be visiting him.

“Hey!” Jim’s brows furrowed seeing Cathy standing there in front of him. “The heating in my room is going a bit wonky, do you think I could hang out here while they fix it?” Without waiting for an answer, Cathy pushes past Jim and into his room.

“O-okay,” Jim drags out the word, closing the door slowly and hesitantly following Cathy into his room.

“What do you have on? Some kind of game?” She jumps onto his bed, scooting near the middle with her back against the bedframe. Jim hesitates, nodding toward the tv.

“Yeah, y’know. The NBA.”

“O-oh, sounds fun,” She sings back, patting the spot beside her. Jim slowly lowers himself onto the corner of the bed, then lets himself continue sliding until he’s sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

“Yeah. Fun.”

“So how’s the night going? Retiring early already?” Jim felt a tap on his shoulder and glanced up to see Cathy laying on her stomach, her head at the foot of the bed and close to Jim. He clears his throat, subtly trying to scoot away. “Didn’t know you were such an old man, Halpert!”

“Yeah, well. You know me. Old man Halpert.”

“Maybe we could stay up a little longer together? Have a little fun?”

Jim jumps up, taking a few steps back from the bed with a stutter. “Oh, you know, actually I was planning on heading down to the lobby-”

“I can come?” She asks, pushing herself up to sit on her legs.

“No, I just meant-”

Another knock on the door interrupts him, and thanking god under his breath he practically ran to the door. “Stanley! You do not know how glad I am to see you!”

“Mmhmm,” Stanley hums, pushing past Jim and walking into his room.

“You should stay! We’re watching the NBA, it’ll be like a party!”

“I’m just here ‘cause I ran out of refreshments in my room.” Stanley straightens up, carrying every single little bottle of alcohol that the hotel provided Jim’s room. Jim watched him look directly at Cathy, then back at Jim with raised eyebrows. Stanley immediately begins his exit, calling out behind him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Jim glanced back toward Cathy on his bed, who only taps the bed beside her in an indication to sit down. Jim takes a big sigh, looking back to the tv immediately. He wanders over slowly, taking his position back on the floor.

“Oh! I wonder if you have-” Jim doesn’t hear the rest of it, glancing over to see what Cathy was doing only to be met with her rear-end as she completely bends over at the waist, digging through Jim’s closet. He turns his eyes to the ceiling of the hotel room. What was he supposed to do? Just kick her out? Why was he such a nice person that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings about all of this?

After some time, and Cathy making herself comfortable on Jim’s bed once more, Jim begins to stand and attempt his well-thought-out exit strategy once more.

“Actually, Cathy, I think I’m going to head down to the lobby-”

“Why?” Cathy stood on her knees on the bed, walking over toward the edge and placing a hand flirtatiously on his chest. “Is something the matter with your room?”

“Well- uh, no-”

“Then everything’s good! Come, sit with me!” Cathy jumps back once more, throwing the covers back and settling back in her spot, patting the open area next to her. Jim chokes for a moment, unsure what to do before pulling out his cell phone, and holding a finger up toward Cathy as if asking her to wait.

His plan to call Dwight into action, claiming he had seen a bed bug, hadn’t really worked out exactly as planned. If the plan had been for both Cathy and Dwight to be naked in his hotel room, then it actually went exactly as planned.

Jim was stepping outside of his room for a breather when he finally spotted you. He let out a long sigh, a fond smile lighting up his face without his permission. He wasn’t too worried about it anyway when a matching smile appeared on your face. You were standing near some person who looked to be wearing a hotel uniform, and he jogged over as the person entered the hotel room. “Hey! Did they get you situated finally?”

“Not completely sure?” You hesitated, shrugging at him. “They said they’ve been having some sort of appliance malfunctions on this floor so they need to make sure the room is okay for me to stay in. I asked to tag along, just in case.”

“Well, I hope it works out! Then you’ll be just down the hall from me!”

“Yeah! You could have a visitor for once!” You tease unknowingly, giggling. Jim’s face crashes though, and as he raises a hand to rub his face you begin to grow concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Well if you count having a naked Dwight in my bed as alright-”

He’s cut off by your laughter, though you’re clearly trying to hold it back. You raised a hand to cover your mouth, and Jim can’t help but smile seeing you act so cute. You finally speak through your laughter, trying to hold yourself together. “Oh, well congratulations I guess? I gotta say, I didn’t see that coming. You and Dwight-”

“No, no, no,” Jim interrupts, laughing himself and shaking his head. You finally dissolve into laughter, and Jim lets the moment last a bit longer before finally explaining. “No, Cathy came into my room.”

“Cathy came by, and now you have a Dwight naked in your bed?” You seemed curious but confused, and Jim could feel his nose scrunch in adoration for you.

“Well, Cathy is naked in my shower so-”

“Oh!” You interrupt, and he could see your cheeks lighting up red. “Oh, I didn’t realize. You two-”

“No!” Jim calls out, probably a bit too loud and too quickly. He clears his throat, leaning closer to you and slumping his shoulders. “No, I mean, she obviously wants to. She told me her room was having heating problems and then has done everything in her power to flirt with me since pushing herself into my room. I’ve tried everything to be polite, I really don’t know what else to do.”

“And,” You begin, narrowing your eyes at him, “I’m still failing to see how a naked Dwight comes into play.” He laughs, then watches as your smile widens as he does.

“Well I kept trying to tell her I needed to leave, but she kept insisting I stayed. Then Stanley came by and stole my alcohol, and he was absolutely no help at all. So I called Dwight. Told him I saw a bed bug in my bed. He came through tearing my room apart, and Cathy said she was going to go take a shower in my room?” He rubs a hand across his face, shrugging. “Everything kinda devolved from there. He started stripping, saying he needed all the skin access he can have, that his body heat was going to attract the bed bugs to his body.”

“The bugs that- aren’t there?” You question, raising an eyebrow. He nods along and you laugh, shaking your head. You’re both quiet for a moment before you take a step toward him. Jim could feel his heart rate beginning to spike at your closeness. “But, help me out here. All this just because what? You don’t want to have sex with her?” Jim watched some sort of emotion cross over your face, though it was brief enough that he couldn’t quite catch it. “I mean, she seems like a good person?”

“She’s not the one I want though,” Jim mumbles, staring into your eyes. ‘Woah there, Jimboy,’ He thinks to himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself but only inhaling more of your scent, setting butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “I- I just mean, well. I like someone. And it’s not her.”

You were just opening your mouth to say something- ‘Anything, say anything,’ Jim pleaded in his head- when you were interrupted before you could even start.

“I tried my best, but I couldn’t get it to work. I don’t think this room is hospitable. I’m sorry.” You had turned around, taking a step away from Jim. He could finally breathe normally now, though he would still much rather be in your orbit than face the possibility of going back to his room to deal with things.

“Oh, that’s alright. I guess I can go see Tara back at check-in and see if she has anything else.” The disappointment in your voice had Jim’s chest clenching, and he reached forward to take your hand before you could walk away.

“My offer is still open, you know.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and pulling your hand away gently.

“What, stay with you and your two naked roommates?” Jim could feel his face begin to blush, and you shook your head once more. “Go have fun, Jim.” You walk away with an audible sigh, and Jim knew he would have done anything to make you happy again.

  ‘Go have fun, Jim,’ You mock back at yourself, shaking your head. ‘Yes, just tell your crush to go have sex with someone ‘willing and available,’ that’s the exact thing you need to be doing.’ You were currently sitting on the uncomfortable furniture in the check-in waiting area, balancing your briefcase on your knees and hoping desperately that everyone in Scranton that wanted your attention via phone had finally gone to bed. You hadn’t received a ‘super important’ not-so-important phone call for the last thirty minutes, so your hopes were beginning to look up.

“Excuse me, Y/L/N?”

“Yes?” You stumble as you stand, fumbling with your briefcase before finally catching it and dropping your phone. Thankfully, Tara waits patiently for you to pick up your phone as well before you rush over to her desk. She had been so helpful, and it had only taken you an hour of being in her company before remembering it was polite to ask about names.

“I’ve just got off the phone with-” She hesitates, glancing at her computer and scanning it before huffing and turning her attention back to you, “Well, doesn’t matter. They aren’t showing up, they told me as much. So we finally have a room available to you! I sent Max back up to check the room again, but if I remember correctly then this isn’t one of the ones having problems!”

“Oh, Tara, thank you so much!” You lean across the counter, and thankfully Tara meets you halfway for an awkward hug. She giggles as she backs away, leaning over and placing a card key on the counter.

“And it’s on the house, darling.”

“What? No, I couldn’t do that to you, Tara!”

“Look, with the whole misunderstanding, and then you having to stand here for hours and just wait around while that cute guy kept coming back trying to get your attention-”

“Wait, who, Jim?” You ask breathlessly, sliding the card into your hand. You laugh, though Tara seems unconvinced. “Oh, no, we’re just friends. It’s nothing like all that-”

“Sure, darling. Just take the room.”

“Thank you again!”

You back up, turning to quickly run into the room and almost knock directly into the camera guy that seems to have taken the position of following you around constantly. You sigh, nodding at the guy behind the camera before taking off quickly.

Your room was in the same hallway as Jim’s, and you weren’t sure yet whether you were going to curse the fact or thank Tara with an entire fruit basket. You were about to find out, though, now that you’d set your briefcase down and had taken a cursory look through the room. Making sure to have your card key on you, you exit the room at the end of the hallway and begin what felt like a walk of doom to where you knew Jim was staying- the room he had exited earlier in the night when you had almost been given a room and he had seen you.

As you were getting closer, you started hearing some kind of commotion. It sounded like muffled yells- then extremely loud screams as Jim’s door is flung open. A woman- Cathy- comes running out with a bedsheet held around her body, screaming and waving her free arm around her head as she pushes past you and runs down the hall. You hesitate, then take a few steps closer, just in time to hear Dwight’s mumbled voice.

“It’s not safe in here, Jim. I think you should room with Cathy for the night.”

You knock on the open door, peaking your head in to see Dwight with a facemask and large rubber gloves, holding two different spray bottles with some weird coloured liquids inside. Dwight was practically in Jim’s face, though at your knock they both turn to look at you. Dwight with exasperation, and Jim with nothing but relief.

“Y/N! Yes, please, save me from this nightmare.” He rushes toward you, taking one of your hands with both of his and practically drowning you with puppy dog eyes. You take in a quick breath before Dwight begins to crowd the both of you.

“No! Nope! No more bodies need to be added to the situation, go flirt outside.” Dwight slams the door closed behind the two of you, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbles up.

“So, naked Cathy and Dwight turn into-”

“Naked Cathy running away clutching a bedsheet and a fully decked-out Dwight spraying my room with mysterious chemicals? I guess so.” You both laugh and you could feel your cheeks heating up at Jim’s attention. “But, seems like I just lost my room.”

“Oh, what a shame,” You mumble, waiting for him to look back into your eyes before your smile grows wider. “So sad… I have a blanket with all this room and no one to share it with.”

Jim’s face lights up and he starts looking up and down the hallway as if your room number would just jump out in front of him. “Wait you finally got a room? That’s amazing, Y/N!”

“We finally got a room,” You insist, then hesitate as he locks eyes with you again, “I mean, if you’re still-”

“Yes!” Jim jumps in, grinning. “I would love to. Should’ve said that to begin with.” You both laugh, and you lead him down the hall to your room. Once inside, Jim begins to take a look around while you grab the remote, pushing yourself onto your bed and settling your back against the bedframe. As you turn on the tv, you start flipping through the channels.

“Shouldn’t you go back and rescue your stuff from Dwight’s wrath?”

“I think I’ll give it a night to air out,” Jim mumbles, settling himself slowly at the head of your bed, scooting in to sit next to you. You settle your channel-flipping on some sort of basketball game. You didn’t know much about it yourself, but nothing else seemed interesting and you knew Jim liked the game.

“So,” You begin, turning your position to face Jim fully. “Tell me all about what happened.” He laughs in response, raising a hand to rub the back of his head.

“Oh, well. I basically told you everything already. After you left I went back to my room and Cathy had apparently decided not to put on any clothes and just jumped under the covers on my bed like she owned the place. I got really sick of all of her flirting, so I tried telling her straight to her face, ‘Cathy, I’m sorry but I’m not interested.’”

“Really? Appropriate, given the circumstances.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She just looked at me like I was crazy and asked if that’s what I thought of her. If I thought she was a whore.” You gasped at the name and Jim nodded, turning to look at you more directly as well. “Of course, I said no. Then she just said ‘Okay good, that’s settled,’ and then continued to flirt with me!”

“No!” You gasped, laughing again. “You did everything including telling her you weren’t interested and she still kept pressing on!”

“Yeah! So I called Dwight back. He came running in with those spray bottles and she tried insisting she didn’t see anything, but when Dwight asked ‘Where’s the bug?’ I didn’t even think about it, I just pointed straight at her.” You widened your eyes, unconsciously scooting closer. You watched Jim track your movement, his grin widening. “She screamed when he started spraying her and jumped off the bed and I thought to myself, ‘Well she got that far, I wonder if she’ll go all the way?’ So then Dwight asked if I saw it and I kept pointing at the sheet she was clutching around herself and-”

“That’s why she ran screaming from your room!” You blurt out, placing your hand on his arm, and then you both begin laughing. “That’s horrible!”

“I know! How could Dwight do something like that!” You laugh harder, shaking your head. After you both manage to calm down, another thought strikes your mind.

“So,” You begin, biting your lip and unsure how to phrase this. “You kept saying that you were sending signals that you obviously didn’t want to do anything with her, right?” You look up toward him, watching his eyes track your lips, realising you're biting them again.

“Uh- well, yeah. Yeah, I did that. It was like she was blind or something.” Jim mumbled, the tips of his cheeks were turning pink and it looked way too nice on him. “Or just, y’know, deliberately ignoring them.”

“What were they?” You ask- mumble, more than anything. Jim hesitates for a second, tilting his head.

“What?”

“What were the signs?” You could see the moment it registers what you’re asking in his eyes when they slightly widen.

“Oh, well. When she originally came in, she jumped on my bed and patted the spot next to her. I ended up sitting on the very corner of it,” He turned to point at the corner of your own bed as if you needed an explanation, then turned back toward you. “But even that felt a bit too much like giving in so I just ended up sort of sliding onto the floor. The entire time she was there I was either standing or sitting on the floor at the end of the bed watching tv.”

“Oh,” You whisper, trying to keep a smile tampered down at the fact that Jim had unflinchingly sat right next to you at the head of the bed. “Well, what else?”

“She tried to bend over directly in front of me.”

“No,” You gasp, laughing again. You hear Jim chuckle a bit before he continues.

“Yeah. I just looked up the whole time, I didn’t want to disrespect her or anything. Then there were the innuendos.”

“O-oh,” You drew out, smirking at him. “Saying innuendos to one Jim Halpert. I’m surprised you could resist her.” He’s quiet after, staring into your eyes. You begin to worry you said the wrong thing before he finally speaks up, his voice sounding a little rough.

“Yeah, maybe if it wasn’t her saying them.” You bite your lip, watching him momentarily before looking away and pretending to watch basketball.

“So what kinds of things did she say then?” As you finally glance back Jim just shrugs, looking quickly at the tv. Was he trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at you? Had he been staring at you? You bite your lip once again, thinking hard. “Ohh, I’m just so cold.” You tried to push your voice into a sultry tone and felt satisfied when Jim turned suddenly, his eyes wide and cheeks red.

“What?”

“That was one of the things she tried, right?” You asked, indicating what you had meant by saying that. You could feel Jim slowly relaxing against you and- wait, against you? When had the two of you got so close that your arms were resting against each other? Your faces were even closer than you remembered and you were beginning to get lost in his eyes.

“Y/N?” You blink a few times, realizing you had zoned out for a moment. If he had answered you, you had definitely missed it.

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help how breathless your voice sounded, and you could only hope that Jim wouldn’t realize why and then leave.

“Are you cold?” His voice was low and rough again and distracted you from the words he said for a few beats too long. Even after, his words had your brain scrambling to a halt, and you could feel your mouth opening and closing- gaping like a fish. How attractive. And yet, through all this Jim maintained how close he was to you. How he was slightly hunching over, his face closer to yours than it maybe should’ve been.

“I- yes,” You answer, nodding your head slowly, in obvious disbelief. “Yes, I’m cold.”

“Would you like help to warm up?” Jim was already shifting slowly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in closer to him.

“Yes, I- I would,” You stutter out, pushing yourself slowly down to lay your head on his chest. Once the both of you were settled, you were essentially laying together on your hotel bed and were cuddling. You were laying on Jim, you could feel his chest rising and falling with breath, and you had your arms wrapped around him to hold him close and he was letting you.

Maybe this trip didn’t turn out so bad after all.

[reotheworld]

bllk characters with an idol!femreader, this has been in buried in the back of my mind lately

everyone is falling for her

❝ shivering, trembling, i want to follow her ❞

➜ bllk boys dating a jpop idol | ft. baro, chigiri, rin, niko

➜ fem!reader

sugar level: 0% & 70%

The moment you two are dating, BARO doesn't even bother and try to hide it. He doesn't care what the public thinks, so why should he hide his love for you? He doesn't care if your dislike him for you, he really doesn't care because as long as he is with you that's all it matters.

The people are just left wondering how you, so soft and cute and pretty on stage be dating someone like Baro who is rough and merciless on the field.

Watchful and hidden cameras always follow yours and his movements, photos of you two entering and leaving restaurants, holding hands and getting into a car inside the parking lot frequent every social media platform.

He knows that your schedules don't often match with each others, but if you come to one of his games while wearing one of his jerseys, he'd be over the moon.

Visual couple. That's what your fans dub you and CHIGIRI the moment the dating news rolled out. How can you two be so pretty? Like wow.

Every time your name is mentioned on interviews, he can't contain the smile that wants to break out of his lips. Your name alone has that effect on him.

If you're in a girl group, he has a good relationship with your other members, even maintaining it. On days he'd drop by to your dorm, he doesn't forget to give them snacks nor forget to greet your manager too.

If you're a soloist, he politely greets the people who work for you - hair and make up artist, road manager, personal assistant and the likes.

Even though it's game season, he doesn't forget to promote your song; putting it on his ig story or taking a screenshot of him streaming it or the music video!

The world was never the same when RIN's manager and your company confirmed the dating news.

It happened so suddenly, it wasn't Rin's intention to hide his love for you in the dark nor a secret, but the amount of hate you were receiving from his so called fans were getting out of hand. And in order to get it under control, he had his manager cooperate with your company to do a legal action against those people who maliciously spread rumors about you online.

He's distant and emotionless when it comes to photoshoots but if he's with you, he'll grace the cameras with some emotion from him.

"I didn't know you could smile, Rin!"

"Shut it."

Doesn't even care if there are thousands of cameras around you two, if he wants to get comfort from you, then he's getting his comfort from you.

NIKO often takes candid pictures of you with his phone. And what does he do with them? He creates new memes! Claims he's helping your fans by creating new memes for them to use.

When it's off season, you can bet that Niko is everywhere with you, being your biggest support system.

Performing your comeback song in a music show? He's in your dressing room with a lightstick in hand. Your song won in a music program? He has the biggest smile on his face as he cheers for you. Doing a v live (rip)? He's behind you, cutely waving at the camera.

Often comes into the practice room with food and drinks. He knows how much effort you put into the choreography and giving life to your performance. If you plan to stay up until the wee hours to practice, then he'll stay with you.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXV. “Mr. Wayne”

parts: previous / next

plot: debuting a new playboy persona, Bruce banks on a moment of reprieve that never comes. after saying goodbye to a friend, you make your way to city hall for a final meeting that leaves both you and the billionaire in a haze.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, anxiety, romantic tension, infidelity/flirting, mention of sexual harassment, mention of illness

words: 7.4k

a/n: a treat of a chapter for everyone 🏹 thank you for continuing to show fateful so much love! adoring the comments and reblogs, it's so fun to see your reactions ✨ soooo much more to come <3

It'd been long enough of occasional high-profile, low-commitment public escapades as Bruce Wayne. With the candidates coming, he felt it deep in his gut he had to show out and perform. He put on his best suit, had Alfred do his hair. He ordered the most expensive cologne he could find (that didn't seem to be oversaturated on the market like Baccarat Rouge; he knew Bruce would need to keep ahead of the trends) as well as the watch. He spritzed Guerlain Tobacco Honey on his wrists, chest, and neck before getting into his Bugatti. He spent so many millions in one week Alfred had checked if this was some sort of mental breakdown. He assured him it was 'only necessary' and 'only temporary', and that these items would eventually make good money at a charity auction.

When he arrived (after making a showy tip to the valet), he made a beeline for the cocktails. He asked the steward to give him a mocktail, quietly, and with a successfully deceiving martini in hand, he moseyed about the room and made small talk in a booming voice. Rich guys aren't afraid to take up space and well, as the richest man in the room...

He sipped his martini as an incredulous man's gaze lingered on his wrist. A moment of hesitation and the man appeared mere inches from his glass. "Mr. Wayne, I couldn't help but notice your Patek. Is that the Philippe Chime?" Hook, line, and sinker. He nodded, as if it were confusing the man would even approach him. He had a split second to deliberate on an asshole persona or a charming one. An easy decision, remembering his family image needed all the support possible after the antics of Edward Nashton. "Ah, a man with good taste."

They chatted for a moment about different watches and stocks (thank god Bruce had remembered to talk to Alfred to get a refresher), until a tall woman in a red silk dress tugged on his elbow. After a small laugh and excusing himself, he turned to face the blue-eyed blonde. Her smile was sparkling white and veneered, and her face didn't move a wink. "Mr. Wayne, excuse me if this is too brash but, I need to know the name of that cologne." She smiled bigger, flit her lashes, and whispered to him. "If you can't tell me, I might just have to replace you with my husband."

Oh this was going to kill him before the night was out. He grinned wider, flashing teeth, and performed a rehearsed laugh; he lowered his voice to match her evocation. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" He winked, internally cringed so hard he thought he'd turn to diamond, and watched as she gave him a once over and walked sultrily back to the man she'd so brazenly been willing to abandon.

He knew he couldn't be seen standing around, and moved swiftly over to a gaggle of men with their martinis delicately in their left hands, positioned just below their breast pocket. The chandelier to his right kept twinkling in his periphery like an omniscient presence.

"Mr. Wayne, this renewed presence of yours..."

This was gonna hurt. "I'm glowing, right?" He flashed a bright smile and all the men grinned and rolled their eyes, their wives blushing demure side glances amongst themselves. Am I going to have to keep this up forever? Good God. He shook his head and leaned his weight on his left hip. Sip, absentmindedly. Look as if perusing through a scrapbook of memories. "There's this spa in Dubai, it does wonders for the spirit. And the body." He laughed again, feeling like he was shoving out the very last oxygen from the deepest well of his chest. "This past Spring I jetted over there for a few week-long stays, nothing crazy."

"Playboy bootcamp, hmm?" A woman in a midnight blue dress stood by Mr. Gavenstein, a popular investment broker on the Northwest side of town. Gavenstein glanced hard at her for a split second before interrupting her seduction. In all honesty he couldn't blame the ladies, remembering from a few summer camps that many upper-class Gothamite girls were raised to marry wealthy—and to lend no concern to things as trivial as loyalty to men who were probably cheating on them anyway.

As Gavenstein talked to the group (but mostly to Bruce), it became difficult to hide his increasingly strained attempts at mellowness. Bruce's first night at one of these city hall meetings a handful of years ago had led to the one and only time he'd gone out with these men, and every single waitress and bartender who served them that night got a side of sexual harassment from the husband himself. The ring his wife wore looked like it'd been longer than a few years since they gave their vows, corroborated by the same subtle chip in the gold of his wedding band. Bruce had made a small comment about the 'strange lack of respect people had for staff', and tipped the servers a few thousand each on the way out. He made it a point to lay as low as possible from that point on.

The man in the same white linen shirt interrupted the reverie by opening the door to the conference room with an announcement. "The meeting will convene in two minutes, but tonight we have an intermission at half time for the candidates to prepare their initial statements."

This schtick wasn't easy, but it was easier now that you weren't here. With the conference room's opening and you nowhere to be found, it left him no choice but to know with surety you'd left back to Washington and cut your losses. He bristled at the thought, but paid it no mind. No one here knew this wasn't the real him; no one here would be scanning to see if his hand was clenched in his pocket to try and metabolize the anxiety of performing. And if someone did notice, he would be able to effectively lie that he'd hurt his hand playing polo. Bridgit wasn't here either, and he let his shoulders relax knowing he wouldn't be grilled until he walked into the foyer of Wayne Tower.

He followed the men into the room with its sturdy, polished mahogany table set, making sure to chatter with the people at his side—until Convoy shot him a confused look as he struggled to control the din and start the meeting. Be annoying, but never rude. Feign innocence, seem to mean well. As embarrassing as it was, he had binged a smattering of critically-acclaimed films all week to prepare his psyche only to realize upon stepping back into this lion's den he'd already studied these men enough to camouflage.

Dr. Vry had been suspiciously apologetic upon your return to her office to grab supplies. She gave you the 'very best' voice recorder, a sparklingly new leather-bound notebook, and 'only the finest' 'Italian' fountain pen. As you hurried out the door she told you to keep everything but the recorder, and 'not to worry' about the price. Her Hermés Birkin bag sat bright and pink in the corner, making a mockery of whatever 'expensive' ink lie in the pen.

While she had largely been unhelpful, she had told you ahead of time that this city hall meeting would be inundated with candidates and their teams, meaning there would be an intermission halfway through meeting time. At seven sharp you'd be in the lobby waiting to whisk him to a room she'd already secured for the fifteen minutes between sessions. The key glimmered on your keyring under the shimmering streetlights as you walked to city hall.

On the way you stopped at Rai's. The store wafted with the familiar warm scent of a perfectly spiced, decadent deli, and he beamed at seeing you again. You grinned and pulled out your wallet to get a container of tabbouleh. Rai, with his deep, reverberating voice, teased you as he took the bills. "Strange woman you are, no lettuce boat! Straight 'bouleh."

"I like the tartness, what can I say?" You watched him scoop up a double helping than the cash you'd given, and felt a pang of sadness. He's the only one that's been consistent my whole time here. The only person that seems to genuinely enjoy my presence. If the two of you hadn't known each other better (coming off of a night of particularly hard partying at Mora's your first term) you might have thought he was simply schmoozing a loyal customer. But Rai had patched you up after icy falls on the way for snacks, chatted with you about early dating troubles, and you'd given him advice on how to care for his sister's elderly cat. When his grandfather had been in the hospital, and he'd received the call as you were checking out some Nutter Butters, you'd covered the rest of his shift without question. You'd had to pull an all-nighter because he'd left the keys on his keychain, but nonetheless.

"Getting ready for another school year?" Rai handed you the tabbouleh and a to-go spoon. You averted your eyes, lost in thought. "No, I'm moving home actually." The statement reminded you that Mar had yet to get back to you officially about moving things tomorrow.

His face fell, his brows pulling together. "Gotham has plenty jobs available." Now he was standing right across from you at the register, his arms crossed around his chest so he could rest closer on his elbows. "Don't tell me this is permanent!"

Anxiety was rising in your chest because you didn't want to say goodbye to him, he was possibly the only good thing in Gotham. C'mon, just uproot your entire family and move your business to nowhere Washington. "My mom is sick, actually." The truth spilled out easily for him, and thankfully no customers came in during your retelling with the tears beginning to streak your cheeks. After a few anguishing moments talking over her prognosis, he walked around the counter to wrap you in a hug. His hand was firm and soothing against your back. "Make sure you do what is best for you. If that means leaving the city, leave the city. But you must take a summer here at least once! I will feed you and your family for free."

You hoped Rai's would still be open if you did ever visit. He was the kindest man you think you'd met here, and it was a blessing he was still open—whenever someone was hungry, he'd feed them. He practically ran his own soup kitchen on the weekends, when the houseless would line up to pick some meals from his deli. As far as you knew he relied wholly on catering jobs to make the bulk of his rent. Do I even want to come back? It felt like Bruce owned this city; as much as you'd pushed back when he'd said Gotham was his, it kind of... was. His family's shadow was cast over every street and alley like a weeping willow; but that wouldn't stop you from visiting Rai. "I'll make sure of it, thanks." You grabbed your tabbouleh and spoon, and walked to the doorway with its little signs and small wind chimes. He smiled and waved at you from the register. "Thanks for being a friend, Rai. See you around!"

"I'm only saying, none of these candidates seem to actually want the best for the city."

"Well we gotta pick one of them, right? Unless one of us wants to run."

The candidates hadn't set foot in the conference room yet the space was alight with debate. Convoy had precipitated the intermission by rallying off the candidates' stances in small blurbs. "Ms. Grange is in favor of tax cuts, Mr. Hady wants to tax the churches, and Mr. March wants to increase taxes on... all of you."

"Can you believe that guy," Gavenstein was two to Bruce's left, and nudged the man closest to him. "Thinks he can waltz in here and empty our pockets." His graying hairs were sculpted fashionably above his ears on either side of his head; Bruce wondered if he painted them on to appear wise.

"The only person in this room left with a decent account would be Wayne." The man to his left chuckled and glanced at Bruce, then leaned back in his chair. Christ. He would've rather watched paint dry, then chipped off a mansion's worth of said paint with a single thumb than hear that noise again.

Bruce wanted to stay out of it, he actually wanted to leave this room forever and never come back, but that wasn't his new M.O. "At least he had the guts to say it to our faces." He got a few shrugs and murmurs before the next guy spoke.

"Grange wants tax cuts, now there I'm willing to listen."

"Hady, an attack on the churches? Isn't that unconstitutional?" The man to Bruce's right spoke like he'd never said the word before, and he stifled a laugh at how blatantly they grasped at straws to sound informed. Like a cold glass of water, Convoy announced it was intermission and to find the lobby for the next few minutes. "Our caterer has prepared ample appetizers for the break. Please enjoy!"

Lincoln... how to avoid him... As he walked out Bruce braced himself for being bombarded by the man, his opponents, and excess reporters. Never spoken to them before, don't have to speak to them now... or did he? Next week. Or the week after. He'd have more than enough time to be interviewed and photographed during the rest of this election cycle. It was already enough for him to burst simply talking with the usual suspects that didn't have a recorder on their person. He'd read up a bit on the candidates in the moments between marathoning movies and deduced a small amount about them, though the blurbs on their campaign sites seemed hastily written. Grange was indeed wanting to cut as many taxes as she could get away with, Hady was set on making sure churches paid equal tax while simultaneously cutting taxes on the elite (seemed personal), and March... well, he just wanted all the rich people to be less rich. Bruce had yet to parse if he was only not bothered by that because he had more money than someone could ever tax away.

The lobby was shockingly crowded. Three individual, large clusters splayed across the room supported the candidates, their teams swarming like flies. Reporters stood with their mics and recorders throughout, some with point-and-shoot cameras limp in their bored hands. The very second he was out of the doorframe, all eyes snapped his direction. This has to get easier eventually, right? Right? He walked to grab another mocktail, counting each step to force his nervous system to regulate. He waited behind a blonde reporter after effectively sussing out whether it was Bridgit back for revenge. He closed his eyes and took some deep, slow breaths. In, out. Innn, outttt, nose, mouth... palo santo? He'd smelled that warmth before.

"Bruce."

He spun around to see you standing with your same recorder, a different notebook, and the same slight reflection under your eyes as when you'd come out of the bathroom the night you'd gone missing. A nauseating blend of relief and anxiety displayed brightly across his face. "Y/N."

Bruce looked as he usually did now, with his perfectly slicked hair that fell just slightly askew across his forehead to look like he'd woken up that way. Only now instead of a suit he donned a dark gray cashmere sweater; it read as fancy as one, due to how expertly it had been fitted to his torso, and the same went for his slacks. You admired the fact he didn't seem wholly catering to the people here, or he'd be decked out in some starchy suit. The only way you could tell he wasn't replaced with a robot was how his face turned up looking at you.

The clock was ticking, and the room was just across the hall. You hadn't thought it would be this busy with reporters—how were you going to get him into the room without suspicion? You adjusted the PRESS badge to be loud and clear across your back, since that's what they'd be seeing. You let the notebook slip slightly to take up more real estate on your silhouette, trying to look as official as possible. "I need an interview with you. I got us a room." You strode past for him to follow in tow, knowing otherwise he'd overwhelm you with questions that would only waste the clock. Heavy footsteps behind you (how was he the picture of stealth in the heavy suit?) alerted you to his compliance.

You messed with keys on your keyring and jammed it into the lock, which was stuck. You expected him to gaff and make a snide comment, but nothing interrupted the silence. A few moments later and the door opened cleanly to a dark conference room about half the size of the one he'd just came from. As he made his way quietly in and shut the door behind him, walking easily to his seat, you grew increasingly suspicious and frustrated. He pulled these emotions out of you so easily it was almost clinical. His compliance frustrates me? I almost want to call him out on it, but we don't have time. In, and out.

The notebook slid across the heavy glass with a small squeak. First page was clean, and you pulled out the insert you'd tucked into the middle. The other half of the table was so silent you had to monitor your periphery to see if he hadn't somehow made a getaway. Unfolding the beige paper in the middle revealed your printed question sheet. You cleared your throat to give the customary announcements you'd role played so much in intro journalism. "I'm with the Gotham Gazette, and this interview will be transcribed and published in next week's paper, both physical and digital." You glanced up to see him sitting nicely with his hands rested together on the table top. Through the streaking in the glass you could see the ghosts of where he had first placed his hands. You drew a deep breath. He makes intimidating eye contact. "Feel free to decline answering any question, all I ask is that you answer things as honestly as possible. Though I may cut answers short if they run long. As this is your first interview we would like things to be as comprehensive as possible, outside of what is already known via public record. As soon as I ask the first question I will hit RECORD." You clicked your pen ready and hovered above the switch. Your hesitation combined with his silent acceptance of this made the room drop twelve degrees. "Is there any topic off limits, Mr. Wayne? You and your team will not be able to edit your answers after the fact."

Mr. Wayne? He clenched his fingers against the backs of his hands. His eyes narrowed, but your eyes were fixated on the ruled paper beneath you. You must've cried on the way here, your tear troughs were still slick. Bad news at home? Scared of him? You'd rather get fired than be in this room talking. What could've brought you back? He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. I'll let you know."

So cordial. You clicked RECORD after landing on an acceptable first question. "Mr. Wayne, this is your first public interview. Why did you choose to break the silence now?" You readied your pen to jot any additional questions that spurred from his answers.

He'd anticipated this question months ago and had an immediate response. "The timing finally feels right. For so long I hid, still feeling trapped by my parent's murder. Now that I've hit 30, well... I realized I need to make myself useful. You could say I finally figured out I didn't have to die with my parents."

Jeez, that's rough. You pressed on with the follow-up without obvious sympathy. "I'm sure many are wondering why the timing was not right after the historic flooding? Gotham was in dire need."

"I didn't want anyone to mistake my intentions. I figured if I were to do public-facing work, it would read as opportunistic. I don't want to capitalize off of tragedy. I spent my time working on the back side of rebuilding."

Hmm, convenient. But you couldn't say that on tape. You still refused to look at him, buried into your notes. You'd seen him in the doorway, how he'd transformed from a recluse to an unapologetic schmooze overnight. On your way to get him at the snack table you'd heard some women talking about flirting with him at the meeting's front end. Was he genuinely as good as he seemed? His intentions only the purest and brightest? You struggled to believe it.

"Speaking of rebuilding, at Gotham University's commencement you announced a desire to invest in Gotham city. Any sneak peeks for your Spring 2025 rollout?"

In truth, he hadn't started. He figured he'd speak to Alfred, get a board meeting set up, meet with his investors, and within a month there would be a budget drawn up for his funds. He figured he could start it early in the new year, but your delicately tamed tongue nor floundering public opinion would be charmed by the honest answer of 'I've put it off'. "Pass."

That bristled you, and for a half-second you seriously considered stopping the tape; but this wasn't personal. It couldn't be.

Why aren't you looking up? So... stoic. Guarded. Sitting down here had happened so quickly, with no fuss or snide commentary. Did Vry outfit you with a shock collar and a mic? As much as he hated your rustling, the stillness was more uncomfortable, eerie even. It was like you had a moat between the both of you, with armed guards ready to fire.

The LED lighting was causing an ache in your temples. Your feet were cramping from walking halfway across town in heels through cobbled streets, and being in a closed room with Bruce was choking out your oxygen. Every time you saw him he grew larger, and tonight was far from the exception. You'd been smacked with his cologne at a ten foot radius, he was actually taking up social space in the foyer, he'd worn well-tailored clothing for once... next question. Ask it. "With efforts towards rebuilding a better Gotham in your near future, we have come to know the business side of you far more than the personal. What brings you joy in your everyday life, away from the cameras?"

These questions were far kinder than he'd anticipated from you. Did Vry... threaten you? He refocused on your question to try and rid of the thought before he blurted it out to you. He didn't know what brought him joy, but it didn't seem the type of question to skip. His heart fell into his chest as he continued to come up empty-handed, no matter how deep he sifted into his memory.

It'd been thirty seconds and still no answer. He'd forced your hand to look up at him, and his face was pale. His eyes moved from left to right as he peered at the center of the table. Does he ever feel joy? When do I feel joy?

If this were any other reporter he would lie. Say he loved meeting with people in the city. Loved traveling. Loved sports. Maybe he woke up every morning with the songbirds, a cup of coffee in his right hand and the daily stock exchange pulled up on his MacBook. Maybe his muscles were from a home gym, playing polo, sparring with his butler. That won't fly with you. But this wasn't about you. Even still, as he tried with utmost desperation to sink it into his skull, he couldn't get the words to form in your presence.

Do I ask him if he heard me? Clarify? "Mr. Wayne," He met your gaze and it constricted your chest. You were afraid. Afraid of him and his influence, afraid of writing a good enough essay, afraid of the time running out, afraid of your mother's condition, afraid for your father if she passed, afraid for yourself and this debilitating loneliness that sat like a brick in your gut.

He spit the word out. "Pass."

God that was sobering. You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, and the room went stale in the silence. A dissonant sensation of camaraderie fluttered between the two of you. You drew a sharp and deep breath. You'd had cramps this morning, your period was on the way. You'd have cried if a dog looked at you the wrong way; this new sympathy was environmentally influenced. Next. Question. "What motivates you?"

He stared at you, blank-faced. When would this facade break? Almost imperceptibly you narrowed your eyes in response. "My parents. I want to make the city safer so no one else has to lose anyone. My parents believed in Gotham. I want to make them proud."

If only they knew their son was an infamous vigilante. Next question. You didn't have this written down, but followed off his last answer. "You speak very fondly of your parents, even after what Riddler said of them. Two months after the tragedy, Commissioner Gordon made a statement on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"

If his response hadn't been succinct and wholly accurate to his feelings, he might have regretted spitting something out without thinking. "My father was a good man. Everything in the statement I gave Gordon can be corroborated. It wasn't right what he did, trying to bribe a reporter into silence, and I do not support that in any circumstance. But that is all that he did. Falcone is the one who decided to threaten and murder an innocent."

You might strike that question in editing, as he didn't add any additional information outside of what was already public record. Glancing at your phone showed that five minutes had already passed. You pressed on. "Speaking of your parents, what positive memory stands out when you think of them?" This would be the last question related to his parents; you gathered it was a kind segue between what was known to the public and comfortable to Bruce, and more personal questions.

Except, it wasn't that easy. Bruce sat in silence again, unable to stir up positive memories. This combination of questions was making him dizzy from shame. How the hell could he not remember a good memory with his parents? He knew he had good memories, he knew there'd been beautiful times with his mom, his dad. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yet... "Pass."

You shut your notebook and turned off the recorder. He watched it like a hawk. "If talking about your parents is off-limits, tell me."

Bruce shook his head, a bit too fast and a bit too hard. "My mind is cloudy tonight."

"Finally gave in and drank on the job?" He certainly hadn't been in line for the food.

He shot a glare at you, a glare that caught the light for a brief second, exposing you to the rich blue of his irises. "Thinking about it." He sat his head in his hands. You were left stunned, looking at the back of his head across the table. Tower Bruce would've said something brutal back to you, maybe even accused you of being an alcoholic. He was unarmored. It was unnerving.

You let the silence sit. He stayed with his nose nearly touching the table, his hands massaging the back of his neck, slowly, thoroughly, painstakingly. For the first time since knowing him you felt like you were sharing space with an actual human... nah, not quite. He still stalked my family. When he looked like this though, this was his greatest defense against being found out. Batman didn't read as sensitive or lost in troubled thoughts. The same muscles rippled down his shoulders and back, but the bullets had been removed from the gun.

The silence went on, and it must've been another two minutes passed staring at him. You could've color picked his hair at a Home Depot you'd been so well acquainted with its hue. You remembered you hadn't truly responded to him when he'd told you why he paid for your parent's debt. You gripped the sides of the chair and broke the extended silence. "Was it true what you said about your, motive?"

He roused, barely. His eyes were tired, his body limp like a ragdoll. More hair had fallen across his forehead, and after the impromptu neck massage his clothes looked a bit haggard, wrinkled in new places and scrunched up just below his ribcage. He wanted to clarify what you meant about motive, but he didn't want to give you the glee of knowing he had no idea what you were talking about. His body was melting in front of you, relaxing until he became one with the chair, but his mind was frantic and frayed. Motive about Batman? Motive about wanting to help Gotham? Why weren't you asking him more interview questions? Why were you here?

The silence had been too long and you already regretted asking him. You flicked the recorder back ON. "Mr. Wayne,"

"Y/N."

OFF. "That's not professional,"

"I never officially agreed to this anyway."

"What do you mean? Dr. Vry said—"

"What did she say?"

"She told me you'd only talk to me."

"Why would I only talk to you?"

This felt strangely reminiscent of when you'd awoken in his bed. Anything that connected the both of you was tossed aside like a rotten, wormy apple by the billionaire. You hoped he felt too accosted to recognize the hurt in your tone. "She said you asked for me, Bridgit said,"

He rolled his eyes. "I couldn't tell them I was worried,"

"Why?"

"You left in the middle of the mission."

"I left a note."

His scoff echoed off the whiteboard. "I'm supposed to trust that?"

He pissed you off so easily. Leaving me alone in an alleyway, expecting me to just stay put? After he'd effectively bribed me? "You're lucky I left anything at all."

"Lucky..." He laughed as he shook his head. The guts of you.

The nerve on him. You tucked your chin up and away from him. "What tech did you use to find me?"

This again. "Nothing."

I'm supposed to believe that? "Sure."

"I waited until the next meeting. When you didn't show,"

"You asked where I was, okay, I get it." There was a part of you that believed Bruce, or at least wanted to; a part of you that begged to turn off your brain and naively believe all the pretty words from the pretty man so you wouldn't have to feel so on edge. If you believed him, you weren't supposed to listen to the frustration, the lashing out, the way he spit his words at you graduation night. You were supposed to kindly follow him into the dark and abandoned streets of Gotham night life. He'd only accidentally seen your texts, looked you up, found your mother's doctor, and put his card on file, and all out of the kindness of his heart. It had nothing to do with you knowing information that could land him behind bars. He didn't do bribes. He was just another upstanding citizen who spent his nights breaking people's jaws.

"How dumb do you think I am?" If this was really your last night here, he really had no answers, and he really wouldn't hurt you, nothing would come from a little hotheadedness.

He struggled to size you up. "What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, my mom's sick. But I don't think you're out here filling up GoFundMe's—why me?"

"I don't know."

"How could it not be a bribe? Do you regularly pay other people's medical bills?"

You'd backed him into a corner... or maybe he had. "I felt compelled."

"Because I know confidential information about you."

You weren't not making sense, it just wasn't what had happened inside his head. He didn't know what happened in his head, besides his snaring, insistent fixation on how quickly you'd found him out. "I don't think that played a part."

"This is why I asked if you think I'm an idiot, because? You 'don't think' it did?" Your fingers made air quotes for good measure.

"I don't have a good answer for it."

"That's not the same as not having one."

He loathed to admit it, but you had a strong point. When you put it so frankly it begged suspicion. "Maybe I believed you more than I thought. A thank you instead of bribery." Your blank face compelled him to speak again. "Saying you wouldn't tell."

"Then why were you so mad at me that night? When you found me?"

How could he navigate away from this conversation as quickly as possible while evading your suspicions? What would he do if you asked why he'd needed your help? "I was having a rough time."

"You seemed to really not believe me."

"I was in my head."

"So what's it now?”

He barely heard you through cascading thoughts. He liked being seen; he hadn't internalized it, maybe because he couldn't fathom accepting it even months after the fact, but it felt relieving to be known. Well... equal parts relieving and terrifying. What if you knew the only reason he was here right now was because you found him out? He shrugged, a move that was too casual for you. "I hope you won't."

You glanced at your phone again and saw it'd been over ten minutes. Any moment now someone could come looking for him and your window would be gone. If he were any less analytical, you might have thought he read your mind. "The meeting resumes any minute."

"Then let's use what we have." You slammed open your notebook and tried to find a question that wasn't related to his parents, childhood, or any positive emotions. You paused before pressing RECORD, begrudgingly asking for consent to interview, since apparently Dr. Vry hadn't cleared it with the man. "Are you fine with doing this interview?"

What choice did he have? He feared Vry would never lay off of him (or you, if it mattered) if he were to deny you. And if he were being completely honest, who would he be at all willing to talk to outside of you? You were aggravating and abrasive, but because of that he was allowed to turn 'off', even if just a bit. As his mouth opened to say a begrudged yes, he came to a peculiar standstill—in that he realized he might have deflected interviews all this time as a coping mechanism. Maybe he didn't have a personality outside of the Batman, and Batman himself was only borne of tragic grief. He didn't know what propelled him to honesty, but he averted his eyes and did just that. "I don't think I have answers."

The tone in which he said it brought back the earlier sympathy pang tenfold. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a desire to poke fun and steamroll past the palpable despair in the room, but you were finished fighting. You'd be home tomorrow night, and soon the only thing on your mind would be making a life for yourself away from Gotham. This place had served its purpose, turning black and burnt as you further overstayed your welcome. This city was so big and you so gone from it you could crash into a building and abandon the car in Kansas without being caught; what meaningful consequence could come from being temporarily kind to someone who would forget you in the next five years? He didn't have answers, and that was... fine. "You have a good reason to feel that way."

He knew you were talking about the murder of his parents, and suspected this was some sort of personal comparison. After some deliberation, he went for it. "And you don't?"

You wanted to retort something about how he didn't know anything about your relationship with your parents, your life, or general wellbeing, so much so that it sat on the tip of your tongue like a yellowjacket freshly landed on its target. You cooled its vice grip by considering just how fucked up you'd feel if you'd seen your parents get shot to hell lying in a pool of their own bloody excrement. "My parents didn't get murdered in front of me."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't want pity. I've had enough of it."

"No, I'm saying it makes sense. Grief is..." You shook your head and sighed. "Strangling. All-consuming."

Shit. He'd expected you to say 'just get over it'. Thankfully he didn't have to scramble much before a hard KNOCK took the space. Foregoing polite hesitation, Mr. Convoy entered. "Mr. Wayne! We thought you might have flown the coop." A watery grin. "Please, the candidates are settling into the conference room." He glanced for a moment around the smaller, darker room you three stood in. "Well, the main conference room."

Convoy held the door open wide and a hand out to mime leaving, obviously anticipating Bruce would simply follow orders and stand to attention. No acknowledgement of you. He didn't like that. When he rose, following a squick of the seat, Convoy stepped just outside the doors in waiting. The door was wide open, and by the way his eyes tracked the floor in front of him he was very much still listening. He maneuvered round the table and hovered at your side, facing the door that was to your back. He spoke quietly, but loud enough that Convoy wouldn't think he was listening in on a secret. "Next week. Should have more time."

You'd gotten yourself into this mess by opening a can of worms. Frustrated and kicking yourself, you groaned. "This has to be in by tomorrow at 9am." Once again he was filling your periphery; you tried not to breathe through your nose, suspicious that the warmth of the honey could subconsciously warm you to him. His brows knit together as they so often did, and you felt a jump in your gut.

"Mr. Wayne?" Convoy peeked his head in and startled Bruce, whose fingers clenched momentarily, reflexively moving toward a fist. God, he's so Batman. "They'll be closing the doors soon."

"It's fine, I'll talk to Dr. Vry before I leave. It's my fault, I'll rip the bandaid off." You stood up and gathered your things. She's gonna hate me for this, but I never have to see her again. I never should've lied. I never should've felt entitled, I could've done anything and I chose this fucking mess. You could already tell you were going to have a miserable rest of the night, but at least you didn't have to type up an interview anymore.

Leave? He glanced down the hall to see the doorman looking befuddled in his direction, but there were still a few stragglers making their way in. He calculated he had about thirty seconds before attention was glaringly drawn to his absence.

You pushed your chair in and it slammed against the corner of the table, smashing your pointer and middle fingers. Bruce tracked the movement, like he always did, and you noticed it, like you always did. "She'll be angry."

Now it was your turn to shrug something off. "Can't get fired twice." Vaguely aware of Mr. Convoy's presence, you held out your hand and forced your eyes to make contact with his, the motion as heavy as lifting a slab of concrete. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne."

His hand was warm and strong. He pulled some vetiver from your perfume. His eyes were such a gentle, crystalline blue that for a nanosecond, you forgot they were his. If they weren't, you could've stared into them all night. And your eyes, they were enchantingly bright and equally deep. For no longer than a brief moment, a single split hair, something sacrilegious flickered in your eye and reflected back in his.

Quick breath in, arms back to position.

Walking out of the room felt like a hard reset. The ping-pong game of emotions Bruce had just pulled out of you was erratic. Frustration, anger, sadness, camaraderie, helplessness, defiance, sympathy, and... You barely remembered what either of you had said at all. It felt... weird. You felt doused in a blanket of sticky emotional sweat, the most peculiar, offputting sensation you'd ever felt. Mr. Convoy led Bruce towards the foyer, and by the time you finished locking up he'd been swarmed by women who pet his forearm with their long, delicate fingers. You noticed his left hand tucked away into his slacks, tense and clenched. He glanced back and caught your stare at his pocket, and deja vu grabbed him by the throat.

You took the back exit, but he couldn't linger on it. He strolled into the room and sat down, this time not by Lincoln, who was standing third in line by Grange and Hady. He flexed his hand beneath the table, his left hand absentmindedly tracing the inside of his palm; slow, swirling zigzags painted across the high points down to his wrist. He tapped his foot impatiently, revved up and jittery.

Grange was first up, standing at a haphazardly placed podium. Her assistant adjusted the mic and handed over a folder, presumably filled with projective data and other persuasive elements for the bored elitist crowd. As much as he wanted to tether himself to this conversation, echoes of his dad's voice tempting him to cling to every word said by the candidates, his mind was with you. In a few minutes you'd be long gone, never able to be contacted again. Every second he sat in this stiff chair was a foot's more distance between the both of you.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for hearing me tonight." Her midwestern accent only pushed the words further out of active listening territory. His foot tapped anxiously, each sentence increasing its fervor. You could be in an Uber by now. Already at your hotel room.

"I differ from the other candidates in my distinctive approach to city taxes. I'll be passing around a chart showing..." Her voice completely left his head as her silver cufflink glinted off the fluorescents. The insignia taunted him, its beak and feathers embedded under his epidermis, just searching for a vein to latch onto.

Fuck. He stood so abruptly the security nearly lunged at him from the doorway. His chest was heaving and there was nothing he could do about it. His brow beaded with sweat, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stammered a response to save face. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Carry on, please." He was already out the door.

Frantic eyes traced the perimeter of the room; reporters whipped their heads up, and a quick glance to the entry revealed a steady stream of paparazzi fighting for the sliver of window. You'd left through the back. He sped toward the hallway in a desperate haze, his good sense rapidly falling by the wayside as he turned the corner to the emergency exit. The instant mildewed, cool air smacked his cheek he broke down the alleyway; a paparazzi had been looking down a side alley from the front of city hall and noticed Bruce's rush. His name shouted behind him, then a cacophony of scuffling feet and metal. He broke into a sprint, the slick soles of his dress shoes struggling against the wet pavement. He careened down side streets, cloaked in shadow from ill-wired streetlamps, his eyes busy with a constant scan for your silhouette. Universe willing, he would—found you.

[goodqueenaly]

Who do you think Hoster was looking at for Lysa, before the Petyr Incident? There are relatively few Lords Paramount, and most of them and their heirs were taken. Would he consider his own bannermen? Other people's? Maybe a cross match back to the Whents?

We know whom Hoster wanted Lysa to marry in the months (and perhaps years) leading up to the tourney of Harrenhal:

Jaime, meantime, had spent four years as squire to Ser Sumner Crake-hall and earned his spurs against the Kingswood Brotherhood. But when he made a brief call at King's Landing on his way back to Casterly Rock, chiefly to see his sister, Cersei took him aside and whispered that Lord Tywin meant to marry him to Lysa Tully, had gone so far as to invite Lord Hoster to the city to discuss dower.

"You asked me to reward you for your efforts in the battle," Lord Tywin reminded him forcefully. "This is a chance for you, Tyrion, the best you are ever likely to have." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "I once hoped to marry your brother to Lysa Tully, but Aerys named Jaime to his Kingsguard before the arrangements were complete. When I suggested to Lord Hoster that Lysa might be wed to you instead, he replied that he wanted a whole man for his daughter."

Jaime could see archers moving behind the merlons on the castle ramparts. Above them streamed the banners of House Tully, the silver trout defiant on its striped field of red and blue. But the highest tower flew a different flag; a long white standard emblazoned with the direwolf of Stark. "The first time I saw Riverrun, I was a squire green as summer grass," Jaime told his cousin. "Old Sumner Crakehall sent me to deliver a message, one he swore could not be entrusted to a raven. Lord Hoster kept me for a fortnight whilst mulling his reply, and sat me beside his daughter Lysa at every meal."

What Hoster imagined for Lysa between the tourney and the outbreak of Robert’s Rebellion (as well as her pregnancy by Peter Baelish, whenever Lysa revealed that vis a vis the start of the war) is uncertain, though I think it’s important to keep a few points in mind. Number one, this period was likely pretty short, certainly relatively speaking; if the “false spring” of 281 AC lasted only two months, and baby Aegon was born by the end of 281 AC or, at the latest, at the very very beginning of 282 AC, there may have been only a handful of months for Hoster to consider Lysa’s marital future before the next major bombshell on the political scene (followed by the more personal, but perhaps nearly equally shocking to Hoster, bombshell of Lysa’s pregnancy news). However long Hoster had been considering and planning the now-impossible Lysa-Jaime match, I doubt he had nearly as much time post-tourney to think about what he was going to do with Lysa nuptially. There were likely, as you mention, no obvious replacements who would serve the aims of the southron ambitions bloc, nor any obvious candidates Hoster may have considered sufficiently grand enough to match with the future sister-in-law of the Lord of Winterfell and indirect relation by marriage to the Lord of Storm’s End (and that’s without Hoster perhaps worrying that any marriage he arranged for Lysa too quickly after the tourney would be seen as trying to hush up a scandal - Hoster trying too hard to prove that Lysa was desirable, when Jaime Lannister had for all appearances chosen to go celibate rather than marry her). Indeed, that Hoster summarily and haughtily rejected Tyrion as a bridegroom for Lysa, presumably in this pre-war period, demonstrates that Hoster was not feeling so anxious about Lysa’s future that he needed to rush into just any aristocratic marriage for her (certainly not that he and a number of other Westerosi lords considered an insult).

Maybe more importantly, certainly from a political perspective, Hoster may have been less interested in trying to broker a match for Lysa in this period and more interested in performing damage control and shoring up the future with his allies in the southron ambitions power bloc. To all the world - certainly all or virtually all the attendees at Harrenhal -  Rhaegar had looked like he was trying to make Lyanna Stark his mistress, grossly publicly insulting Robert Baratheon and the Starks (among others) - and with the Starks the fulcrum of the southron ambitions bloc, Hoster may have feared that the web of nuptial alliances on which that bloc rested its future was in jeopardy. Too, with the king and his heir so dramatically and publicly at odds - and with Aerys so shockingly declined in appearance and personality, as evidenced by his attendance at the tourney - Hoster may have suspected that open conflict between the king and the crown prince leading to civil war, or a proxy conflict for their antagonism erupting into civil war, would come sooner rather than later; if the ultimate aim of the southron ambitions power block was to change the political power dynamic between the Iron Throne and its major vassals, this sort of conflict may have seemed like the ideal, or only, opportunity to do so. Securing the bloc before any move would be undertaken would mean securing those established and planned, but not yet completed, marital alliances - first Brandon and Catelyn, then Robert and Lyanna. Perhaps, in this flurry of politico-nuptial activity, Hoster considered the identity of Lysa’s future husband of secondary importance; Lysa, still only in her early teens, was not so old (even by Westerosi standards, *eyeroll*) that Hoster needed to fear her being left a spinster while he attended to what he may have considered more pressing matters.

[qs63]

Hello, your previous post on State Alchemists really piqued my interest, thanks a lot for sharing that! Do we know more about the (annual?) exam they have to take to keep their license? For example, how does Roy keep his? Does he need to constantly innovate his alchemy?

Thank you, as always <3

Hello there!

There's sadly not a lot of information about this in canon. This paragraph from the first perfect guide is all we have in terms of an actual explanation:

To become a State Alchemist, you must pass four tests: written exam, practical exam, psychiatric evaluation, and interview. Furthermore, even after obtaining national qualifications, it is not possible to enjoy the benefits without doing anything. Once a year, candidates are required to undergo an assessment based on a report and practical skills, and if they do not receive a good evaluation, they may be disqualified. Research papers are often written using codes so that others cannot understand them.

So it's more of an annual evaluation rather than an exam, and all they're required to submit is a report. What they're required to report we don't know, but we have one mention of it in the manga:

So the report must not be too detailed and strict, otherwise Ed wouldn't get away with bullshiting it on a train ride. However, we do know the assessment itself is not a joke because of the whole Shou Tucker fiasco. So… how are Ed and Roy passing it so easily, and what are they reporting?

I discussed this with @scienceoftheidiot once and we concluded that the State Alchemist research probably works just like any public funded academic research in the real world. I'm not in academia, so I'll let you ask her how that works. In this scenario Roy and Ed would have to report every year that they have done research that's beneficial to the military.

HOWEVER.

There's a catch in the explanation from the perfect guide. They evaluate based on a report AND practical skills. The practical skills part is very important. We see Ed, Roy, and Armstrong constantly use their alchemy in combat for the benefit of the military. As I understand it, THIS is the practical use of alchemy, and it counts as part of their annual evaluation.

That means Roy, Ed, Armstrong, and all the other State Alchemists with combat expertise can get away with reporting a lot less than the theoretical alchemists like Marcoh and Shou Tucker. These last two can only prove their worth in knowledge, while the former can prove their worth with actions.

The most likely scenario here is that Roy and Ed are just reporting all the incidents where they helped the military with their alchemy (Liore, Youswell, the train terrorists, etc), as opposed to developing new alchemy research every year. That would explain how Ed can get away with writing the report on a train ride and why there's a CLEAR bias towards combat alchemy among the State Alchemists. It's just easier to keep the license with practical skills than with pure research.

Of course, Roy could choose to report any new alchemy research he develops (and canon does say he performs research and has notes. We just don't know the subject). But let's be honest… Why would he if he can get away with less? lol

I hope that answers your question! Thanks, this is always so much fun to write. 😁

[tumblingxelian]

I saw a post earlier today that really kinda got my goat so to speak so I wanted to re-post my take without starting shit on tumblr dot com.

I categorically disagree with the idea that Adam was ever planned to be the main leader of the White Fang pre coup.

We meet Adam leading what was suppose to be a resource acquisition mission that he turned into an attempted mass murder for shits and giggles because he is a blood thirsty idiot.

Not only is that incredibly wastefully and politically stupid of him, it is also not reflective of what Blake described the White Fang's methodology as during Volumes 1. IE the methods that actually were working and were introduce by said new leader which Adam was blatantly ignoring.

It also makes clear his relationship with Blake is awful given the manipulation, the lies, the dismissal and using her as a shield, and maniacal cackling ETC.

The second time we see Adam its in volume 2 right after its revealed that a ton of Faunus died because of Cinder's plan and Mercury wonders if they will still obey. Adam arrives and promising to continue throwing his people's lives away for Cinder. Making it quite clear where Adam stands on the subject while showing the White Fang itself lacks any loyalty to Cinder.

Before V3 we have two possible mentions, one being the silhouettes in V1, one of which could be argued to represent Adam, but also contained two other people. & the masks reference which, if Adam was the leader, you'd think Blake would just say it was an idea their leader came up with. The fact she didn't should make it clear to any viewer that Adam was just popular, but not in charge.

Going into V3, we already know he's fine throwing Faunus lives away for Cinder, so anything he says when rejecting Cinder needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Yeah Adam wasn't just gonna work with some random human cos he doesn't like humans and his people are watching so his behavior is performative. Cinder leaves, then returns and makes it clear she can kill him if he doesn't obey and he instantly bows because, shock and horror the manipulative abuser is not actually all that brave when its 'his' ass on the line, setting the stage for what we already know happens by V2.

Adam was never meant to be the leader, Adam was never a genuine revolutionary, Adam was always an abusive cowardly liar and manipulator seeking power and appeasement for himself.

Losing Sienna was a tragedy and genuinely a huge mistake on the writers part and Ghira taking over again is in no way ideal, but Adam is not some tragic loss. He's one of a dime a dozen would be revolutionaries who only care about the 'revolution' for their own ends. Any passing glance at historical revolutions and rebel movements will show people like him.

One can criticize the White Fang plotline without needing to big up someone like Adam; just like one can endorse revolutionaries without advocating for war crimes. Discuss Sienna and how she could have been introduced earlier or avoid her demise. Bring up how Ilia's arc could have potentially led her to being the one leading a revitalized White Fang. Or how Blake herself could potentially have taken the reigns more overtly, as challenging as that might be to portray given the overall plot line.

There's plenty of ways to emphasize the new generation, and tackling bigotry head on without raising Adam as a viable candidate and especially without engaging in historical revisionism as to his slated role in the series proper.

[bonefall]

Have you considered Claw taking down a boar for The Frenzy? I’m not sure if you already had plans with how to deal with it after it attacks Willowpelt, but if it survives Claw could go after it to try and secure his leadership. Since he would continue friendly relations with the Clans, doing something to strengthen that relationship seems like something he could do. I’m not sure exactly how a boar steps up to a dog danger-wise, but thinking about Deadfrost and Shredtail it would probably be a fair bit more difficult. Either way, it overshadowing what Fury was trying to do would help with her backing down from finishing her task, and to allow Ferncould a second to have a fun lil bout of murder while Fury is heading back to BloodClan.

I thought offhandedly about doing something with a boar but dismissed it... but now that you mention it again...

Let me explain a few things about the Frenzy, and how BB!BloodClan passes on leadership now, so that it makes a bit more sense.

THE FRENZY is an event that is triggered when the previous leader of BloodClan either dies, or announces their intent to retire. In this situation, Scourge announces that he wishes to retire.

There are two jobs in BloodClan; Problems and Solvers. There are 5 ranks-- but only a Problem marks these ranks with teeth in their collar.

BloodClan is ruled by three cats; the Head Problem, the Head Solver, and the Leader.

The Frenzy decides who will become the Leader. It can be anyone who's maximum rank, but the event and rules of the Clan HEAVILY skew towards Problems ending up as Leader.

To win leadership, you must accomplish the most impressive feat of all candidates. This is judged by the three heads of BloodClan, or, as many as are currently alive to rule this (in the case of the previous leader dying, not retiring.)

The leader may choose their heir, if they so desire, and offer them one of the "achievements" from their own collar. If no other candidate can perform a more impressive feat, this Heir will win by default.

So for Claw, Scourge has given him a HUGE leg up. Claw has been given the Tooth of Samwise, so anyone who wants to win against him must do something more impressive than killing a dog.

This must be about Fury. She is seeking a way to beat Claw for the throne of BloodClan, and killing a boar is MUCH more impressive than killing a dog. A boar tusk is even larger than a dog's tooth, and an old boar is much more dangerous. Willowpelt is also the Head of Hunting at this period in time, so she could help Fury with this.

The reason why I was iffy on it was that... this is a very legitimate way to win power, and emphasizes that Fury is here to learn more from Clan cats. What would be so bloodthirsty about that, and why would Willowpelt do so much hiding? Unless she planned to Do A Shredtail and sacrifice cats as boar bait, of course.

Which I COULD do, but something doesn't feel... snappy enough about it. It's about the DRAMA, y'know? It's about Willowpelt being brought onto Fury's side because she promises she will bring BloodClan back into isolation, but knowing that Fury definitely has something ulterior planned.

(Also side note: The boar that bites Willowpelt just before Firestar leaves is hit and killed by a car. However, it was a yearling boar. I can happily just bring in its mother, looking for her son.)

Something about it isn't going OOMPH yet. I gotta keep thinking about it...

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pat Byrnes :: @thePatByrnes

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 5, 2024 (Friday)

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUL 06, 2024

For all that certain members of the media continue their freakout over Biden’s electability after his appearance in last Thursday’s event on CNN, it is Trump and his Republicans who appear to be nervous about the upcoming election. 

Journalist Jennifer Schulze of Heartland Signal noted today that as of 8:00 this morning, the New York Times had published 192 pieces on Biden’s debate performance: 142 news articles and 50 opinion pieces. Trump was covered in 92 stories, about half of which were about the Supreme Court’s immunity ruling. Although Trump has frequently slurred his words or trailed off while speaking and repeatedly fell asleep at his own criminal trial, none of the pieces mentioned Trump’s mental fitness. 

But for all of what independent journalists are calling a “feeding frenzy,” egged on by right-wing media figures, it seems as if the true implications of Project 2025 are starting to gain traction and the Trump campaign recognizes that the policies that document advocates are hugely unpopular. 

On July 2, Heritage Foundation president Kevin Roberts assured Trump ally Steve Bannon’s followers that they are winning in what he called “the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be.” In March, Roberts told former Trump administration official and now right-wing media figure Sebastian Gorka about Project 2025: “There are parts of the plan that we will not share with the Left: the executive orders, the rules and regulations. Just like a good football team we don’t want to tip off our playbook to the Left.” 

This morning, although Roberts has described Project 2025 as “institutionalizing Trumpism,” Trump’s social media feed tried to distance the former president from Project 2025. “I know nothing about Project 2025. I have no idea who is behind it,” the post read. Despite this disavowal of any knowledge of the project, it continued: “I disagree with some of the things they’re saying and some of the things they’re saying are absolutely ridiculous and abysmal. Anything they do, I wish them luck, but I have nothing to do with them.” 

In what appeared to be a coordinated statement, the directors of Project 2025 wrote on social media less than two hours later that they “do not speak for any candidate.”  

Aside from the fact that “[a]nything they do, I wish them luck,” sounds much like the signaling Trump did to the Proud Boys when he told them to “stand back and stand by,” Trump’s assertion and Project 2025’s response can’t possibly erase the many and deep ties of the Trump camp to Project 2025. Juliet Jeske of Decoding Fox News noted that Trump’s name shows up on more than 190 pages of the Project 2025 playbook. 

Rebekah Mercer, who sits on the board of the Heritage Foundation, was one of Trump’s top donors in 2016; her family founded and operated Cambridge Analytica, the company that misused the data of millions of Facebook users to push pro-Trump and anti-Clinton material in 2016. Trump’s national press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, has appeared in a Project 2025 video. Trump’s own super PAC has been running ads promoting Project 2025, calling it “Trump’s Project 2025,” and many of its policies—killing the Department of Education, erasing the separation of church and state, ending renewable energy programs and ramping up use of fossil fuels, deporting immigrants—are also Trump’s.

Project 2025’s director, Paul Dans, as well as both of its associate directors, Spencer Chretien and Troup Hemenway, were in charge of personnel in Trump’s White House, and the theme of Project 2025 is that “people are policy,” by which they mean that hand-picked loyalists must replace civil servants. Trump’s former body man John McEntee, who reentered the White House as a senior advisor after having to leave because he failed a background check, was in charge of hiring in the last months of the Trump White House; he helped to draft Project 2025. Key Trump ally Russell Vought wrote the section of Project 2025 that called for an authoritarian leader; he is also on the platform committee of the Republican National Convention. 

If indeed Trump knows nothing about Project 2025 and has no idea who is behind it, his cognitive ability is rotten. As former chair of the Republican National Committee Michael Steele wrote, “Since [Project 2025] is designed to institutionalize Trumpism and you know nothing about it, then why do you echo some of its policy priorities during your rallies? Coincidence? And how exactly don’t you know that Project 2025 Director Paul Dans served as your chief of staff at the Office of Personnel Management, and Associate Director Spencer Chretien served as your special assistant and associate director of presidential personnel? And folks say we should be worried about Biden.”

Trump’s attempt to distance himself from Project 2025 indicates just how toxic that plan is with voters. As political scientist Ian Bremmer dryly noted, it seems that “the second [A]merican revolution apparently [is] not polling as well as the first in internal focus groups.” Former Republican strategist Rick Wilson was even more direct, saying that Trump was trying to distance himself from Project 2025 because “most of it polls about like Ebola,” the deadly virus that causes severe bleeding and organ failure, and has a mortality rate of 80 to 90%.

The extremism of the MAGA Republicans was on display in another way today as well after The New Republic published a June 30 video of North Carolina lieutenant governor Mark Robinson, currently the Republican nominee for governor of North Carolina, saying to a church audience about their opponents—whom he identified in a scattershot speech as anything from communists to “wicked people” to those standing against “conservatives”—"Kill them! Some liberal somewhere is gonna say that sounds awful. Too bad!... Some folks need killing! It's time for somebody to say it.” 

Today the Vatican turned against one of those extremists when it excommunicated pro-Trump archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò, who was the Vatican’s diplomat to the U.S. from 2011 to 2016, for “schism” after he refused to recognize the authority of Pope Francis. Viganò has repeatedly attacked Francis’s Catholic Church for being “inclusive, immigrationist, eco-sustainable, and gay-friendly.”

Also today, Trump’s lawyers asked Judge Aileen Cannon, who is overseeing Trump’s criminal trial for retaining hundreds of classified documents, to dismiss charges that can no longer be prosecuted in light of the Supreme Court’s decision that a president cannot be charged for crimes committed while engaging in “official acts.” They also called the case “politically motivated” and asked Cannon to stop the case entirely in light of Justice Clarence Thomas’s suggestion that Special Counsel Jack Smith was not properly appointed.

The other big news today was that the U.S. added 206,000 jobs in June, bringing the total number of jobs created under this administration to 15.7 million. Last month’s numbers were, once again, higher than economists expected and, according to economic analyst Steven Rattner, above job growth levels before the pandemic. He added that these jobs are not simply a bounceback from the depths of the pandemic: 6.2 million more Americans are employed now than before Covid hit. 

Poking fun at the calls for Biden to step down, conservative lawyer George Conway posted: “Biden needs to RESIGN NOW before any more of these terrible job things are created.”

In a speech today in Madison, Wisconsin, Biden vowed to stay in the race, and the speech appeared strong enough that right-wing extremists, including Senator Mike Lee (R-UT) and activist Laura Loomer, posted on social media—falsely—that he was having a medical emergency aboard Air Force One. Tonight, George Stephanopoulos of ABC interviewed Biden without a teleprompter or notes, focusing only on Biden’s age without any questions about policy. ABC News posted the interview transcript with the president’s conversation portrayed the “g”s dropped off the words and with other colloquial pronunciations spelled out, as if it were dialect. Trump, whose words the press tends to turn into clean prose, has refused to do an interview under the same conditions.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON