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peeterparkr · 2 years

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all roads lead to;tom holland;one

one: Tom...eo and Juliet.

story summary: when your long time boyfriend breaks up with you and leaves you to find himself in Italy because you’re not spontaneous enough, you follow him to prove him wrong. Along the way you meet Tom , who recently went through a breakup himself, and might help you believe hate at first sight exists. Your trip trying to find your ex in small italian towns will become a desperate call for help, trying to help your new enemy get his relationship back by fake dating, sharing beds, getting lost and finding romance in dubious spots; all while falling in love with the country and the romance of it. Will your trip help you find your ex, yourself, your Romeo and Juliet story or finally lead you to Rome?

New series: fluff, smut, angst-ish (not really)

pairing: tom holland x writer!reader

tropes: enemies to lovers, fake dating, only one bed, road-trip, love triangle (or square), very rom com, idiots to lovers, oops-we-kissed, italian cliches from Hollywood

chapter summary: what is love? (baby don't hurt me) word count: 7.8

playlists: Italian vibes | y/n's breakup

wanna be tagged?

masterlist prologue|next chapter hi, sorry it took so long life happened, but heeeeyoo here it is! the first chapter <3 comment, reblog and tel me if you like it

It’s supposed to get easier by the time. That’s what they say. Time heals.

When does it heal? Tom could only wonder. When is time enough?

How long do you need to be healed? Had enough time gone by? When is it supposed to be when time starts healing? Because time goes slow and too fast. But it never seems to be enough.

The clock becomes an enemy when you’re supposed to be healing, like it’s carrying a big sword to dig the wound. To kill, slowly and steady. Ticking each and every hour. With each tick, it digs and with every tock it pulls.

It kills.

Tom was dying. Everyone is, really. Death comes as the only certain thing in one’s life. Not love, not even life. Death is the only thing that is certain. And what a bummer to be thinking about that.

However, Tom felt like he was dying, slowly, and steady. Time was announcing his death. And it had been that way for a while but he decided to ignore it. He decided that eventually, time would heal him.

And time couldn’t come faster.

Currently he had decided to die, sporadically. He had decided that dying with strangers was not the option. A year and a half ago he decided that he would die with only one person.

Yet, like everything else. The relationship died.

Of course, he had been meaning to break up with Giulia for a while but she’d broken up with him before he had planned it and he probably was being over dramatic as he usually was. Yet it was harder each day. A bad omen to an expected and early death. She’d killed his pride.

And it had been harder that particular day. Waking up to the news he’d be sharing his apartment with a couple who might be engaged isn’t the news he had been eager to hear. A couple who was so in love that might be or might get engaged.

It was life laughing at him. As if saying that he couldn’t get it. Laughing at his misfortunes. Tom had never felt love, he always escaped before he could feel anything.

Yet Giulia had been the closest thing to it. But he feared that he had to settle. He had wanted to break up with her and yet he was miserable, how easily had Giulia accepted it. And how she had turned his own breakup against him.

So if the closest thing to love didn’t feel the same. How could he believe in it?

Tom had decided years ago that he did not believe in love. How could he? The unexplainable reason as to why someone would believe in love was a mystery to him. He couldn’t believe in love because all love does is kill.

And Tom, as we’ve mentioned, was slowly dying. Emotionally, at least. Besides if he was dying without loving someone, how worse could it be had he loved her.

“Giulia is seeing someone.”

Second news he’d heard that day just after taking a second bite of his breakfast. Life playing a death march. His head had vanished, completely.

He didn’t want to hear it.

How could she?

How much time had gone for her? Or had the mounting started before? Had the relationship ended for her?

“You’re fucking joking,” Tom said. “It’s been—How do you know?”

Serafina only pursed her lips. “She posted a picture.”

Tom took a deep breath staring at the picture, his ex-girlfriend with a bright smile on her lips as her right hand posed on another man’s chest.

Tom then felt he died a little more. “She mourned an 18 month relationship for only a month ?” He questioned. “and now she’s bloody dating? No, correction. She didn’t mourn the relationship.”

“You wanted to break up with her why the fuck do you care?” Serafina sipped her cup of coffee, hugging her knees as she watched her desperate friend. “Besides, you don’t know that. Maybe they’re not dating.”

“You literally just showed me the picture.”

“It could be a rebound,” she pointed out.

“No.”

“Have a stupid coffee and move on, stolto.”

Tom picked up his cup. “No, it’s not a rebound. You don’t post a rebound, you fuck a rebound but you don’t post it on Instagram. Maybe a story, but not on your feed. That’s—that’s relationship shit. Which brings me to my point.”

She rolled her eyes, tired from having this conversation. “To your point?”

“She started seeing him earlier.”

“Now that you don’t know,” Fina pointed out.

Tom laughed cynically. “Please. I wanted to break up with her and it ended up with her saying and I quote: she knew what she wanted and that wasn’t me.”

“So?”

“So?” Tom scoffed.

“You wanted to break up with her,” Serafina couldn’t believe him, “she was defending herself. She probably broke up with you because she saw your intentions. You started ghosting her.”

“I—this is what I needed. A final reason, This is why I don’t believe in love. Because she simply—“

Serafina Sighed loudly, “Ay, per favore, Thomas! You can’t be so dramatic! And such an asshole!”

“I dated her for 18 months, I think I have a reason to be dramatic, how am I supposed—“

Serafina took a deep breath. “So ché. You don’t believe in love, fine but you are acting like this because you wanted her to mourn you. You—you’re—you’re so—“Fina was trying to find the words to describe him.

“So what?”

“Stupid! You do believe in love you’re just incapable of feeling but you do believe, and that’s why you are not buying any of this. Giulia is in love with you, I do think she is in love with you, but that’s who she is, but you get bored easily! You—you’re not right for her, and you need to get your shit together—“

“I don’t” Tom stated. “I have my shit together. Yes I—. I don’t think I fell for her, but I still cared. And I saw my life with her—“

“And that’s why you wanted to break up?”

“But I didn’t break up, she broke up with me.”

Serafina only watched him, amused. “You suck. I hate men. You made that poor girl fall in love with you when you don’t fucking believe in it.”

Tom rolled his eyes. And why should I believe in love? It takes a month to forget someone apparently.”

“Well I do believe in love.”

Tom only scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“And you will too as soon as you meet Miles and y/n, you will see that love can last,” Fina had warned him.

“I am angry because I cared for her, and she was a good shag, okay?”

Serafina shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s that? That she got tired of you not wanting to admit that you loved her?”

“I needed more time to love her,” he said, “eighteen months isn’t enough.”

“If you didn’t love her why are you so angry?”

“She hurt my pride.”

No. How could he? Or would it be better? Tom decided to take this with philosophy.

He decided to humor her, by ignoring her.

He’d learned about that couple. Miles and y/n. According to Serafina the couple was the one couple she ever believed to be forever. They’d been together since college and they were the perfect pair. Tom’s roommate believed that they probably had come to get engaged. As any other stupid couple who comes to Verona to fulfill their Romeo and Juliet fantasy.

But Tom did not believe that Miles and Y/N would make him believe in love. Or would they?

A year and a half wasted. A year and a half full of foreves that didn’t last, and a year and a half full of promises that would be broken so easily, a year and a half full of ‘what if’s. Full of moments that would be ingrained in Tom’s mind forever.

Leaving with the sole wonder of how a moment lasts forever and yet it dies.

The big question was how can you make it not last anymore? How can you get rid of a moment in time that will be buried deep inside you?

Tom wondered, was it really that significant? Was it really?

Because time had led him to love her. But did he really? And he did. Otherwise he wouldn’t be hurting. He’d be healing and that wasn’t near.

How pathetic was he that he just… died. He had always loved the idea of the relationship he had with Giulia.

And it had been difficult, waking up every morning and not knowing how the day had gone through.

Giulia and Tom were gone. And every promise of tomorrow was blurry.

Tom, really, was dying. And how can a dead person have to pick up someone from the airport? A couple that he’d been promised would be the epitome of love.

Life was laughing at him.

And it kept laughing when the one girl who’d knocked his coffee off was…

“I’m y/n.” She said.

Tom blinked, “what?”

“I'm y/n, Fina told me you’re the one picking me up,” she explained.

Tom watched her. She hadn’t slept, he could tell. But he hadn’t either, and probably the reason why she hadn’t slept was because she traveled.

He hadn’t slept because of a heartbreak. It was not fair.

And it wasn’t her fault per se, but Tom had decided he wouldn’t like her. As immature as it sounds, his heartbreak demanded him to hate on someone. That particular someone had to be the woman who knocked off the coffee. The woman who came to Verona to have her lame Romeo and Juliet fantasy.

Tom took a deep breath. Of course it had to be her. Now two reasons to hate her, she was the one who was in a happy relationship probably here expecting to get engaged to her lovely boyfriend… who was nowhere in sight.

“You can’t be.”

“I am.”

“I was told you’d be with your boyfriend,” Tom explained. “Where is he?”

There was a certain discomfort in her face, she took a long deep breath before looking down at her phone. “Yeah I was told that too but he isn’t here, can we leave?”

Tom crossed his arms. “Where is he? Are you ditching him?”

She let out a cynical cackle.

“Did you?”

“He’s not here. He caught another plane,” she was humored by him, chuckling to herself. As if he was stupid for not knowing the reason why couples these days took different planes.

Tom frowned. “Well I’m not coming back to the airport—“

“He will figure it out,” she interrupted. “Don’t worry. He’s a tough guy. He will be fine but for now I’m here. It’s only me.”

Tom only watched her. He placed his sunglasses back on.

“Please?” She begged.

He decided he wouldn’t fight anymore with the poor stranger. He couldn’t hate her.

“Are you going to leave me here?”

“I’m considering it,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“I’m deciding if I hate you or not.”

“We just met and you hate me already?” She questioned. “Only because I dropped the coffe accidentally.”

“The coffee was for you and what’s his name? Miles,” he said, handing over a small cup of coffee. “Now I have one extra coffee and I have spent money on 4 espressos that won’t be drunk by anybody. Three because they got knocked off and one extra one.”

No, actually he could hate her.

“I did not mean to knock over the coffee but thanks, I need caffeine. I’m sorry.”

Tom helped her with her bags as she installed herself in the front seat. There was a tinge of sadness upon herself, probably bitter her trip hadn’t started with a princess-like carriage pulled by horses.

He checked his phone once more, knowing he would hate it completely.

A text from a group chat, an invitation to a party which Giulia would probably attend. A party that she would probably bring her newest butt acquisition to.

Tom locked his jaw, he was angry.

“So you’re Fina’s roommate?” His passenger questioned. “Why couldn’t she pick me—“

“She had a job emergency,” Tom explained. “Sorry she’s not here, trust me, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Right.”

“We don’t have to talk, you know.”

Y/N only widened her eyes, watching him. “Gee, sorry for existing.”

He was angry. Not at her, for sure but she did bring in something.

He started the car. “The airport annoys me, it’s full of couples who’re here to be enamoured by Verona and the streets where Romeo and Juliet fell in love. I blame Shakespeare for that.”

“Aren’t you british?” She questioned.

“How did you know?”

“The accent is noticeable, innit?”

He huffed.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just ironic.”

“What is?”

“A Brit hating on Shakespeare.”

“It’s not. And I didn’t say I hate him.”

Maybe it was but who was she to judge? She’d arrived 10 minutes before and she knew absolutely nothing about him. No, he hadn’t come here specifically to get his romantic story, he’d gotten it in the way but he hadn’t come here for that. Besides, that was beyond the point.

Sure Shakespeare was British and so was he but that was beyond the point, his point was that romance was out of his league for now so he would resent anyone who experienced it. Besides, how unoriginal. Although he had to admit that he did have the story near his heart.

“So where is your boyfriend?” Tom questioned. “I assume that you’re here to experience the most

romantic place. Visit Juliet’s house and everything.”

She chuckled. “I—well. Not really.” Her tone was sarcastic. There was something about her that didn’t sit well with him.

“Why? You don’t think Romeo and Juliet is romantic?” He questioned.

“I do. I’m not here for that,” she said. “However, Romeo and Juliet is, undoubtedly, the greatest love story ever written.”

Tom disagreed with her, now getting even more reasons to hate her.

“Of course you think that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowned.

“What else are you here for? If you’re here at Verona you must be a Romeo and Juliet fan.”

She watched him. Quietly, and it made him feel uneasy.

“So you don’t think it’s the greatest love story?”

“It’s so stupid, they met each other for like three days,” Tom said.

She rolled her eyes, “and of course you say that.”

“Why is it romantic?” Tom questioned. “Tell me one reason.”

“I never said it was,” y/n cleared up.

“You said it was the greatest love story,” Tom reminded her.

“Because it is,” she said. “Romance and love aren't the same thing, however.”

“What?”

“There can be love without romance and there can be romance without love,” she explained. “Although Romeo and Juliet might have a tinge of both.”

“But you have to agree that it is stupid,” Tom kept pushing. “They knew each other for three days. You can’t love after three days.”

She gave it a thought, “Probably, but not because of time. I think it’s stupid he died… But dying in love might be better than dying after you’ve loved. Dying before love dies.”

Tom paused, dying in love. He’d never thought about that before. Perhaps that was the answer to the problem.

“However, I do think it’s romantic that they fell for each other right away,” she added.

Tom had to disagree. “That’s stupid. I would say dying is more romantic. But not even, all of it, it’s stupid.”

“How is death romantic?”

“They died for love! Or whatever they thought love was.” Tom excused, “that is romantic. It’s literally the one thing I do believe to be romantic.”

“How? They could’ve had a lifetime together,” she refuted.

“Romeo loved Juliet so much that he died for her,” Tom snapped. “He loved her so much that he couldn’t stand the idea of living without her.”

Maybe he had more in common with Romeo than he cared to agree.

Y/N shook her head, “That’s stupid, first of all, living for someone is a bigger act of love… And then Romeo was an idiot because he should’ve waited.”

How in the world had he ended up discussing Romeo and Juliet with a stranger was beyond his mind but he could understand less how stupid one could be to discuss why Romeo and Juliet isn’t or is romantic.

“How the hell was he supposed to know?” Tom snapped.

Y/N scoffed. “He didn’t give it a second thought. What about their plans and future? He could’ve waited and—“

“He was a teen from the old… age… time thing, what was he supposed to do? Check her pulse? he knew nothing.”

She smirked. “My point, he knows nothing.”

Tom Groaned. “nothing about medicine maybe, but he knew he had to die for her.”

“Oh yes, loving so much you die,” Y/N laughed.

Tom frowned. “They were teenagers, he had a crush,he didn’t love her but—in their mind, it was love, and that’s why it’s stupid. But his sacrifice isn’t,” Tom fought.

She shook her head. “Love means staying Besides love when you’re a teenager… is like that. Rough, passionate.”

Tom shook his head. “I guess love is like that, not when you’re a teenager, though. You don’t know anything when you’re a teenager. Or not that fast.”

“Why wouldn’t they know about it? It’s love, it’s not anything about freaking taxes. It’s love. Love when you’re young might be the purest love in its most raw form, it’s love without thinking about the consequences.”

“It’s not about them being young, It’s about loving without thinking. That is not—safe.”

Y/N shrugged. “But it’s fun, why should we ever stop and think when you love someone and they love you back?”

When had this come from? Tom didn’t believe in any of that bullshit.

“Several reasons actually,” Tom explained, “well, not—love, but before making rash decisions.”

“So you agree? You think that him dying was stupid.”

“It’s subsequently stupid because they fell in love quickly,” Tom said.

“I'm not saying—love is about two people, what Romeo did was very selfish. He took the decision all alone and—left Juliet on her own.So what else did Juliet have? He decided to end it because he thought it was the best for them because he didn’t think, he didn’t stop to see if—because he thought Juliet had died. He left her. Romeo killed Juliet.”

Tom listened. There was something else there. Romeo killed Juliet.

“Juliet killed Romeo,” Tom challenged. “Or, rather love killed Romeo.”

“Love doesn’t kill.”

“Both of them died.”

“But not because of love.”

“Love kills.”

She stayed quiet. Tom knew he had won.

“Weren’t you the first to say what they felt wasn’t love?” She asked with mischief knowing she was right,

Tom opened his mouth yet no words could come out. She won.

“Lack of love kills, not love,” she said.

He could tell she was not in her right mind. Had she traveled alone? He suddenly was feeling intrigued by her. He had noticed her eyes were covered by a sleepless night and she didn’t have that sudden glimpse in her eyes that says she’s in love.

“You’re just wrong, love kills,” he smirked. “And I guess you should live with that.”

She frowned. “I’m not but you ran out of arguments.”

“I don't need any, you are wrong.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You were the first to say you didn't believe Romeo and Juliet to be romantic. And you actually agree with me but you worded it differently, you're just too proud to admit it.”

“I’m not proud,” Tom scowled. “You don’t know me.”

She raised her brow and chuckled. “I don’t have to, I can tell what kind of person you are, you’re a walking stereotype. I think I wrote a paper on people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah.”

Who did she think she was? “And what kind of people am I?” He frowned.

She just smirked.

“What kind of—?”

She kept smirking.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Tom asked again and her smirk was erased. There, her weakness. Easily discovered.

Hasd she had a fight? Was he rejoicing in the fact that she might be miserable too?

“He’s coming,” she said.

“To Verona?”

She stayed quiet. There was a change of mood, and he could tell.

Tom watched her. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, not really. However he’d been proven that you could hate someone at first sight.

“Serafina told me you were here to get engaged,” he commented trying to make conversation.

She pursed her lips. “I’m not.”

Tom frowned. “How long have you been dating?”

She took a deep breath. “He’s actually here,” she avoided the question. “Here in Italy, already.”

“Who is?”

“Miles.”

“Who’s Miles?”

“My…boyfriend.”

“Oh. Why are you not with him?” No answer again. Tom was annoyed. “So the boyfriend talk is out, okay.”

“Please.”

“I actually do know who you are,” Tom admitted. “You’re a writer, yeah? I’ve seen your books somewhere in the house. One is about a surfer, right?”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah, a summer love, the other one is about some best friends who fall in love.”

“Cliché.”

“Kind of, yeah. It was based on… my story with Miles.”

Tom turned to see her eyes. “Ah.”

“The next one was supposed to be Italy, actually, it's… , different.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, have you read then?” She asked. “The copies I sent to Fina?”

“It’s romance,” he said matter of factly. “I don’t read that kind of bullshit.”

She chuckled. “Thanks.”

“No offense, it’s not you, it’s me.”

She suddenly hugged her bag. Weird.

That’s all Tom could gather from her, she was weird. And although he didn’t want to admit, he did know a lot about her. Serafina had always talked about y/n, as someone incredible, but how else would she talk? Serafina and y/n had been friends for what seemed forever. Although they’d only met in college and shared a room, they became instant friends.

However, Fina always talked about y/n in the best way. A writer who was so good at describing romance that it made her want to feel like it. He did know about Miles and y/n. He’d learned about them and even more so when Fina had told him they’d be coming. A couple that irradiated chemistry and romance. Tailor-made for each other.

Yet, there she was. Avoiding the subject.

He had lied, he had read a few pages of y/n’s book. Both of them. Skimmed through it. Not read it. But he had read…some of it,

One particular line had stuck. And he would keep it to himself to this day.

He couldn’t understand it. Less now that he had no one to share whatever love was with. He hadn’t for a while but that’s another story, one that he would keep for himself.

Tom was, a big fan of secrets even if everyone believed to know him. Everyone would have their own conclusions and assumptions about who he was and he hated that. Everyone assumed he was an open book, and that they knew him. Always saying he was proud, insensitive and stubborn.

He was, but he was more than that.

He knew y/n would be one to think less of him.

“I’m glad you haven’t read it,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t think you would get it.”

“Why?”

“Just because.”

“I’m not stupid.”

She chuckled. “I didn’t say you were but if you think Romeo and Juliet—“

“Woah woah that is different but I have read Shakespeare, I tried reading yours once and I got bored from the first sentence.”

She shrugged, “I did use a lot of fancy words, I apologize.”

Tom didn’t want to make more conversation.Luckily it wasn’t as far and Serafina was there to receive y/n with wide open arms.

Y/N turned to him, “thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah whatever, we don’t have to talk anymore.”

She just rolled her eyes.

“Y/N, tu sei così carina, amore mío, I’ve missed you so much!” Serafina called to her friend.

Tom decided he wouldn’t like to engage in any more conversations. He’d had enough and he was annoyed enough.

“Where’s Miles?” Fina asked. “Thomas, did you ditch him?”

“No,” he answered simply.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, you have a tendency to go after women who already have a man.”

He did have that tendency. Tendency which he… wasn’t proud of but didn’t regret.

“No,” y/n said as they were walking in, Fina already had a charcuterie board prepared and four glasses of wine. “Miles is not here.”

“Che cosa?” Fina asked. “How come?”

“Well,” Y/N licked her lips, before giving Tom a glance. “Why don’t you tell me about your job? How’s the whole fashion design going?”

Of course she didn’t want to tell him but Tom loved getting into everyone’s business, he believed in others people gossip, he didn’t tell anyone about it but he liked gathering information for his own entertainment.

He was an ass, really.

He pretended to go to his room, knowing y/n was supposed to settle on the couch. He would not give his room to a stranger.

He then decided to actually close the door to give the girls the privacy they were craving for, and the one he was yearning for as well.

Some solitude to drawn into his lonely and angry thoughts.

To think about the party. A party who h Fina had already responded for him, they were all going to the party. Like a big family, Fina, Y/N, Tom and… Miles.

Who was nowhere in sight, did he even exist? Tom decided to stalk y/n. Instagram.

She was… different. Pictures of various places, mostly doors. With photographs of her and Miles, kisses on cheeks and of Miles alone. Very handsome man.

Her Instagram was full of them. A couple that only had eyes for each other. As if it was looking at the guy through her heart.

Tom felt jealous. Their pictures were very… intimate. Not in the usual intimate sensual way, but in the way he could tell the pictures were taken in the exact moment.

He wanted that. Honestly, seeing y/n’s smile made him uneasy, for he would never be able to make someone smile like that.

He decided to go to his profile, and Tom got even more jealous. It was still y/n and Miles. but in a different way.

Through Miles’ eyes.

Tom had never really felt that, that need to take pictures of someone while they’re being… them. Miles had managed to create the perfect picture of his girlfriend, with her cooking, with her writing, or under the moon. Y/N was, even if Tom didn’t want to admit it, attractive. And maybe it was his tendency to want what he didn’t have but he felt jealous and urging to steal her away from Miles.

Maybe it wasn’t even y/n. Maybe he only wanted to fall in love.

Tom saw they had a perfect cozy life, and even after all this time, they would show they were in love.

He saw various candid pictures of her and some of them showed when she noticed, trying to hide from the camera as if her view wasn’t enough. Her hair flying and with a smile that would outshine the stars.

So different from the y/n he had met today, who looked tired and as if her light was gone. The radiant girl from the picture was nowhere in sight, and it wasn’t a catfish, per se, Tom saw someone had stolen something from y/n.

And he hated them for that because whoever did that left y/n to be someone who he couldn’t stand.

He kept scrolling and creeping through theirInstagram, with pictures of both of them midst laughs, in motion.

Y/N’s pictures told their story and it was full of romance and love. Miles pictures showed complete adoration to y/n. Devotion, even.

It’s funny how different the relationship was through their eyes, Tom thought, how can love truly be when we all have a different meaning to it?

Is love really something by the book or is it just an imaginary concept with no subsequent meaning.

Why did everyone yearn for it? And would he ever feel it again?

That feeling when your cheeks rush and your heart beats, slightly faster. When their skin tastes like sweet honey, or when a word is poison enough.

Poison. That’s what he would describe love as, a poison that kills you slowly.

Was that love for the couple he’d just stalked?

Or was love…. Each other?

Was y/n love to Miles? was Miles love to y/n?

If he was, then…where was he?

He was curious so he decided to walk out. Adventuring himself trying to understand where the hell was that guy with pure and profound admiration.

Luckily for him, Serafina had just finished talking about her own life so he was just in time to understand where exactly Miles was.

Y/N had noticed Tom was there, hanging out in the kitchen with them, he only leaned against the counter, stealing some of the prosciutto Fina had let out for y/n.

“You’re going to love Miles, Thomas, and you’re going to get jealous,” Serafina warned him after a while of telling cute stories from the magnificent couple. “He’s super hot.”

Y/N shifted in her place. Tom raised his brows. Was that jealousy? Had y/n felt uncomfortable that someone else admired her boyfriend?

“Ah, really?” He crossed his arms.

“They’re the perfect couple,” Serafina continued. “They make me believe in love.”

Tom scoffed.

“I remember this one time when y/n and him were not dating still, but they both showed up to the same party wearing practically the exact same outfit.”

Tom chuckled. “And that’s why they’re perfect. Wow. Same outfit, really that—“he turned to see y/n. “That’s as romantic as Romeo and Juliet.”

Y/N shot him a glare.

“And this other time—Like, you guys always said stuff at the same time, and you finished each—“

“Finished each other sentences!” Tom laughed. “How romantic.”

“It is" y/n said.

“I highly doubt that,” Tom disagreed.

“You don’t think love relies on similar values and taste?” Y/N asked.

Tom scoffed. “An outfit doesn’t make you a perfect couple.”

“What does, then? You seem to know much about love.”

Serafina let out a laugh. “Tom doesn’t know much about love, he’s an idiot.”

“Am I, really?”

“Yes,” both girls answered at unison.

“All I’m saying is having similarities with a person doesn’t guarantee you a long lasting and loving relationship.”

Y/N ignored his sight.

Tom hated that, he could be insulted, misjudged, anything, but to deny him attention was the one thing to actually hurt him.

Tom watched the girl, she was delicate. Finally seeing the loose hairs, trying to find the remaining pieces of the girl he’d seen on the pictures.

“Tom here does not believe in love,” Fina explained.

“So I’ve gathered,” y/n said. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Tom shrugged, “It’s not that I don’t believe in it, it’s just people think it’s so significant and I believe the idea of love, the idea of it—I mean, the idea that people have is just undeniably stupid.”

“Why is that?” Fina asked.

Y/N decided to still focus on her drink.

“Well, you’ve based love on outfits, and speech patterns or anecdotes togehter, while I think love is a much bigger sentiment which needs a fully bigger understanding and we’ve been taught to wrongfully see love as a romantic comedy, or a romance book—“

Y/N them smirked. “You’re against romance.”

“I’m against generic and comercial romance,” Tom explained. “Cheap romance, which means in this whole… rom com thing in which the girl meets the guy and after knocking down a cup of coffee they instantly fall in love.”

“You’re still bitter about that, huh.”

“Yes but it brings me to my point, romantic comedies or movies or even books have taught us that you and I should’ve fallen in love the moment we bumped into each other because it would be a—what’s it called?”

“Meet cute,” y/n said,

“And that’s not love, and you must know that, you’ve had a relationship for years and I am sure you didn’t fall in love with him just five minutes after you’ve met him.”

Y/N watched Tom, deciding whether or not to humor him with her opinion.

“You’re arguing with a romance writer, Thomas,” Serafina asked.

Tom smirked, “which brings me to it yet again, are your books accurate?”

Y/N shrugged, “a bit, I did have my meet cute with Miles,” she said and then took a deep breath. “No I didn’t fall in love right away with him but it took me absolutely no time.”

Tom shook his head. “That can’t be true, love is time.”

“Love is timeless,” y/n said.

“Then why do breakups happen? Why—why are there divorces or—“

Y/N shifted in her place once again. “Break ups don’t necessarily mean lack of love. Sometimes time itself is the one that kicks in.”

“Breakups are the sole reason why love doesn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry darling but you’re so wrong, who hurt you?” Y/N asked Tom.

Tom turned to Serafina. “I don't like your friend she can’t stay here.”

“This is my place so you fucking deal with it,” Fina grinnned. “Please, prove it to him. How long did it take you to fall in love with Miles?” Fina smiled then, “I remember when you did, it was when he sang to Dancing Queen”

Y/n smiled to herself. “The lyrics thing, yeah, he-“she chuckled.

“The dude,” Fina explained. “He was singing along to Dancing Queen… he said.. See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen.”

Y/n laughed. “And the tangerine part,” she laughed. “Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tangerine,” she sang along.

Tom raised his eyebrows. “That’s—that is not love.”

“It is actually,” y/n said. “Love for me is not something incomprehensible, it’s actually something so simple that only a few get to experience it.”

“Where’s Miles anyway, y/n?” Fina asked. “Don’t avoid the question. I’ve asked you three times now. I’ve missed him, and we have to show this idiot here that love does exist.”

Y/N sighed. “He…” she cleared her throat. Her thoughts were circling in her mind, words struggling to come out.

Fina turned to Tom. “This is your fault she won’t talk to me cause you’re here.”

Tom smirked as he shrugged, “pretty avoidant about your boyfriend.”

Fina rolled her eyes, “sorry he’s an ass. He’s just probably bitter we are going to a party where his ex-girlfriend will be with another guy.”

Tom shook his head. “I’m not going, by the way.”

“Ay, per favore, Thomas,” Fina rolled her eyes. “We are going.”

The discussion didn’t take long and he knew there was no use of trying to discuss anything. There was no disposition of him. He didn’t want to go.

Fina told him it was okay to admit he was going through a heartbreak.

Was this a heartbreak? Because it wasn’t as bad, not as bad as he thought it would be. How can you feel pain when you haven’t felt love?

But going to see the girl he’d spent time with seemed like hell. It was hurting his pride as if all the relationship was lifeless.

Tom was lifeless. How couldn’t he be? Wasn’t life supposed to be love? How could he know?

He just remembered tossing the car keys to Fina after waiting for her and y/n to get ready. There was something there, seeing a girl who was full of love getting ready. From the earrings to the hair, maybe loving someone gives you that kind of excitement.

He didn’t have any.

It was weird.

Now less, when he was in hell knowing he’d been changed for someone who he would never be. That’s the thing about relationships, you can only give so much and yet it’ll never be the same someone else can give.

Uniqueness.

But did he have that uniqueness? He hadn’t given Giulia anything someone else couldn’t give her. But he was certain he hadn’t given her love.

And now she was with someone else.

He walked into the party, with people he’d known for a while but who didn’t know him at all. No one truly did, ever.

Meanwhile he knew he had to hate y/n because she had someone who knew everything, even how she would finish her sentences.

Would he ever have that? Would someone just know him? Or bother to know him?

He only had a glass of wine as he watched his friends laughing, drinking and smoking, living. Yet. He was there, knowing some girls would be drowned to him yet not care about it at all.

A girl was gently stroking his shoulders, as she tried to see what was underneath his t-shirt. He would only give her a few smiles.

He was staring at the new girl in his life, with a forced smile, speaking very few words in Italian, laughing at jokes she didn’t understand. Y/N was entertainment for him, she was pathetic, honestly,

Tom decided he would focus on y/n rather on expecting Giulia to arrive with that new asshole. Besides, Y/N wasn’t enjoying her time either or so it seemed. He pitied her, y/n was probably too busy focusing on the fact that Miles wasn’t there rather than enjoying her surroundings.

That’s probably why Tom didn’t bother on falling in love, because it involved depending your happiness on someone else. Celebrating on rather useless milestones that didn’t matter. Tom knew he couldn’t rely his happiness on anyone else.

Yet he didn’t find happiness on his own.

Perhaps he was hurting. Yeah.

Perhaps the drink in his hand wasn’t enough and perhaps he would blame his headache on not sleeping.

Yet he knew deep inside he was hurting because even though, he didn’t experience love, he had experienced the closest thing to it, and he had lost it.

What a shame.

He saw y/n head out, walking to that balcony on the second floor. He saw her, all alone staring at the night and taking a few deep breaths, before deciding to look outside.

The streetlights were barely giving any light to her,

“Are they not good enough?” Tom asked as he headed out with her.

“Who?”

“Our friends, are they not good enough as your boyfriend?”

Y/N was slightly startled. She gave him a sad smile. “No.”

He snorted. “Figured.”

She shrugged. “You’re going through a breakup, then.”

Tom nodded. “Yeah.”

“Is she here yet?” She asked.

Tom shook his head. “Not yet.”

“When did it happen?”

“A month ago.”

“Hm.”

Y/N nodded to herself and then remained quiet. They both turned back to the party. Everyone was having fun but them. They were stuck.

Tom knew why he was stuck but why was she?

“Why did it happen?” She broke the silence.

He shrugged. “Not sure. I have an idea, if she’s bringing someone else, I think that might be it.”

Y/N watched him and turned back to watch the quiet city. A couple was walking by.

“I bet you thought that Miles would be here and run to the balcony all Romeo and Juliet style,” he teased.

“It’s not bad to wish for a love story,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Are we having this conversation again?”

“No, I’m not really in the mood for it, I don’t like you.”

Tom watched, “where is he?”

Y/n laughed.

Tom stared. “Where is your Prince Charming, then?”

Y/N licked her lips.

“I think you shouldn’t be waiting for him, you can enjoy a perfect party like this, you don’t need someone you love to be happy.”

Y/n wrinkled her nose. “No, but it does help. Having someone who just—“she smiled, “I assume you haven’t felt it. To have someone who just stops time, who makes you speak in prose and who, you know, at the end of the day, it makes everything better.”

“I guess not, haven’t felt it,” he admitted. “But when I could’ve, she ended it.”

She turned to see Serafina laughing and hanging by someone’s shoulders. He followed her gaze, bored by the same theatrics his friends always pulled. The same routine, everything.

What is love, baby don’t hurt me by Haddaway played in the background.

“I hate that song.” “I love that song.”

Neither knew who had said what, but they just turned to the other with disgust.

“Are we going to argue about this, too?” Tom asked.

“We can.”

He sighed. “It’s an 80’s song.”

“That should sum up the answer and end the argument,” she said. “It’s an 80’s song.”

“It could bring us to our previous argument, though, what is love?”

She chuckled. “It is a deep analysis of it.”

“As if he’s asking himself, what is it really? And if it’s love-”

“If it’s love why are you hurting me,” she chuckled. “He desn’t know, why she’s not fair.”

“He gives her love.”

“And she doesn’t care,” Y/N nodded, very seriously now.

“What is right and what is wrong?” He asked, quite philosophical.

“Gimme a sign,” She continued.

“What is love?” He asked again.

“Baby don’t hurt me.”

He sighed. “Don’t hurt me.”

“No more.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” they both sang.

They both smiled to themselves proud of the most stupid thing they could come up with. Silence filled up again.

“Miles broke up with me, ” y/n said candidly, ignoring the silence beside her.

“What?” Was all Tom could ask midst agonizing stare.

“Miles, my supposedly soon to be fiancé broke up with me.”

Tom then, understood, as if suddenly a light was lit. He saw it, she was dying too, that’s why the girl could not be judged.

“What?” He asked again, with humor this time,

“He broke up with me,” she said, “it’s a funny story, actually.”

“Is it?” He grinned, “that is something I do want to hear.”

“He broke up with me and left me and came here to Italy because we used to have this dream that we would take a road trip together and I didn’t—and I couldn’t do it so he broke up with me and came to do it on his own, and I panicked and I followed him blindly hoping I’ll bump into him and we get back together.”

“That’s fucking insane.”

She sighed. “A bit, yeah.”

He smirked, “and you had the bloody courage to say you believe in love?”

“Yes.”

“When you’re broken-hearted and insane?”

“A broken heart and insanity is only proof that love exists.”

“Pfsh, that’s bull—“And in that precise moment he saw her. Giulia.

With her waist against the new guys hand. With a smile he could’ve never gotten. It hurt, and in a way he never thought he would feel, a chest pain slowly spreading through his body. A sudden urge to run away yet having the inability to do so, his body slowly sinking.

Tom was dying. That’s what he was feeling. Knowing about it hurt but seeing it. Seeing it. He was dying, and he was shaking and he was dying.

Giulia was with someone else’s and he had to deal with it. He had to fucking deal with it. A heartbreak that killed him.

“It’s not bullshit.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re—right.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“Yeah, you’re right, yes.”

She followed his gaze, “ah.”

“Yes.”

“Is that her?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah.”

“She’s pretty,”

“Yeah, yes, yes.”

“No wonder why she broke up with you, she’s way out of your league.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you just agreeing to everything I say?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, will you admit you’re an idiot?”

“Yeah.”

Tom was shaking, sweating, and sinking into the ground, slowly, the world was trying to eat him alive. He needed to escape, but how? He didn’t need Giulia to see he was weak. He couldn’t stand the idea of being weak.

How could he prove to her that he had moved on? How on earth? He looked around and he saw no escape, he was trapped. His eyes darted across the room until he finally looked to his left, to the girl he had been attempting to insult all day.

An idea, a very stupid one, came to his mind.

“I’m going to wrap my arm around you and we are going to walk in and we need to seem madly—“

“What?” She interrupted him. “What?”

“I need Giulia to see I’ve moved on and so you will have to—“

“I won’t pretend I’m your girlfriend,” she stated

“No, not my girlfriend, just—let’s look mad horny for each other.”

“Excuse me?”

Tom was panicking and running out of options, he didn’t want Giulia to realize he was there. If it were for him no one would be acknowledging he existed at that precise moment.

“Please, please, I—“

“I’m not going to do that, I don’t like you you’ve been rude to me all day!”

“It’s only for a moment, we can flirt and—“

“I would never flirt with you,” she was repulsed,

“I’ll pay you!” He insisted,

“No.”

“I’ll read your book?”

“Why would I want you reading my book?” She questioned.

“I’ll help you find Miles.”

“Thomas!” That was Giulia, approaching him in slow motion as Tom was going to be sick. “Thomas, what—what are you doing here?”

Giulia was approaching him, and with each step Tom felt he turned smaller, and before he could realize it, he is ex girlfriend was standing right in front of him, with the new idiot beside her.

“Tom, hi, I would like you to meet Mateo,” Giulia said. “He—“

Who the fuck introduces a new fling to their ex of eighteen fucking months? Only weeks after the fucking breakup,

Tom only stared. “Oh, hi.”

“Ciao,” Mateo answered.

Serafina had seen the whole scene and rushed to see how she could be of help.

Giulia’s eyes landed on y/n, who was watching the whole scene with amusement.

Tom gulped, “Uh— this is y/n—She is—“

“Tom’s girlfriend,” y/n grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

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valleyfthdolls · 25 days

Note

I am literally about to copy paste an entire post into your inbox again, cuz I am so normal about this silly game, an' this dumbass puppet-

- His name is italian for puppet, but he pronounces it incorrectly and insists it’s the correct way to say his name if anyone else points it out and says he’s wrong.

- He’s not from Italy, obviously. Goes to show. But Ash imagines he knows a bit of italian. (“Not enough Italian to say his name right.” - Katie.)

- Fantoccio has a pet shark named Sharkspeare! Mentioned in the song at the line “‘Cause Sharkspeare’s looking mean!”

- Fantoccio has to make all his own props, set pieces, clothes, etc in the theatre.

- Would never smoke, and would hate being around it/people who’re doing it actively.

- Fantoccio was made by Ash as a fan OC for the game, and this (as far as I’m aware) is what got them hired onto the game, cause Katie loved their ideas so much.

- Fantoccio is not very good with kids.

- Fantoccio’s favorite food is churros. This came from the fact Ash once had a dream about him infodumping about them cause he loved them so much, so they made it canon.

- Don’t worry, he can indeed taste things normally. No traditional taste buds, but some, nonetheless. Same goes for touch!

- Fantoccio is canonically autistic, having many traits of himself heavily projected from Ash, themself.

- When asked what his meltdown triggers could be, Ash thought that some might be: too much touching, being without his hat, or one of his props breaking.

- Fantoccio likes wearing dresses! Wears them if he feels like it or if the role calls for it, during a play.

- Ash thinks he’d ADORE snow.

- Fantoccio would 100% love spicy italian from subway.

- Fantoccio plays violin!

- Fantoccio would chant “I’m sleeping” when struggling to fall asleep, like his own version of counting sheep.

- He would NEVER say the Earth is flat.

- He’d be the “How do you do that” of that one keysmash meme, if paired with Barnaby.

- Ash once said that Fantoccio is like Duck from Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared.

- When doing a personality type test (and actually answering truthfully instead of in character) for Fantoccio, he ended up with ENTJ-T, Commander. Fanto would answer untruthfully on some questions, like if he ever gets insecure (“PFFFT NO THE ANSWERS NO”).

- He can go uwu in the bbu lore, but he’ll hate it. (“THIS IS STUPID!!!”)

- Fantoccio would apparently be a “mac and cheese FIEND.”

- He’d hate pranks (specifically a hand zapper in this case), because they’re unexpected. (“NEVER DO THAT AGAIN”)

- This also means he’d never troll anyone, cause he feels above that.

- Fanto would HATE hearing people crack their knuckles, like Ash does.

- Fantoccio loves to carve wood. Specifically only by hand, that’s how much he loves it! He carved the two giant wooden hands used in his battle, but his favorite thing to carve is ducks.

- Fantoccio is very intent on ONLY eating the few foods he knows he likes.

- If he were an ice cream, he’d be coffee flavor! Which is ironic, because Ash has also said that it’d probably be terrible to give Fantoccio caffeine.

- Fantoccio would LOVE chicken nuggets.

- Hates pizza, though. Too greasy and messy.

- Would enjoy having an ipad “a little too much. He would be super confused at first but once he learns how to use it DO NOT TAKE IT AWAY”. (kinda like Peridot from Steven Universe)

- He would like spruce wood in Minecraft, but also acacia “just to look at.”

- Ash adores pirates, so so does Fantoccio!

- He has no nose, so no sneezes!

- Appreciates detail as much as Barnaby does.

- Fanto would love birds!

- Fanto is not capable of curse words. Sad.

- Fantoccio would COLLAPSE trying to lift someone without his powers.

- He stims by patting his face and spinning around. Fidgets with his hands in concepts for his standing idle animations, because he’s uncomfortable with standing and prefers floating.

- He’d favor Murder Mystery!

- His wood is alive and can grow like a real boy! (if you’ve seen my post being reblogged around, lol)

- He lives in the lost city of magic, which is abandoned and overrun my magical zombies who used to be magic users, now with a terrible curse. So he lives mainly in his theatre. He’s not trapped, anymore, like his old story!

- Fantoccio’s powers are based around telekinesis and teleportation. It’s how he moves his body around!

- He used to have a plush toy rabbit he carried around, when he was younger, seemingly. It’s unclear where that went, when he got older.

- Fantoccio’s been locked up in this city for 15 years, since he was 8. Completely isolated (save for those zombies, I suppose)! When Billie comes along, though, he’s so excited to have something new to play with!

- Fanto’s song is inspired by Weird Al. Like 90% of this game is, of course /lh. He was also inspired by the pied piper!

- He’d dislike the idea of seafood. (“He’d be like “Why would anyone want to eat a fish?!” And cover Sharkspeare’s nonexistent ears like “Don’t listen to them!””)

- The red feather in his hat is also used as a pen!

- Fantoccio is a being of pure magic, having an entire magic gem be his whole life source. This means he can use magic endlessly without getting tired (I believe)!

- Fantoccio is 23, he/him, and pansexual.

- His face is made using magic. It disappears when/if he’s magic-less.

- Fantoccio can absolutely feel pain.

- When it comes to nature, Ash said he’d kinda be like Rarity from MLP:FiM, but certain kinds of nature he’d still really love. He’d really dislike walking through the wild or camping in general, but loves things like snow or flower fields. Just depends!

- Fantoccio would main Bowser in Mario Kart.

-In terms of favorite Halloween treats, Fantoccio would like anything chewy and fruity (no chocolate)!

- Canonically wears eyeliner.

- Magic sparks from his fingertips when he’s very excited!

- If Fantoccio was an animal, Ash says he’d be a cat.

- No traditional gross human stuff inside him like others, just wood and sap. “Whatever trees do.”

- His original concept by Ash was him having a purple phantom head, being a ghost in a puppet’s body. This was changed by Katie, I believe.

Anyways I'm so normal about him-

OHHHHHH THIS IS SO COOOL FANTOCCIO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

#TY FOR SHARING :]#modgirly #bbu #long post

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ayliamc · 7 months

Text

Italia

Day 2 - Lemon Frenzy 🍋

Steps walked: 23,862

Flights climbed: 7

Vehicles ridden: 1

Points of interest visited: 1

Lemons spotted: all of them.

Drugs are great. We took some to sleep and it enabled us to get thru the night and wake up comfortable in the morning, ready to face the day.

Our B&B host, Dino, chided us for not telling him ahead of time that we are both vegano, that he could have plant milks for us, and that his wife is vegan. (Of course not as strict now they have a kid because kids make everything harder, he says. “Wait til you have kids,” to which I got to reply with delight “Oh no I’m sterile.”) He was hilariously Italian as he went on and on about mozzarella, erculano, and how we’re going too fast and we go to bed too early.

We escaped long enough to trek thru Pompei to get to a cafe that allegedly had vegan-as-is croissants (unlabeled). If you know anything about me, you know I can’t resist a vegan croissant. We booked it thru town with a minor detour due to some big church thing for Madonna (I can’t believe she tours in Pompei!) to get our croissants where Google translate helped mediate the exchange. We got two citrus croissants that were not labeled anywhere as vegan but the guy didn’t correct us when we asked “vegano?” three or four times.

We checked out and leisurely made our way to the train station - another long walk - only to arrive at the platform at the same time as the train to Sorrento. How perfect! Except we don’t have tickets yet… so we buy our tickets, the train leaves, and we’re forced to wait forty minutes for the next train, only to discover no one ever asked for our tickets and no entry required them. We could have totally gotten on the first train without paying and we wouldn’t have had to wait. Crime does pay, as it turns out.

‘Twas a crowded train ride to the end of the line, where we then had to trudge for nearly half an hour with our bags on cobbled streets and unreliable sidewalks to get to our hotel. (Side note: i wonder why no one ever talks about all the vespas and scooters in Italy. There are so many! I just figured I would have heard about it before this.*)

We checked in to our hotel around lunchtime, ate our croissants illicitly on the balcony (no food allowed in our hotel room), and headed back out. Naturally, all the stuff we wanted to visit was back in the direction of the train station, but a 25 minute walk goes much easier without two backpacks and a roll-y bag with dysfunctional wheels.

To paint the scene, all these walks are lined with more citrus trees than you’ve ever seen in your life and drivers who might not actually run you down but you probably shouldn’t test that theory.

We grabbed a quick lunch at a family owned Italian restaurant and had some tasty food including “the best tomato pie [Dan has] ever had” then continued on my lemon quest.

Walking on our way to a limoncello Lemon grove we passed another one that we were able to walk around in. It was so pretty. A lovely garden with lemon trees, orange trees, olive trees, squash plants, tomato plants, and peppers. They also had a restaurant but we were so full we decided we’d come back for dinner.

On to I Giardini di Cataldo where we had hoped to have a tour and a limoncello workshop but they didn’t have any available for the day. Womp womp. We tasted some limoncello and got lemon sorbet and ate it in their lemon garden before continuing to meander in the direction of shops.

Fortunately I had set a limit as to how many Lemon things I could get for myself and I immediately met that limit so I guess I’m done shopping for the… trip. Except I still need a Leonardo souvenir, I mean let’s not get crazy.

Here I am casually showing off all my lemons.

Another 25 minute walk to the hotel to drop off our stuff. By this point, I can confirm we had already exceeded yesterdays step count.

Just before sunset we walked to a dock overlooking the coast and watched the last rays of orange sunlight disappear behind the horizon. The coast is a steep cliff face that drops off into the ocean, but in the distance you can actually see Napoli looking like an island, in reality just more of the Italian coast. Then Dan’s eagle eyes spotted a bat. Then another. And sure enough within a nook of the cliff, at least half a dozen bats had roused and were feasting. It was awesome. We watched them for a little bit. I think a few more even joined them as we watched. It certainly felt like there were more bats there when we left.

And the days recurring themes of walking and lemons continued as we headed back to La Limonaia, the lovely lemon grove where we had decided to dine. Our wonderful server was very confident about our “vegano” requests and he had the chef prepare dishes for us. For Dan, a lemon vegan cream sauce on linguini and for me, a salad made with fresh veggies from their garden. Those same veggies we had seen in the afternoon as we wandered around the grove. So fresh! And I could totally tell. I slathered my tomatoes in balsamic glaze and enjoyed some of the best tomatoes I’ve ever had. (Also a hilarious thing we’ve noticed here is when they bring you bread it comes in a little paper bag as opposed to a bowl or a plate. It’s so funny.) We drank, we ate, we were merry, all under the lemon trees. ‘Twas in general a near perfect dinner experience and we happened upon it by happenstance. Not only a great way to celebrate Jimmy Carter’s birthday but our 12 year anniversary. Six years of marriage. I can’t believe I’m old enough for that but there it is.

After dinner we met Carol at her hotel which was thankfully in the same direction as our hotel so we wouldn’t have to backtrack anymore. She got us drinks, gave us a lemon souvenir she’d gotten in Capri that day, and she and her group regaled us with stories from their trip. As ours is still near the beginning, theirs is coming to an end. We chatted until we noticed the bartender was waiting for us to be done to leave so we wrapped it up and Dan and I walked back to our hotel to gratefully rest.

*Sarcasm

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azura-vargas · 2 years

Text

Intoxicating Obsession

2p Russia x 2p Italy

Germany and Japan were conversing about something as they walked into the Pub. Luciano paid no mind because he was sure those two were talking about some perverted stuff he didn’t want to hear about.

“Who’s that?” Kuro pointed to the man sitting in their supposed seat located in the far corner.

The man has hair dark as midnight, piercing red irises that seem to glow in the darkness, and skin pale as snow. He wears a black overcoat with a red knitted scarf around his neck. He is an exact definition of a handsome vampire in those dark fairytale books. No one dared to be close to him within his radius, probably afraid of the deadly aura he emitted and the murderous look on his face.

Lutz stiffened, “Someone you don’t want to mess with, so we better find another seat,” Kuro will ask for details; however, he closed his mouth as he saw the sour expression on German’s face.

“So, where do you want to sit, Luciano?” Lutz narrowed his eyes. Luciano was not beside them anymore. He scans the surroundings and sees Luciano approaching the man he just said is dangerous. He can only pray for Luciano to go back in one piece.

Kuro lay his hands on Lutz’s shoulder as he noticed the other panic state. “Luciano would not approach a mere stranger. He knows what he is doing.” Kuro has a point. The three of them have been together for a long time, so they know each other. Both of them find a seat keeping an eye on Luciano in case something terrible happens.

The man chugged the whole vodka bottle in one go, wiping his lips. “Luciano didn’t expect to see you here.”

The coldness in his voice sent chills down the Italian’s spine, but it was unnoticeable since Luciano had mastered the art of hiding his feelings and maintaining a poker face.

“Same goes for you, Viktor” Luciano takes note of the several empty bottles that were scattered messily on the table. “How many drinks did you have?”

Viktor shrugs. “I lose count of it” Despite consuming much alcohol, he is still in the right state of mind. He opened another bottle of vodka, bringing it to his lips. A hand caught his wrist, stopping him from consuming it. “I think you should stop. You already have much.”

Viktor stares at the Italian eyes to show that he won’t stop but damn, those captivating eyes hypnotize him. He wants to look away, but he can’t even divert his focus. There was something in those eyes that he couldn’t resist. One of the reasons why he always avoids Luciano. The moment they lock eyes, he cannot stop himself from being lost in those eyes as his heart keeps falling deeper. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the worry swirling in Luciano’s eyes, a thing he never thought would happen. Why would Luciano be worried about someone like him? ‘Luciano, don’t make me fall for you more than intended.’

Viktor sighs, bringing down the bottle of vodka. It’s funny how someone like him, a cold-hearted monster has a soft spot for Luciano.

Viktor stands up. “I’ll go home” The world around him spins, and he stumbles to his feet. Luciano gets a hold of him, steadying his feet. He looks at the Italian hands grasping into him. Those were the very hand he wished to hold and never let go of.

“I’ll accompany you.”

‘Please don’t. I might do something I will regret.’ Viktor thought. “No need. I have a car.” He reasoned.

The Italian glared at him. “You can’t drive with that state.”

The Russian will argue back, but Luciano beats him “hand me the key,” He demands, bringing his hand in front of Viktor.

Viktor grabs the key in his pocket and hands it to Luciano. He hates how he can’t say no to him. Luciano’s soft hand brushed against his sending electricity all over his body. He nearly holds it; luckily, he stops himself. His eyes widened when Luciano grabbed his wrist and circled it on his shoulder, and the other hand found a way to his waist, supporting it so the Russian could walk without the danger of falling.

Luciano waves into Germany and Japan, and the two nod in understanding with a shocked expression on their face.

Luciano didn’t take long to find Viktor’s car since it stood the most. It is a black Lamborghini Aventador, nothing surprising for a wealthy man. He assists Viktor in entering the vehicle and even puts a seatbelt on him. He grips the steering wheel and starts the engine. He has a car like this, so he knows how it works.

During the whole journey of going home, Viktor only stares at Luciano, who is extremely focused on the road in front of him. Only the engine’s sound and shifting of gears can be heard. Gladly, the atmosphere around them is calming.

“Thank you. You can leave me now. Your friends are probably waiting for you. You can use my car and return it tomorrow.” Viktor stated as he didn’t want to be a burden.

Luciano shakes his head. “No. Open your door and let me help you. I don’t want you faceplanting on the floor.”

The Russian opened the door, not wanting to appear rude after Luciano helped him. Viktor turns on the switch, and the majestic chandelier dangling in the center glows into warm ambient lighting. The walls are painted black with a golden pattern decorating them. Several paintings hang around the wall with golden linings, while the sofa, curtains, and carpets are all wine red.

Luciano’s eyes twinkle in amazement since it gives him dark Victorian-era vibes. It’s like he’s in a castle in those fantasy stories he loves to read. “Do you live alone in this huge house?”

“Yes, but sometimes my siblings visit me.”

As much as he wants to admire and explore the whole house, he needs to take care of the Russian first. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“On the second floor, right side.”

Luciano looked up to the second floor and at the start of the double curve stairs. ‘This will be hard.’ He thought, and carefully, they both descended it, looking at every step they took.

“There,” Viktor points to the black door in the middle.

Luciano helped Viktor lay on the bed, removing the Russian shoes and scarf before covering him with a blanket. “I’ll leave now so you can rest.”

Viktor’s hands seem to move on their own as he pulls Luciano in his embrace, hugging him tightly. He doesn’t know if it is because of vodka or his heart that is craving for the other, but one thing is for sure, he doesn’t want to let go. “Please stay with me just for today.” He buried his face in Luciano’s neck, exhaling the other sweet intoxicating scent.

The steady heartbeat of Luciano intensified, and his eyes widened. He wants to ask Viktor for the sudden action, but he is terrified of what the other will answer. He knows deep within him that the Russian has feelings for him, but he is not yet prepared to love again. Viktor is well aware of it, but he can’t stop himself from loving the other. Falling in love is beyond his control.

Maybe this is a sign to love again? But he’s afraid because most people he loved died. He doesn’t want Viktor to suffer the faith of Rome and HRE. Making up his mind, he will give it a chance. He will not let himself be locked in the cage of the past anymore. Perhaps this time, fate has a different plan for him. Luciano slowly moves his hand, hugging Viktor back. “I will”

#2p hetalia #2p italy #2p russia

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domvinciguerra · 7 months

Text

“A BURNT CHILD LOVES THE FIRE.”

FULL NAME: Domenico Vinciguerra NICKNAME(S): Dom, Domenic (don’t call him that) PREFERRED NAME(S): Dom, generally only goes by Domenico with fellow Italians or family BIRTH DATE: August 16th, 193 AGE: 30 OCCUPATION: Owner of Puente (night club) AFFILIATION: None (as of right now) TIME IN TV: 5 years

GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him NATIONALITY: Italian ETHNICITY: White (Italian + Spanish) NEIGHBORDHOOD: Glenn Estates

BIRTH PLACE: Palermo, Sicily, Italy HOMETOWN: Rome, Italy + Madrid, Spain SOCIAL CLASS: upper class EDUCATION LEVEL: Fully completed upper secondary school, unfinished university degree FATHER: Gabriele Vinciguerra MOTHER: Valeria Castillo SIBLING(S): N/A BIRTH ORDER: N/A CHILDREN: ???? PET(S): N/A

ABOUT (cw for physical child abuse)

Grew up the only child of a Spanish supermodel and an Italian action movie star (popular enough that you'd know them in their respective countries, but it's doubtful those in the states would know them by name), and lived a life of a spoiled celebrity's kid on the outside. But within closed doors, it wasn't as bright and shiny. Think Logan Echolls both in home life and behavior.

After a particularly bad night in the Vinciguerra household which resulted in injuries bad enough to land Dom in the hospital, he finally had leverage against his father, and was able to blackmail the man into giving him a fairly unlimited trust fund.

He partied about for awhile, wasted some time, but eventually knew the only way to escape his father's shadow was to make one of his own. So he decided to go into business doing what he knew best: partying.

He wanted Las Vegas, but even with his funds, that shit was pricy, so he settled for opening up his night club, Puente, in Tonopah Valley. Perhaps he would have been better off in Vegas, having been oblivious to all the pipers he'd have to pay for his business to flourish.

Puente is known for it's decadence and feeling like you're walking into a den of sin, but with a high end feel to it.

Sarcasm is Dom's first language (okay, fine Italian was, technically), and literally doesn't know how to be genuine to save his life.

He's the type of person who despite his charisma and silver tongue, doesn't consider himself to have any true friends. Despite how much he talks, no one actually knows a whole lot about him.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

personal assistant/right hand (wo)man. Dom isn’t a person with a lot of close connections, and some may say it’s a bit pathetic that one of his closest is his personal assistant/right hand person at Puente. But out of all his connections in the states, this person probably knows the most about him. From his coffee order to way that raising his right brow instead of his left means what kind of day he’s having. And while Dom goes out of his way not to know people, he’s learned a lot about this muse without meaning to as well. Due to this sort of reluctant closeness, I think this is one of the only people who Dom will take shit from. This connection can be played a completely platonic, but could also possibly see something romantic coming out of it too if the vibes are right! X. X. X. X.

regular clubgoers. domenico doesn’t have a lot of steady relationships in his life, but the regulars who continue to come back to Puente and make it a success always get special treatment from him.

friends. most people dom would call acquaintances even when they might call him friend, so it’s a rare few who actually get that title from him. while they probably don’t know all the dirty details of his life, probably are at least aware of his estrangement from his father, although dom always prefers to keep things light.

flings/fwb. dom doesn’t do exes, because that would mean they’re an ex something. but flings? flings he does. and a lot. it’s a part of the lifestyle of owning a club, always surrounded by beautiful people trying to have a good time, and he’s always willing to provide just that.

ex. okay, maybe he does do exes. but only one. and who knows, maybe they’re the reason he makes that bold statement of ‘no exes’ now.

employees. any number of people who could work at puente! djs, bottle girls/guys, bartenders, and other staff!

at odds. someone who for some reason domenico is at odds with. maybe a owner of a competing club, or perhaps a neighbor who finds his business too loud. maybe a neighbor at his own apartment who he does’t get on with!

#( ngl im reusing this graphic from somewhere else so pls ignore where it says 28 )#tv.intros

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sarkisyanportfolio · 1 year

Text

Armenia’s Italian Neighbor

There’s something about Italian culture that brings me back to Armenian culture. Surely, there are slight differences in how open a culture we are; Armenians are more conservative when it comes to the human body, but that’s a result of influences by geographic location and long-lasting domination by Persian, Turkish, and Russian empires versus Italy who was colonized briefly by other non-conservative European countries. We’ve had different experiences of destruction, both from within and without from external foreign governments, but we share more than we don’t.

We cling to the empires that once were… the confident, self-assured, ironically both terse and cantankerous attitudes. These entitled men, under the impression they’re god’s gift to the earth, yet at the same time constantly feel they have to prove themselves. The seething egos unable to stand in line, unable to wait for anything, and constantly battling with one another and themselves. These conflicted men, who both want to subdue women, yet revere women for their resiliency and strength. These men who walk with a snarl taped to their face, attacking anyone who belittles them or gets in their way, who believe they have a societal responsibility to be strong for women, but do not notice they’re robbed of their freedom to be vulnerable, to be human. Authentically all the same.

These men who act and behave as though they couldn’t care less what people think of them, but at the same time care a great deal of the respect they’re shown by every living creature. The ceremonious drinking and eating around a magnificent long table, soon accompanied by accordions and singing and yelling and laughing, and perhaps, if it’s a good enough dinner party, crying and fighting too. We are human beings that exist as simply too much for our earthly physical selves. Men and women alike that can’t be contained and don’t know what to do about it.

The fiery beautiful women, with thick-hair and dark eyes – envious of mans perceived comfort in existing in the world. Men who are never judged on the basis of their looks no matter how ugly or handsome they are, rather on their talents and contributions; as the Armenian saying goes, “txamard@ petq a kapikic miqich sirun lini,” or man should be slightly more attractive than a monkey. You will probably never meet a gender more convinced they were created perfectly in god’s image. Overwhelmingly creative and passionate men and women, with emotion and volatility to yell into the streets which are all empty before 10 am – yet only women will be criticized for indecorum, for madness. Man and woman alike have their creativity stifled by their cultural environments regardless, by that contradiction of wanting to be accepted by our small tribes, and at the same time repelled by wanting to prove that we have more to offer.

The grandmothers with scarves wrapped around their heads and aprons around their waist as their second skin, dressed in black mourning something or someone always; cooking and cleaning up, and then cooking and cleaning up, and then cooking and cleaning up. Their sometimes-lopsided compassion and sensitivity towards their mischievous sons than their modest daughters.

The constant upholding of tradition, with all its values, faults and shortcomings. The wife who stands by her weak unfaithful husband. The daughter who, while younger than her brother, learns to do the household chores her brother doesn’t have to learn. We walk the same gravel, we share the same guitar strings, our grandfathers wore the same short-sleeved white or beige button downs with slacks and loafers. Our men huddle outside the church, while women take communion inside.

We crush the same grapes and then we dance, and then we fight. We defend our own; we stick to our tribe, and that’s all we know. Do with that what you will. We share these same traditional societal roles, the same objectless anger and restlessness, and we project that into the arts. Our humor, valued above all else, chained to the burdens of life. The quick-witted one-liners and proverbs and aphorisms undeniably tied to our constant awareness of history. And, my favorite, the noses. Our only other defining characteristic other than our last names. Yes, the elegant and the misunderstood noses.

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

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earliebirb · 3 years

Note

Steve not noticing that he goes into Tony kisses withdrawals when Tony’s away, but the rest of the team do. Like a first if Tony is out for a day or two and Steve doesn’t get his morning kiss he’s grumpy until after lunch, so the team introduces secret “Tony is away” brunch protocols, to get it over faster. After 4 days he’s moping unless he’s training or out with friends so it’s bootcamp/friend fieldtrips time.

2 weeks where he’s not on a mission and Tony’s out of the country and so busy he can barely video chat? The rest of the team sequesters him to the couch with ice cream and tv shows that Steve would like but aren’t on the “only watch first with Tony” list.

(The list includes all Star Wars’ and Treks, LoTR, Ghibli movies, and Die Hards. Steve can watch Mike Schur shows and Game of Thrones. While Disney movies and Romcoms are allowed by Tony without him, they are banned by the team cuz Steve starts crying during them at this point in the withdrawal process)

Eventually the team just kidnaps and throws him into a Quinjet and has him surprise Tony in his hotel after 3 weeks of no Tony and no mission calls. He is intolerably whiny, has grown his depression beard, and keeps calling the president, Fury, and other country’s heads of state to see if there’s aliens attacking.

LOOK LISTEN THE FIRST TIME I RECEIVED THIS ASK I WAS LIKE WOW ARE WE THE SAME PERSON??? Because Steve-suffering-from-Tony-withdrawal is also a personal headcanon of mine that I've carried in my head for years. It's my Favorite. This ask is very fun and made me laugh a lot and I love it very, very much. Keep your brilliant ideas coming, Anon. I really love them. (I am very sorry for taking a century to go through all of them 😔) Also, since it's Steve's birthday (shhh I'm not late, what are you talking about, shhhhh), I decided to develop this lovely idea and turn it into a birthday fic! I hope you like it! 🤍

let the heart grow fonder

steve/tony, birthday fluff, established relationship, 1174 words

“Was the flight really worth it? A few more days and I would’ve been home anyway.”

“Yeah.” Steve noses the back of his ear and Tony shivers. “But I would’ve been all alone on my birthday.”

“You would hardly be alone. There’s the whole team, and besides— The entire country would practically be celebrating your birthday. Fireworks, barbecues, the whole nine yards.”

“Not the same,” Steve insists stubbornly. Tony sees Steve cupping his hands to gather some water from in front of Tony’s chest before dumping it on Tony’s head. Closing his eyes, Tony lets the warm water seep into his hair and trickle down his face, neck, and back.

He opens his eyes when he feels Steve’s fingers sweeping his hair away from his forehead. “I would trade all of it for a day of doing nothing with my fella.”

“Sweet talker.” Tony huffs.

“‘S true.” Steve punctuates his statement with a kiss on Tony’s shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“‘S all your fault. You’re the one who was gone for a ridiculously long time.”

“Honey, trust me, if I had the choice I would much rather stay at home with you.”

Steve sighs, the sound echoing in the bathroom. “I know.”

This time, Tony cups his hands together, gathering a mountain of soapsuds. He blows on it, sending suds and bubbles flying.

“Nat told me all about it, you know.”

“About what?” Steve asks, his luscious beard tickling Tony’s temple.

“About the depression beard. All your sulking and moping. And whining.”

“I did no such things. The beard is me… trying out a new look.”

Tony snorts. “And crying.”

“Natasha’s a lying liar,” Steve grumbles, hiding his face in Tony’s hair.

“Come on, which movie was it?”

Steve stays silent. With his movements hidden by the soapy water, Tony pokes Steve’s side stealthily.

“Ah!” Steve yelps.

“Which movie was it, baby?”

Steve huffs, resting his forehead against the back of Tony’s skull.

And then, finally:

“Dumbo,” Steve mumbles in defeat. Tony snickers.

“Oh, honey. You’re such a softie.” Tony sighs fondly as he leans back, letting more of his weight rest against Steve’s body. He lets out a delighted hum when Steve welcomes the extra weight by snaking an arm around his waist.

“No judging,” Steve whines, and Tony grins when he can hear the pout in his voice. “You’d been gone for two weeks by then and I really missed you. Besides, you have no room to talk. Remember The Fox and the Hound?”

“Please. That’s totally different.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Anyone who doesn’t cry at The Fox and the Hound is a monster.”

Submerged up to his shoulders in warm water and pressed up against his naked husband, Tony feels well-rested and content in a way he hadn’t been for the past few weeks.

Still, they only have a few days left before they have to leave for New York, so they should probably make good use of what little time they have left in Milan.

“I wanna take you to this really beautiful restaurant for your birthday dinner. Super romantic. We could get a private table. You’d love it.”

“Yeah?” Tony feels Steve’s hand stroking up and down his stomach.

“Mm-hm. We should probably get out soon. Get dressed. Look presentable,” Tony says, resting his head back on one of Steve’s shoulders and looking up at him.

Steve looks down at him, his unfairly long lashes wet and clumped together. For a moment, he simply stares back at Tony silently.

“What?” Tony eventually says, unable to withstand the silent scrutiny. He breaks eye contact and lifts one of his feet up and out of the water just because he can, just for something to do.

Tony watches his own foot hover above the surface of the water for a few seconds before another hairy leg breaks the surface of the water. The bigger foot settles on top of Tony’s hovering one until his leg buckles under the weight, sending the two left feet plunging back into the water.

“Rude,” Tony remarks with a frown, turning back to stare up at Steve again.

Steve is already looking at him, almost as if he never looked away in the first place.

“What?”

“Would you be mad at me,” Steve begins, one of his hands reaching up to bury itself in Tony’s damp hair, fingers lightly scratching his scalp, “if I said I’d much prefer it if we stayed in tonight and ordered room service?”

Tony leans back, incredulous. “Room service?”

Steve nods.

“For your birthday dinner?”

He nods again.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs, disturbing the water slightly with the movement. “I mean, I didn’t exactly fly all the way to Italy for the food.”

Tony softens and tries in vain to hold back his smile.

“Yeah?”

An answering smile blooms on Steve’s face. He leans in to nudge Tony’s nose affectionately with his own. “Uh-huh.”

“What did you come here for then?” Tony asks, voice dangerously low and eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Oh.” Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Keep looking at me like that and I may just skip the room service and go straight for dessert.”

Tony smirks devilishly. “What’s stopping you?”

Blinking rapidly, Steve swallows. “Yeah?”

“I mean, you are the birthday boy.” Tony strokes the line of Steve’s throat with the back of his fingertips and watches in glee as the man shivers.

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, Steve leans in close and—

“Actually, it’s me. I’m stopping you. I’m really craving some lasagna right now.”

Initially headed for Tony’s lips, Steve changes course and buries his face in Tony’s neck with a guttural groan.

“Sweetheart. You’re not making things easy for me.”

Tony chuckles. “Nothing about me is easy, honey. I’m a challenge.”

“But it’s my birthday,” Steve complains, voice muffled.

“You got off an eight-hour flight, got to the hotel, and immediately napped for four hours. You haven’t had a proper meal.”

“I ate on the plane.”

“No, we need to get you some proper Italian food. Hearty, heartwarming, fulfilling.”

“Food is just food. I just wanna have you.”

“Um, excuse me? That is deeply insulting. Authentic Italian food is not just food, it’s an experience.”

“I wanna have the Tony experience.”

“You’ll get the Tony experience after you have a proper meal. Look, we can order room service, but we can’t skip dinner.”

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, face finally emerging from its hiding place. “But can we stay like this for another fifteen minutes?”

Tony settles back against Steve’s chest and lets Steve pull him close. “Of course, birthday boy.”

Steve hums contentedly, resting his chin on the crown of Tony’s head. “You make me really happy, sweetheart. I love you.”

Tony feels Steve’s fingers interlocking on top of his stomach. He looks down, spotting the wedding ring worn on Steve’s ring finger, one that he knows is engraved with his own handwriting.

The image of the ring is distorted by the water, but still, it glints golden. Tony smiles to himself.

“I love you, too, honey. Happy birthday.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #happy birthday steve #earl answers #anonymous #stevetony chatter

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into?

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.

I’m going after her.

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster.

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone.

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!”

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I?

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here.

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.

Come downstairs.

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it.

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.

And then nothing.

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry.

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first.

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.

Because he said that almost like an accusation.

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone.

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.

Instead I ask, “Why?”

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words.

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.

But it doesn’t, because they are true.

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting.

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit.

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.

And then he says something that changes everything.

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me.

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.

He tsks, feigning disappointment.

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elaine irwin #azriel #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain x azriel fanfiction

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the-ghost-king · 3 years

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You know how everyone has at least one minor rrverse character with no significance but they're you're favorite? Okay Mitchell from the Aphrodite Cabin is one of mine...

Make him Italian, probably Southern Italian I like to imagine his family immigrated from the Florentine area

Trans masc

At first he thinks he's just a gnc trans guy but after he starts medical transition he realizes he's nonbinary

Uses he/they pronouns generally

But when people he's close to talk about or to him and they're using nouns to describe him they use female gendered nouns (ex: daughter, lady, girl, etc), and yes these are a part of his gender expression

Also the type of person to hyphenate their deadname with their original middle name as their new middle name

They definitely are the type of person too who just invites invasive and awkward questions (as long as they're being asked in good faith) for educational purposes, and he'll give you the most derailed answer if that's what you want

Also he might be femme but he's not weak and he will beat you up if you're just being unnecessarily transphobic

His dad is a high quality fashion designer and because of this Mitchell is kind of spoiled (okay very spoiled) about clothes, always having high thread count clothes and also personally tailored pieces

They've got some casual plans to take over their dad's business but he thinks that he wants to expand it out into a more affordable fashion market for the average person (they like affordable and sustainable fashion too! The artistic pieces are nice but it's not a long-term sustainable business model!)

He personally dresses very camp, even the cishets look at him and go "oh he's you know... _/‾"

They love a good suit, very gender to him

Him, Nico, and Chiara all getting together to talk in Italian; and have culturefests or something

Watching Italian films, and TV shows, updating Nico on modern Italian culture, etc

Bi or Pan, but doesn't really feel the need to label himself, usually just says multisexual or mspec unless someone doesn't know what that means

His attraction to women is gay, his attraction to nonbinary people is gay, his attraction to men is gay... If you can't handle that you're not their target audience

Idk how old they are but Rick's timeline is fake and so are ages then, so him and Austin are dating

Very cute couple, very casual dynamic, probably have won "cutest couple award" or something at some point

Definitely went to all their high school dances together

Their favorite color... Probably green or pink... Yellow is also a good option

Mitchell probably wears glasses for the "aesthetic" but has worse vision with them on

Would not put it past him to be a social media influencer but have a secret Twitter account for BL

He definitely reads GL too

Very into anime, jdrama, and manga, likes manhwa and kdrama and any other variation of those things

Yeah probably kpop too

They probably like stuff like "My First First Love" and "Cherry Magic!" etc

First anime was probably one of the ones everyone seems to start with so maybe "Your Lie in April" or "Ouran High school Host Club"... His all time favorite is probably "Given"

First Manga... Probably "Orange" or something unexpected like "Black Butler"

He's definitely the person who introduces Nico to anime and such... The whole thing just sort of confuses Nico but he likes a couple of them, "Death Note" and some other psychological or horror type stuff

Definitely has some talent when it comes to hair styling, lots of people at camp are always going to him for haircuts and styles so he starts charging $2 or something for it and basically has a summer job at camp

He lives in the New York area year round (honestly, he probably goes home on the weekends sometimes from summer camp and goes to camp for the weekends sometimes in the school year)

Because of how close he is to camp other people in the area will often call him to do their hair and makeup for homecoming/prom/etc and he always agrees unless he's visiting family in Italy or he's touring with his dad

Likes to chill with Austin at the infirmary, partially to hang out but also probably because that's one of the few places in camp that has air conditioning

Will is always getting after him for sitting on the counters, something about it being unsanitary but they don't think it should matter as long as they're not in any of the operating rooms

Austin likes him too much to tell him no but yeah it's not sanitary, but to Austin the choice is a sanitary counter or a happy and comfortable boyfriend... He's picking happy boyfriend

Also Mitchell is very supportive of Austin's music career and always trying to convince Austin to let them use tracks of his music on the runways at their dad's shows

But Austin always says no because he wants to "make it big on his own" which Mitchell thinks is a bit silly but if it's what Austin wants he'll support it

Mitchell is super into camp's drama, they don't do anything with the information or all the secrets they just like knowing all of it

If you ask them to keep a secret they absolutely will

But that embarrassing story about you that went around camp five years ago that you lowkey wish everyone would just stop talking about, he's the one that keeps restarting the cycle

He babbles to Nico all the time about all the ongoings of camp because Nico is also good at keeping his mouth shut, but Nico doesn't care about the drama for the same reasons though (Nico: "Hold on, back up, you said Drew knows Sadie Kane? Interesting..." Mitchell:"okay Mr. Ominous, and also yeah, I did say that, so anyhow... ")

Very artistic person in general, he can probably play the piano okay, he's no professional and no Apollo kid but he can play some songs, and they have enough practice to learn new songs on their own!!

Definitely was voted by camp to have the worst taste in music though

Says his favorite movie is probably "Bring It On" or "Heathers" of something similar, but his actual favorite film is one of those cliche silent black and white ones that's only available in French

They definitely did dance for a few years growing up, has a ballet, tap, and hip hope background to work with but he left it behind when we was 13 or so but eventually they start to get back into hip hop and keep up with various types and lessons and places through their 20s

He's always the person to start groupchats

They think they're fun but they rarely take off without prompting from him

Also often times plays matchmaker for people ("they would be a cute couple wouldn't they? I don't know though, does she like girls? I think so?")

Those are just some ideas off the top of my head, hopefully you enjoy!

#i also think it's important to mention that some of these headcanons I picked up over the years from other people's fics and works etc #so some is mine but some is not and now he has a personality!!#mitchell aphrodite cabin #mitchell #pjo

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literaryfic · 3 years

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singer!cha-young & violinist!vincenzo au pt.2

park ju-hyung is abandoned in a South Korean orphanage when he’s 7.

he gets adopted by an Italian couple, the Rossis, who want nothing more than to be parents. they’re older, but kind and patient with him. he misses his mom at first, has a hard time adapting to Italy, the language, the food, the people. everything is new and scary. but they’re here every step of the way, consoling him after a nightmare, holding his hand through a difficult night.

ju-hyung is nothing if not resourceful and intelligent, and he works hard to become vincenzo rossi. he learns Italian quickly, eager for people, for his new family, to accept him. he wants to make sure to become the perfect son, a child no one would think to abandon.

his adoptive parents sign him up for violin classes when he’s eight. they’re big classical music fans and they want to share their passion with him. he loves the way they look at him when he plays, they seem proud. so he tries hard.

turns out vincenzo is exceptionally good at violin. so much that people start calling him a prodigy. by the time he’s 10, the Cassano Fondation notices him and they become his patrons. he gets homeschooled, but really he just has private tutoring after his day-long violin lessons.

he spends his days at the Fondation, surrounded by teachers, coaches, older students. he’s the youngest there, and he doesn’t get much interactions with people his age. he doesn’t mind, he’s not very social anyway. he might be young but he understands the disdain in some adults’ eyes, he hears the slurs they direct at him from their children’s mouths.

his only friend is Luca, the son of his parent’s cleaner. he’s two years younger than him, immature and childish, the way a kid their age should be, but vincenzo doesn’t mind. he likes playing catch with him when no one’s looking (“be careful not to hurt your hands, vinny. a musician’s hands are just as important as his heart.”, his father had said.) . he likes how carefree and bright Luca looks when he’s playing with his little cars. they hang out on sundays, the only afternoon where vincenzo doesn’t have lessons.

of course, he wins every competition he enters. his audition tapes are played to students 5 years older than him. people gather at the windows of his private classroom at the Fondation.

when he’s 15, he’s getting ready to start his career as a soloist when his adoptive parents die tragically in a car crash. his parents, the people who’d wanted him when no one else did, had left him. he’d been abandoned once again, twice an orphan.

everything happens so fast. he inherits his family’s massive fortune, and Fabio’s the Fondation head, decides to adopt him. he becomes vincenzo cassano. in 15 years, he’s had three different names, three different identities. he doesn’t know who he is, really, but he knows what he can do: play the violin.

and he does, and he takes the classical world by storm, a sensation unlike anything they’ve seen before. he’s praised for his technicality as much as his interpretation, his performance skills mature beyond his young age.

what they don’t see is him rehearsing ten hours a day for years, without a break. vincenzo cassano doesn’t do days off, apparently. he loses himself in his music, in his art, lets it consume him so that ju-hyung, vincenzo

he travels the world, plays in a different country almost every month. he doesn’t have to think about who he is and where he belongs when he plays, he can just focus on the notes, on the emotions the pieces he plays evoke.

some might think that vincenzo loved his career as a world class violinist because he was considered one of the best to ever play, a genius admired by all and a forgotten by none. others might believe he simply loved music. they’d be all wrong. he couldn’t care less about fame, recognition and glory. vincenzo played the violin because for a short moment, when he stood on stage, he disappeared. all eyes might have been on him, but vincenzo felt invisible, the music he created hiding him from the world.

at 33, he’s accomplished everything there is to accomplish, played with every orchestra, every conductor, has interpreted every piece. he’s released 6 albums, two of them winning a Grammy for Best Classical Music Album, has one three Grammy’s for Best Classical Instrumental Solo and is the best paid soloist on the circuit.

vincenzo cassano is tired, drained and empty. he’s given everything he had to give, and music isn’t enough anymore. he wants to live a life away from people now, on his own. but first, there is something he needs to do: find his biological mother.

he had started therapy a year ago, not by choice. luca and his agent, mateo, all but forced him to go. “it’ll do you some good to talk about what goes on in there. there’s no shame in going.”, luca had tried. “if you don’t go, i’m cancelling all your performances for the next year.”, mateo had had the last word.

he had discussed his adoption and the anger he arbored towards his biological mother with his therapist, and had concluded that he should try to have some closure. he needed to know why she left him, what made her decide he wasn’t good enough. six months ago, he’d hired a private investigator based in Seoul to search for her. a month later, he had a name and an address. Geumga community center, where she apparently teaches the violin.

after he learns that his biological mom is a violin teacher, vincenzo feels sick every time picks up his instrument. he’s forced to stop playing, to stop performing, to stop disappearing. anger runs in his veins, underneath the surface, threatening to erupt at any time.

“Vincenzo Cassano announces retirement from the music scene, world mourns his absence already” “Vincenzo Cassano is retiring because of mental health issues, insiders reveal” “Is Vincenzo Cassano retiring because he’s not the best anymore?”

he flies out to Seoul on a whim, without telling his team or Luca. he books a 5-star hotel a few subway stations from the community center. he’s given himself a week. a week to confront his mother, to close this chapter.

he never makes it to the community center. instead he walks around Seoul, head low. people recognise him, which he didn’t expect. although he feels no particular attachment to his motherland, South Koreans are very fond of him. how could they not, when one of their compatriots is the best violinist in the world? over the years he’s had a few interviews in South Korea and has donated to some local charities. although most of it was orchestrated by his management team, people seemed to love him and his name meant something here.

the closer he gets to going to his mother’s workplace is a small restaurant right in front of the community center. he’s not used to korean food anymore, but he enjoys it. the place is empty until one man, probably around 55 years old, sits right in front of him. “a bottle of makgeolli, please!” he asks the owner.

“can i help you?” vincenzo says, surprised someone would dare to sit at a stranger’s table. “mmh. why have you been hovering past the Geumga community center for a week?”

“hovering?”, vincenzo scoffs, “i don’t think this is any of your business, sir.”

“it is since i work there. are you ms.oh’s long lost son or something?” vincenzo spits out his water.

#vincenzo #chayenzo #chayenzo fic #chayenzo hc #chayenzo au #famous!chayenzo

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bobo2217 · 2 years

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Hi! I was wondering- please forgive me if this is too personal but- I really really want to know what your spaghetti bolognese recipe is? Please tell me!

Everyone needs a great everyday Spaghetti Bolognese recipe, and this is mine! The Bolognese Sauce is rich, thick and has beautiful depth of flavour. It’s perfect for a quick midweek meal though if you have the time to simmer this Meat Sauce for a couple of hours, you’ll take it from seriously delish to OMG this is amazing!!

Serve it over pasta, stuff into jacket potatoes, make an epic Lasagna or Baked Spaghetti Pie!

Spaghetti Bolognese

We Aussies have a thing about shortening words. Good day is g’day. Pavlova is Pav, afternoon is arvo, mosquitos are mozzies. Sharon is Shazz, Nagisa is Nagi (that’s yours truly).

So it is thoroughly Aussie to shorten Spaghetti Bolognese to Spag Bol!

And here she is – my Spag Bol. Rich, thick, incredible flavour in the sauce even if you only have time for a quick 20 minute simmer. Though if you can slow cook for a couple of hours, it really takes it to another level!

What goes in Spaghetti Bolognese

I’ve been loyal to this Meat Sauce recipe since I first learned to cook when I was a teenager. There are 3 little things in this recipe that might be a bit different to Bolognese recipes you’ve seen around:

1. Worcestershire sauce: it just adds that little extra something-something. I get antsy if I get caught in a situation where I have to do without;

2. Beef bouillon cubes (beef stock cubes) for extra depth of flavour in the sauce, to compensate for this being an everyday midweek version rather than a traditional slow cooked Bolognese Ragu which starts with a soffrito (onion, celery, carrot slowly sautéed) as well as pancetta.

3. Sugar, if needed: just a little bit goes a long way to transform the sauce if you happen not to be using high quality, sweet Italian canned tomatoes. Supermarket canned tomatoes here in Australia are notoriously sour. Especially the Australian ones – it pains me so much to say that, but it’s true.

How to make Bolognese Sauce

The making part is straightforward and quite quick too:

Saute garlic and onion – about 3 minutes;

Brown the beef – about 2 minutes;

Add everything else, give it a good stir then simmer for 20 minutes minimum (midweek), up to 3 hours (weekend indulgence!). Slow cooking makes the beef incredibly tender and the sauce develops extra flavour.

Difference between Bolognese and Meat Sauce?

Different name for the same thing! You’ll find Bolognese made all sorts of ways all across Italy and all around the world, but essentially mince meat (usually beef, sometimes combined with pork or veal) in a tomato based sauce flavoured with herbs.

The “proper” way to serve pasta: toss with the sauce

As with all my pasta recipes, I include a step to toss the pasta IN the sauce, rather than just placing pasta in bowls and spooning over sauce.

This makes the Bolognese sauce emulsify, so it thickens, becomes glossy and clings to the spaghetti. No more watery sauce at the bottom of your pasta bowl! This is how chefs and Italians make pasta. Try it once, you will be converted!

But it is an optional step. Sometimes, you just don’t have the energy to clean yet another pan. I hear ya. 🙂