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that-struggling-writer-lh · 2 months

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A Flower For Every Secret Ch. 3 - Basket Flowers

Buckle up my friends because I was giggling and kicking my feet writing this.

WORD COUNT : 1885

WARNINGS: Extreme fluff, mutual pining. MINORS DNI. These guys are sickly in love I can feel it in my bones.

Pair the dancing scene with the song J's Lullaby by Delaney Bailey. ALL THE FEELS.

“You going to Colleen’s wedding tomorrow?” a voice piped from behind the glass window.

“Good morning to you, too. I’m not sure. I feel like it was a tentative invite because I’ve only been here like a month.” I looked up at Agent Carrillo through my lashes, phone on hold between my neck and ear.

Joel hadn’t been home hardly all week. His truck always leaving at dawn and not back until late, Sarah begrudgingly following close behind him. Both of their clothes had been covered in sawdust several of those days.

He hadn’t acknowledged me much since the dinner he had invited me to, the only conversation being passing hello, how was your day? He didn’t have time to play in the streets with the neighborhood kids, much to the dismay of many parents who had to pay extra attention without Joel keeping watch of the street. He had mentioned a big job in the city, renovating an old shop front into a high-end bakery.

“Still nice to get to know people better, you’re kind of in your own world over here.” he shrugged, leaning past the barrier to peek at my desk space.

I covered the note I was writing, waiting to get it sent out to a patrol unit. A welfare check on an elderly woman, I hung up the line when I was confident my message went through, and sighed. “I don’t have a date. So I won’t know anyone, and I’ll be alone. You have a wife, Carrillo. You have a buffer.”

He seemed to consider, “Find one. I mean this in the most platonic way. You’re pretty. Someone would want to go with you, even if it’s some shitty blind date.”

I chewed the end of my pen gently, the only person that came to mind being the neighbor I’d been pining over for the last week, “I think there’s someone I can ask.”

Joel’s truck was surprisingly in the driveway when I pulled into the cul-de-sac, Sarah in the front yard with one of her friends, laying in the grass with a neatly folded fortune teller. They played the game with smiles on their faces, even from across the street I could hear the flip, flop, flap of the paper with the swish of their hands.

I tentatively walked across the street, “Hey, Sarah. Your dad home?” I questioned.

“In his office, just walk inside and let him know I said it's okay.” She looked away from me and smiled at her friend again, “Pick a number one through four.”

“Joel?” I called into the silent house, “Joel, it’s me, Sarah said to come in. I have to ask you something.”

A shuffling noise and a door opening came from down the hallway and Joel appeared, phone pressed to his ear, he motioned for me to follow, using his spare hand to silently shush me, “Again, it’s not possible with the current price of lumber, tools and extras. I gotta pay my guys, I gotta feed my kid. I’d love to continue offering the labor rate I had five years ago when I previously did work at your home, but I am a small business.” he was rolling his eyes, rolling up his long sleeved shirt to his elbows.

I watched him as he sat at an l-shaped desk, stuffed into a corner of the small room, a window directly in front of his chair. A few photos of him and Sarah framed, dusted. A tiny cactus potted, and neat stacks of binders with printed labels. Money In, Money Out, Project Portfolio, Current Client List and Job Sites, Employee Records/Handbook.

He pinched his brow, exhaling slowly so as not to let the person on the other end hear his frustration, “I offer very competitive rates, you won’t find someone cheaper than me right now, I don’t think. I’ve held off on raising prices again… I understand your frustration, times are changing for everyone. Yes, just let me know. I’d love to be of help to you, have a great weekend Bob.” he put the phone into its cradle and groaned aloud, “Sorry, Sweetheart.” he drawled as he spun on squeaky wheels to face me.

“Sarah let me in, I wanted to ask something pretty big of you this weekend. I understand if it's a no, I just have nobody else I’d like to ask.”

He pressed his elbow into the desk, resting his chin in his palm, “I’m all ears.”

“There’s this… Thing.” I started, looking up at the ceiling.

He waited for me to continue, “Gosh, I’m nervous.” I huffed a laugh.

“Don’t be nervous, just ask.” he had started grinning at this point.

“The chief’s secretary is getting married tomorrow. I was a last minute invite, I wasn’t planning on going, but was given the option of taking a plus one and-” I froze, trying not to stammer over my words, “I was hoping that maybe you’d like to come. With me. As a favor. It doesn't have to be like…” I trailed off.

His ears turned a soft shade of pink and he looked out the window, now to the side of him, “Let me make a call.” he turned back to the phone and in moments, “Maria.” a pause, entirely too long as he stared directly in my eyes with the phone to his ear. I began wringing my hands together in anticipation. My heart thrumming wildly in my throat, “Nothing serious, just a favor.” he started, “I have uh… A date tomorrow… Need someone to feed Sarah dinner, make sure she’s okay.” he was chewing his lower lip nervously, that eye contact still unbreaking, “Of course,” he was grinning now, the pink in his ears flushing through his cheeks, “I really appreciate you guys. Thank you.”

The phone clicked back into its home on the desk, and Joel stood from his chair, “It’s a date.”

Joel promised to wear his best. Based on what I’d seen I’d hoped it was a little more than a blazer and nice pants. But he could show up in anything and I’d be happy just to hear his laugh again.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to label my feelings for my neighbor as, other than when I look at him it feels like the breath has been taken from my lungs for a moment. I spent all evening laying everything out, he promised to pick me up by three p.m for the four o’clock ceremony in the gardens of the event center. The reception would follow in a large barn. From what I had heard, Colleen’s family spared no expense. I opted to wear a lilac, solid colored dress that ended at my ankles, off shoulder sleeves and tulle underneath the skirts to plump up the whole thing, paired with silver heels. My hair in a french twist with pieces left out to frame my face, my makeup bright, blushy and glossy.

The knock at the door as I put an extra coat of lipgloss on and stuffed touchup stuff into my clutch almost sent me into a panic. I rushed to answer the door, careful not to trip over myself before opening the door. I was not prepared to see him look so-

“Wow.” we said in unison, wide-eyed.

“You look-” we both started,

“Handsome.”

“Perfect”

Joel really pulled it off. Hair neatly parted and slicked, facial hair trimmed. He sported a full tux, perfectly tailored. He offered me his arm and I graciously accepted, the cul-de-sac was bustling with life, but it was as if he was the only one there with me. Drowning out everything else in a haze of warm, woodsy cologne and perfect smiles. The warmth made each vein in his large, rough hand rise. It was nearly impossible to keep my eyes trained on any single spot of him. He cleaned up good.

He led me to his truck, opening the door and helping me up.

The ride was near silent, only the radio covering the thrumming of my chest. The nerves electrifying my every fiber.

He kept his hands off of me through the entirety of the ceremony, though our eyes often drifted to each other through the vows. The soft music.

The reception was dimly lit, candles gracing every surface they made sense on, baskets overflowing with blooms of every shade to mark doorways, placed on tables as centerpieces, a chandelier of candles with wildflower blooms laced in every spare beam.

Joel was seated firmly beside me at a table full of strangers. Eventually his hand found a spot to rest on top of mine, our fingers tentatively lacing together. Both of us obviously nervous. It was different than last week on the walk back to my house from his. I was keenly aware of his every movement, the feeling of his skin. The flush of my face, and each beat of my hammering heart.

Eventually I heard the slow, soft guitar and words sung so softly it was like a private prayer.

Darling I’d wait for you

Even if you didn’t ask me to.

Tie a lasso around the moon

And bring it on down to you.

His eyes found mine again and he rose from his seat, keeping our fingers laced together, glancing around at the other couples slowly moving along to the beat, “Normally I’d say I have two left feet… But this time… Dance with me?”

It took a moment for the words to leave after the nod of confirmation, “Of course.” I whispered as he took me toward the middle of the room. One hand pressed into my lower back, bringing our waists together, his other holding mine so delicately I was sure I must be dreaming. The candlelight illuminated his face in a golden haze. Surely things like this are only in fairytales

Cause, Baby, when your arms are around me.

I’d swear that I’m holding the sun.

“Joel,” I started, “Thank you - for coming with me.” his eyes were so warm I could have melted in them.

“There isn’t a way I’d have missed something like this.” he squeezed his hand at my back, bunching up tulle and soft fabric.

You could have the stars and the trees.

When dividing up the universe.

My breath hitched as words failed me entirely; and my hand, pressed firmly onto his shoulder, loosened, slipping further up and around to the back of his neck, burying in the soft hair at his nape.

His brows furrowed, almost a question. Almost a hope. We studied each other as everything else fell around us. Deeper and deeper. Until all that remained on the crowded dance floor was Joel. Me. And the words of a lullaby.

Darling, I wish that you

Could give me some more time.

To herd the whole sky in my arms,

And release it when you’re mine.

At the same moment he leaned in, so did I. It was hardly even a kiss. More like a tentative brush, testing the waters before making a full swan dive in deep water. He pulled away only to look at me again for confirmation. I nodded and he sealed his lips to mine.

I’d put the beach in your backyard

In hopes to be enough for you to stay.

YOU GUYS PLEASE LET ME KNOW HOW YOU'RE LIKING THIS. If you're enjoying PLEASE comment that you'd like me to continue!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou au #joel miller x ofc #neighbor!joel

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amaretigris · 4 months

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Developpe Ch. 4

1.2k words | Spicy fluff 🔥

Taglist: @luna2034 @mylittlemermaid221 @notagreekgal28

For reference in this chapter, the first pic is a fish lift, and the second is a fish dive. ☺️

That was a close call. Seeing you curtsey in your little ballet skirt, with only leggings underneath, gave Jonah ideas. The image of him bending you over his desk popped into his head, but he quickly shook it away. He didn't know what he'd gotten himself into.

In class on Monday, you were met with several glares. Several other ballerinas were huddled in the corner, looking you up and down, and whispering about why you'd been chosen for the lead female part in Don Quixote. You were a nobody from nowhere, after all.

Clearing your throat, trying to ignore the icy stares, you walked up to the casting list on the wall. You face lit up when you saw your name at the top for the part of Kitri. You were excited for the role, but just as excited that Jonah had kept his word to you. What exactly did this mean going forward? You weren't sure, but the possibilities thrilled you. While you were busy restraining your thoughts, you saw Jonah enter the studio.

Bouncing to your normal spot, you didn't turn to face him, but followed his reflection in the mirror. Jonah was carrying a stack of paper, and walked straight to the equipment closet. After he pulled everything out, he got everyone's attention.

"Alright class! The casting has been posted. I have the list of dance sequences for each role printed. This includes individual and group dances. Please pass these around and find yours in the stack. If you have any questions or issues, you can come to my office during office hours."

His expression grew stern for a moment.

"Do not, however, come to my office and ask me to reconsider the casting. These roles have been chosen for the dancers who have shown exceptional skill and proclivity."

You felt goosebumps covering your body at his words. The notion of Jonah thinking you were skilled was a pleasant one. You were flying high through class. You began practicing your solo dances. They were tough, but you were grateful to be learning them.

At the end of class, you put your jacket on much more carefully. As you slipped your fingers into the pockets, feeling the creases in the fabric, but no note, you were a little disappointed. Surely you couldn't expect one every day, though. He'd gone out on a limb to give you the first note. You should be happy for now, and patient.

The next class period, you found yourself struggling. You were practicing the couples dance with Sebastian, who had been cast as Don Quixote himself. You were happy your new friend had gotten the part, but the two of you didn't have the moves down yet. The couples dance included a fish lift, and you and Sebastian were not synced on the positioning.

"Again," Jonah said, watching the two of you.

You almost fell to the floor on this attempt, but Sebastian caught you at the last second.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Jonah asked when you were standing back up straight.

You met his eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"Don't apologize. Try again," he coaxed.

You two practiced this lift for the rest of the class period, with no luck.

"Don't cha worry," Sebastian smiled, "we'll get it soon."

You nodded.

"We will. Thank you Sebastian. Nice work today."

Turning to retrieve your coat, you felt giddiness rise up in your chest when you felt a sliver of paper in your pocket. You calmly walked out of the studio, unfolding it carefully.

My office for office hours.

Practically skipping back to your room, you showered, and busied yourself with tidying up your space until it was time to go to Jonah's office. The whole way there, you could feel your heart racing. You took a centering breath, and knocked on his door. Jonah called for you to come in. You noticed that he wasn't wearing glasses today.

"Hello," you smiled, taking the seat closest to him this time.

"Hello, (Y/N)," he smiled back at you, then his features twisted. "You and Sebastian seemed to have been struggling on synchronizing your positioning today," he said frankly.

You sucked in a breath. Shit. You hoped he wouldn't take the part away from you.

"I know. I'm sorry. Hopefully we can get it next time," you tried to placate.

Jonah shrugged his shoulders.

"Hopefully. I think we should try it."

You could hear the blood rushing up in your ears.

"W-What?" you squeaked out.

Jonah put on a wolfish grin at that.

"I said I think we should try it. I can show you the man's proper position. I'll just pull the chairs to the back of the room," he motioned to the chair you were sitting in.

He got up out of his own chair and rounded his desk. You slowly stood, stepping out of the way for him to pull the chairs to the back wall. With those out of the way, he padded across his office. You watched him lock the door, and your adrenaline spiked. When his eyes met yours again, they had a mischievous twinkle in them. Seeing his larger frame coming toward you made you want to swoon.

"What if someone comes by?" You managed to choke out.

He was much taller than you, looking down at your smaller frame when he stopped only inches from you.

"No one will. You're the only student that's been brave enough to come by my office this semester. Besides, I locked the door," he cooed.

He held his hands up, gently caressing the back of your arms.

"Should we get started?" he breathed.

You didn't know if this was a good idea, but you weren't going to say no. Sucking in another breath, you raised yourself en pointe, and assumed your first pose of the dance. You were amazed to see Jonah lift onto his toes, too. Without another thought, you began, first going into the pirouette, then shifting to the battement. Jonah did the same, surprising you with his flexibility. Trying not to let yourself get too distracted, you spun into him, setting up for the fish lift.

Putting his hands around your waist and inner thigh, Jonah pulled you close to his body, and lifted you into position. He walked a small circle with you, then letting you go down into the fish dive. Feeling the magic of the moment, you didn't want it to end. Several seconds later, Jonah pulled you up. Suddenly turning to him, giggling with happiness, you came face to face with your instructor.

He seemed short of breath; you weren't sure whether it was from the move or the moment. Looking up into his soft blue eyes, you smiled.

"Thank you. That was wonderful," you chirped.

Jonah's dimples made their appearance, making your smile grow wider. You couldn't tear your eyes from his.

"It's no problem," Jonah insisted. "You just need an experienced partner."

Raising his right hand up to your cheek, he settled it there. Touching your skin, Jonah's eyes blew wide. This was the first time you'd ever touched skin to skin. He felt an instant spark through his fingertips. You felt the same pulse of energy, and your heart was beating out of your chest. You knew that he'd experienced the same sensation, based on his reaction.

"What're you going to do about it?" you spoke before thinking, casting your eyes down to Jonah's lips, and back up again.

Jonah creased his brow and studied your eyes until he made a decision. Nodding slightly, he urgently molded his lips to yours.

#jonah hauer king #jonah hauer king x reader #jonah hauer king x y/n #jonah hauer king imagine #jonah hauer king x fem reader #the little mermaid 2023 #my stuff

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ladylooch · 7 months

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Omg I must see how timo and Liv make up? And what role Emma and Luca (maybe even lio) play in the making up. Maybe like something really big and/or exciting happens in Liv’s life and it makes her wish she had her dad around and Timo finds out and wishing he was there for the important moment. And of course starts to like Luca:))

A/N: This one got loooong. Our sweet girl liv 🥺💜

Liv cannot believe the email that she is seeing.

She is going to be a published author! Her first publication is going to be a whole freaking book! She lays back, kicking her feet up in the air. She grabs her phone, rolling onto her stomach as she listens to the FaceTime jingle connect to her mom back home.

“Hello Livy.” Emma murmurs into the phone. It is late, Liv realizes now.

“Oh I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, dad and I were sitting by the lake. How are you?” Liv tries not to let her smile falter at the mention of her still estranged father.

It’s been months since the summer night Liv left home. In October, Emma had come to parents weekend on her own. Timo flew over with her, but spent all his time with Lio, giving Liv distance. Other than a few, brief moments together at Lio & Luca’s game, Liv continues to keep her dad at an arm’s length.

“I am great. I have news.” She wiggles her shoulders. Emma perks, face expectantly glistening at her daughter. “I’m going to be a published author. My professor submitted my short story collection to a small company in Chicago. They want to do a full, 100+ page collection and publish it!”

“YES!” Emma cheers, jumping up and down. “Of course you are baby! I am so proud of you!” Emma’s eyes drift above the phone, then dart quickly back down to the screen. “So what are the next steps?”

Liv fills her mom in. This is the early stages, but because it is a shorter collection, it can be printed and released within the next 3 months. Right after Liv’s birthday is their target date. As Liv speaks, her mom moves into her office, closing the pocket door behind her.

“How wonderful! Oh, I knew you would reach your goal well before you were done with school.”

“Mama.” Liv chuckles. She is Liv’s biggest fan. The two women chat a little longer before Liv needs to head out to her next class. Before she goes, her mom has one final question.

“Is it okay with you if I tell daddy?” Emma asks, nervously. Liv nods. Despite everything, she wants him to know.

It’s a grueling couple of months. Liv has to learn quickly to balance a long-distance relationship, several rounds of edits and her school work. Several times, she is crying to Luca on the phone that maybe she can’t do this. Maybe she should back out of the book. Luca talks her through every wave of uncertainty.

“You can do this, baby. Don’t worry about us right now. We are solid. Worry about you and your dreams. I’ll see you when I can, okay?”

The problem is, Liv wants to see Luca. And her mom. She really needs a hug from her mom right now.

The night of the book launch, her publisher hosts a party in her honor. It just so happens to coincide with Luca’s schedule, and an off-day when the Wild are playing in Detroit. A quick flight gets him in Liv’s arms for the first time in months, where she refuses to let go of him. Lio is playing in Chicago the next night. It all perfectly came together for her big day.

For once, she is the main focus of the family.

But when her family walks in to the event space, beaming at her, Liv’s heart cracks in her chest. Discouraged tears rush into her eyes as she hugs her mom. Liv knows Timo came with her mom and younger brothers, but he is not here tonight. No one asked if he was invited; they all assumed it would be this way. Liv did too. But now that this is all happening, it feels wrong. Wrong in her heart. Wrong in her soul. Wrong in every rush of aliveness in her being.

She needs her dad.

“We are so proud of you!” Emma squeezes her tight again. “This is only the beginning. Anything you want is within your reach. I know it.” Emma squeezes her hand, then steps aside for hugs from the boys.

Once those squeezes are done, including the half asses ones from the twins, Liv grabs her mom’s forearm.

“Mama, can we talk?”

“Of course.” The two women leave the boys to talk shop aka hockey. “What’s up?” Liv swallows hard, looking into her mom’s brown eyes.

“Ah… What is daddy doing right now?” Emma straightens, pausing to read every flicker of Liv’s face.

“Um, he’s… at the hotel.”

“The four seasons?”

“Yes.”

“What room?”

“419.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Emma whispers in awe. She thinks about warning Timo briefly, but ultimately, this is not her place.

Liv’s teeth chatter the entire ride to the hotel in the passenger seat of Luca’s rental car. His hand on her thigh is the only thing preventing her from clattering off the seat to the floor mats. She keeps trying to pull in deep, calming breaths. When Luca pulls into the valet, he pauses, putting the car in park.

“Do you want me to come in?”

“No.. well.. yes.. No.” She shakes her head, unclipping her seatbelt. The valet opens her door. She swallows hard. “Could you just wait in the lobby?”

“Yes. Whatever you need, babe.”

“Thank you.” She whispers.

They walk hand in hand to the elevators. Liv’s fingers reluctantly leave his.

“I’m right here.” Luca reminds her as the doors close, separating them. When they steel presses together, her anxious expression looks back at her. She had her make up professionally done. She looks so much like her mom, so beautiful and elegant. The doors open and she walks to the left. Their room is in the corner, at the end of the hall. Before she can talk herself out of it, she knocks.

“Baby, did you forget your… purse.” Timo asks, holding up her mom’s black bag. Timo freezes when he realizes she is not Emma. He is dressed to the 9s in his best, blue suit. A shiny black bowtie is perfectly arranged at the opening of his neck. His loafers are shined, ankles exposed, and hair perfectly slicked into place. He looks dressed for the exact kind of event she came from.

“Um, no, but we can bring that to her.” Liv blurts. She can hear her blood pounding through her body.

“Hi Liv.” Timo says.

“Hi.”

“What… ah… are you doing here? Did mama send you for her purse?” His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “I could have brought it. But I thought maybe I’m on a certain black list. Wouldn’t be the first time.” He adds a half-hearted chuckle. Liv folds her bottom lip into her mouth.

“No, I don’t think mama knows she forgot her purse.”

“Oh. Well here.” Timo awkwardly extends the YSL shoulder bag out by it’s gold chain. Liv tentatively takes it, letting it rest in her hands in front of her. They stare at each other, not quite believing they are breathing the same air. Liv has darker hair than before. She always loses her summer highlights in the winter. Her brown hair is deep and rich like her mom’s. She’s so beautiful; Timo can’t believe she’s half him. “So, why are you here?”

“I was having a great night tonight. At least I thought I was. But then mama and the boys walked in without you and, I felt so.” She pauses, licking her dry lips and swallowing to ease the static in her throat. “So incomplete.” Timo’s eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t want this night to happen without you. It won’t mean as much. Everyone important is in that room, except for you.”

“Sweetheart, if mama told you I was sad earlier and you feel like you have to invite me, you don’t. I don’t deserve to be there.”

“I am not here because of mama. I know we have a lot to talk about, but I really want you there with us. Will you come back with me?”

“Yes.” The rush of air from Timo is immense. He sucks in a shaky breath after, trying like hell not to break down into sobs. “Of course. Thank you. Liv, this means.. so much to me.” Timo turns to go back into the room. “I’ll grab my wallet and we can go.”

“Okay. You should know Luca is downstairs. He brought me here.”

“Okay. That’s great.” Timo nods, searching under his clothes, trying to find his wallet. “Here it is.” Timo chuckles. “Your mom still insists I need a chain on this but… yuck.” He shake his head.

“Not fashionable at all.” Liv smiles, knowing her dad’s preferences all revolve around the season’s hottest trends coming out of Italy. Timo puts it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket as he looks at his daughter.

“Livy I am so proud of you. And I love you so much.”

“Do you?” Liv whispers. Timo’s face shatters, cheeks tight with emotion.

“Yes. Every day of your existence. I used to cry at the mere thought of you in my arms when you were in mama.” Liv knows this. She’s seen the videos her mom took of him wiping his wet cheeks. “Although I know I have not gone about this the best, every thing I’ve done has been with your best interest in mind… keeping you safe too. But you are grown up now. You’re way smarter than me and it’s your life. I respect that.”

“Daddy, Luca and I are in love.” Liv says as she steps towards him, putting herself into his arms.

“I know, hon. Mama told me.” Timo responds. “Heard about your birthday too… The celebration you always deserve.” He trails off. “Sorry I missed another one.”

“You’ll come over next year?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Liv rests her cheek on his chest, closing her eyes as he hugs her close.

“Are those the cuff links I gave you?” She wonders after they separate.

“Yeah.” Timo chuckles, bringing his wrist up for her to see.

“Remember when I thought those were just my initials?” She grins, looking up at him.

“Yeah…. Your mom and I couldn’t think past L I guess. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, you kept me as the only girl and that seems better.”

“Our perfect girl.” Timo murmurs. “Let’s go. I wanna tell everyone all about you being my daughter.”

Timo and Liv head down to the lobby where Luca waits for them. He grins wide when he sees the two Meiers walking towards him. Liv is so happy. Her arm is laced through Timo’s and they laugh about Emma forgetting her purse and still not realizing it. Timo’s smile stays even when he sees Luca.

“Are we ready to go back?” Luca asks.

“Yeah. We are all here now.”

“Hi, I’m Timo, Liv’s dad. It’s nice to meet you.” Timo grins. Luca laughs, shaking his hand solidly, while going along with it.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. You should know I keep my hands to myself, sir.”

“I’m sure you do.” Timo chuckles.

“Really?” Liv asks Luca.

“It’s funny. We’re laughing, no?” Luca laces their fingers together then opens the door for Liv so she can walk through first. It takes everything in Luca to not let his eyes drift to the sweet curve of her ass in that dress.

Things with Timo may have calmed, but Luca knows better than to press his luck any further tonight.

Plus, tonight isn’t about any of them, it’s about Liv. And she deserves the best.

#Liv X Luca

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dateamonster · 10 months

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Wisps of smoke were sifting through the gap in the supply closet door, and Coach knew well enough what that meant. She opened the door and the girls inside startled, nearly upsetting the censer filling the space with the thick scent of sandalwood.

She took in the scene: four juniors surrounded by assorted sports equipment and spare jerseys, crowded around a channeling board in a circle of tea candles. It wasn't one of those cheap mass-produced boards with the characters only printed onto some varnished slab of plywood either. If she were to guess, Coach would peg it as belonging to one of their parents.

"Girls, we talked about this," she sighed. "No séances on school grounds."

One of the girls, a blonde wearing what appeared to be an homage to a Victorian mourning dress complete with black veil, began to whimper and the others flocked to her side with crystal pendants all a-jingling to comfort her.

"Have a heart, miss, her boyfriend just died."

The begrieved wailed, "Danny!"

"Shaunee, sweetie, we've been over this. Daniel isn't dead. He just changed schools."

"Same difference," a witchlet with a severe purple smokey eye muttered under her breath.

"He hasn't answered any of my texts in weeks," Shaunee sobbed, eyeliner already streaming down her face. "Something must have happened to him. I'm a quarter banshee, I know about this stuff!"

Coach repressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Okay, everybody out. And put out those damn candles, that's a fire hazard. This is your final warning, ladies. If I catch any one of you using magic unsupervised one more time, it's a week's suspension for all of you."

The young witches cried out their collective complaints.

"And I'm confiscating that board, too."

"Miss, no! My mom'll kill me!"

Called it. “Well luckily if she does I’ll have this handy board so I can make sure you're attending detention from beyond the grave."

"Detention?!"

"Yes, detention. You're lucky I'm not sending you straight to the principal's office." A collective shudder went through the group at the thought, Coach included. She didn't prefer to subject anyone to that, no matter how deserving. "You brought an unauthorized magical object into school and now my basketballs smell like a Bath and Body Works."

A couple of the girls smirked at one another with badly repressed laughter. "Smelly balls."

"What's that?" asked Coach. "You want to run ten laps?"

"We're not even in class right now!"

"Twenty laps it is. Hop to it."

Another collective groan as they trudged out to the track. Coach gathered up the channeling board, the candles, the incense, and took them to her office. She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and tossed the lot in, to rest with the confiscated bounty of semesters past. Firecrackers, vape pens, a compact grappling hook launcher, several softly glowing amulets of various ornate designs, a petrified severed lamb's head with taut leathery skin and haunting glass eyes that followed you around the room, and a couple accumulated grams of weed. And now this, of course.

Certainly, Coach thought, she had gotten into her fair share of trouble at that age, but back in those days she would have never dared talk back to a teacher like that. This generation was a new breed. Or maybe she was just going too soft on them.

The lamb's head distended its ragged jaw and emitted a low gurgling string of Old Arabic.

"Oh what would you know about it."

#the other school #cave scrawlings #writing #wrote a lil other school drabble on a whim so it is. super not edited.#but anyway

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incense-burner-ideas · 2 years

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Tell me your confessions (baby what's your worst?)

Based off the idea with the same title in this post. Suggestive NSFW content

Wei Ying was used to the high life. He was, after all, a world-renowned engineer, CEO of an up-and-coming company promoting green nuclear energy that had seen more more progress in one year or so than half the sector as a whole. The tall glass buildings and the shiny black Rolls Royce and Lamborghini cars were nothing new to him. He was used to the Rolexes shining in ambient lighting of posh offices and the city landscapes from the 20th floor up.

It hadn't always been like that, no. Wei Ying did indeed start from the bottom up, and the upgrade from crappy rentals to penthouses was startling to say the least. Moving from retail to nuclear engineering and then business definitely took some getting used to - but with some guidance and resources from sponsors who believed in his dream, Wei Ying managed to fulfill his career dreams in less time than he expected to.

The world of rich people was still fascinating to him. Business lunches, dinners and conferences in tropical places, contracts signed over cocktails and bumping shoulders with the 1% - he had a bit of an anthropological fascination with it all. If he'd had the time, he would have researched into it. Rich people lived in a surprisingly ritualized world, despite the money offering them an obscene degree of freedom to do whatever, including breaking the law or changing it.

But by far the most interesting person he'd met was the second son of the Lan family and vice-CEO of their solar energy provision company, The Cloud Recesses Inc, Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan. He appeared cold, calm and collected every time Wei Ying saw him and spoke to him, a mysterious air about him and his seemingly unbreakable composure. But Wei Ying liked taking things apart. And he took it as a challenge to do the same to the steely-faced man.

Of course, perseveringly, he succeeded. And about a week or two ago, during a charity gala, he managed to finally get under Lan Wangji's skin and even have him drink despite his sworn interdiction to alcohol. Wei Ying was delighted to find out why exactly Lan Zhan didn't drink much, and if he looked hard enough, he could still find the bitemarks Lan Zhan left on him that night even so many days later.

After that, he was sent a contract. A draft contract. To be more specific, a BDSM draft contract.

Wei Ying had been hornily mulling over it since.

---

Lan Wangji walked into his office at 8 am sharp, his assistant already having printed out the day's scheduled meetings and various objectives to be fulfilled for the short term. Coffee awaited him in its usual spot, the far right corner of his desk, two shots of espresso and precisely half a teaspoon of brown sugar in a reusable white cup.

Top of the page, a private, urgent meeting with -

"Mr. Wei has arrived." Lan Wangji's assistant announced after a brief knock to his office's mahogany door. "Should I send him in?"

"No. Bring him to Meeting Room 3."

"Of course. Should I bring any specific paperwork?"

"No, I will handle it."

"Anything else I could do for you?"

"Yes, clear out the rest of my day. I will be busy."

There was a brief look of disbelief on the woman's face, but she didn't protest further than a sigh. "I will let you know when everything is ready."

---

Lan Wangji hadn't expected to feel such a rush of arousal the moment he walked into the meeting room. It was a smaller one, fit for, at most, 8-10 people, with a long, glass table in the center, comfortable chairs, a video projector and several cabinets for document storage. Natural light invaded the space through tall, clean windows displaying a beautiful, city landscape, precisely 23 floors up from the ground.

Lan Wangji didn't know why he paid attention to these details - especially considering how much more interesting his guest was. Wei Ying had taken a seat at one end of the table, studying what Lan Wangji could only presume was their prospective contract, sipping from a cup of steaming coffee.

He wore a black suit, very-well tailored to his body, and a red silk shirt underneath, with three buttons undone, revealing slender collarbones and the lines of his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his coffee. His hair was down, unbound, and Lan Wangji really wanted to mess it up, pull on it and...

Wei Ying cleared his throat, a smirk on his lips as he confidently leaned back in his chair. "You seem distracted, Mr. Lan."

The way Lan Wangji's eyes darkened with desire had Wei Ying cross his legs.

"Have a seat. I hope I didn't show up too early."

Lan Wangji sat at the other end of the table and laid his own draft of the contract down. "I have been looking forward to meeting you again."

Wei Ying smiled, seductive. "I apologize if I made you wait, I had to do..." and he uncrossed his legs, "...research."

Lan Wangji followed the movement keenly, grateful for the transparent table. "Research?"

Wei Ying chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Yes. You are quite full of surprises, Mr. Lan. I had to thoroughly prepare myself for this meeting."

There was a double entendre there that made Lan Wangji swallow. Hard.

"Well, then." Wei Ying straightened his posture, his sleeves riding up to reveal a shiny watch and it was the glint of it that drew Wangji's attention towards Wei Ying's hands. He was wearing rings - and his fingers looked even more slender and attractive than he remembered and Wangji was already imagining where he'd want them, rings and all. "Shall we begin?"

Lan Wangji flipped the first page of the contract in response.

"I don't have anything to protest against for the first 20 points of the contract." A smile, "We seem to be quite compatible in our... tastes."

Wei Ying was enjoying this way too much. Lan Zhan would have to punish him for it.

"I'm fine with the safe word system, as well, however, there is something I'd like to add."

"Of course."

"We need a signal for when I can't..." and Wei Ying lifted his eyes from the paper, locking his gaze with Lan Zhan's, "...use my mouth. You will gag me at some point, won't you?"

It sounded more like a challenge than anything.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Three taps on whatever part of you I can reach."

"Alright. I will add that to the contract."

"Good."

Wei Ying flipped another page of the contract and leaned back in his chair, picking up the papers and a pen. "Let's talk hard limits."

"Very well."

"Cross out everything under the impact play section and add it here. No spanking, no paddles or floggers, and definitely no whips."

Lan Wangji could barely conceal his disappointment as he crossed out the section. Wei Ying rose an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not looking to relive my childhood trauma while you fuck me."

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. That was something to unpack at a later time, perhaps.

"Also, no knife or blood play for the same reasons, and no filming either. There is no guarantee the wrong thing doesn't end up in the wrong hands."

"I would never-"

"I trust you. But it's technology I don't trust. Everything is hackable, I know from experience."

Yet another interesting thing to look into, Lan Wangji figured. He would have to ask Wei Ying one day what that meant.

Lan Wangji sifted further through the contract, "What's the pain level you're willing to endure? From 1-10?"

"Eight and a half." Wei Ying could only smile at Lan Wangji's surprised expression.

"Precise."

"Precision is my livelihood, Mr. Lan."

Wei Ying put the papers down and decided to shimmy out of his blazer. Lan Wangji couldn't even bother to pretend he wasn't looking.

"To be fair, there's quite a lot of stuff I haven't tried yet in that contract of yours, so I may have to add hard limits in the future."

"I will update the contract accordingly. Anything else?"

Wei Ying rested his chin on his palm, smiling teasingly, "Is drunk sex negotiable? I'd like to do that more often, even if the contract says not to."

"Consent is questionable under the influence."

"I don't think there was anything questionable last time."

Lan Wangji sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "...I will think about it."

"Good boy."

"Wei Ying."

He only laughed. "You're fun to tease."

"The privacy clauses?"

"All good. I'm also fine with the mention of our relationship possibly evolving in the future. I think we'd make quite the pair."

All the teasing was making Lan Wangji's already fragile self control snap. "Will you sign the contract already?"

Wei Ying glided his pen across the paper, leaving his signature with a flourish. "Impatient."

"Excited." Lan Wangji sharply corrected, and Wei Ying could only laugh again the moment the other nearly sprang from his chair to sign as well and pull Wei Ying in a breathtaking kiss.

It was only the need for air that had them break apart, Lan Wangji's mouth descending towards Wei Ying's neck and collarbones.

"Don't you have important things to do today, Mr. Lan?"

"Yes." And he almost ripped Wei Ying's shirt apart, a few buttons flying loose as he ravenously sought more skin. "I'm doing them."

A laugh bubbled into a moan, or two, or a hundred.

If the meeting room was occupied for more than two hours, nobody commented on it. Not even Lan Xichen, who had to hold the monthly board meeting in the ceremony hall, and make a believable excuse as to why his brother wasn't in attendance, though he'd been seen walking into the building. Alas.

#mdzs #incenseburnerideas #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #as i said in the linked post #its the contract negotiation scene in 50 shades but (hopefully!) better #also i am a whole simp for ceo wwx and i had to write smth for him

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cricutdrivers0 · 20 days

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7 Cricut Projects With Vinyl for Crafting Enthusiasts

Searching for some creative Cricut projects with vinyl? If so, you are in the right place! My journey with Cricut started a few years ago! It was not as easy as I thought in the beginning. It took me years to master all these crafting skills or techniques. Your one mistake could cause a huge loss. Hence, I learned to make these beautiful crafts with patience, and finally, it was worth the investment.

Today, I thank myself for choosing crafting as my full-time career. It helped me a lot to express myself using my craft. Today, I have created several projects that can’t be mentioned in this single blog. However, I would like you to suggest some of the best Cricut projects you can try this year. The list of vinyl projects with Cricut is endless, from DIY projects to wearable sun hats. Let’s get started on each one and explore it deeply!

Coffee Mug

Create this personalized mug, one of my favorite Cricut projects with vinyl. The perfect-looking vinyl mug is easy to make, and beginners can easily make it in one go. These also make a great seasonal mug. You can gift it on someone else’s birthday or a festive day.

Add eye-catching quotes using Cricut Design Space, or you can also pick up some readymade templates for your mug. It is not as difficult as you think; you are just a click away!

Photo Frames

Do you love cherishing moments? So do I. There are many moments when we click on our phones. Now it’s time to print them out and insert them into this beautiful frame. This eye-catching frame was made using a Cricut machine.

The design you see over the frame is my creation. Many other designs are easily found on the Cricut app. You must give it a try or decorate your bedroom or home with these eye-catching frames.

And yes, I have used vinyl for this design. However, it doesn’t look like that, right? But it is worth using!

Personalized Tray

Why don’t you add some magic of vinyl to your tray? Serve tea to your guests or visitors with this personalized tray. This is one of the perfect Cricut projects with vinyl that you must try now! All you need is vinyl with your preferred color choice, and then you are good to go.

In the above picture, I used white vinyl, as my tray was black. Likewise, you can choose a color that easily grabs attention.

Sun Hat

Too much bright sunlight? Of course, you will need a sun hat. But why use that simple hat when you can add some creative touch to it? Although I created this for my cousin’s sister, who is soon going to be a bride, so I gifted it to her as a pre-wedding gift!

But you can add your own or a loved one’s name to it. Also, it will look amazing. Just try vinyl and Cricut, and you’re good to go!

Wall Decal

When I got my hall painted white, I thought of adding a wall decal. Previously, I had a different decal, but I wanted something different this time.

Hence, I made this floral decal using black vinyl. You can also make your home office beautiful using this vinyl and create amazing wall decals that give off the vibe of an office or something that you love. So what are you waiting for? So, don’t waste time finding any Cricut projects with vinyl, and create this wall decal — simple yet beautiful

Phone Case

Being a crafter and using a simple phone cover — what’s the purpose of becoming a crafter? This statement was from my sister, who often teased me for silly reasons. But she was right! A simple phone case — how would I have been using it?

Anyway, it’s better late than never! Using my vinyl, I transformed my simple, plain phone case into a beautiful one. But why is it so cute !!!!! You must try it if you are really into Cricut projects with vinyl.

Water Bottle

For the past few months, I have been stalking personalized bottles on Etsy or Pinterest. The day I saw them, I couldn’t stop myself from creating them for my family members. It was just a first try, but I wanted to give it a try.

And here is the result for you! If they were colorful, I could’ve made it look more enticing, but simple is the best. Thanks to Cricut vinyl, it is alluring!

FAQs

Question 1: Can I make stickers with Cricut vinyl material?

Answer: Absolutely, yes! You can create stickers wonderfully in Cricut Design Space first, and then you can cut them using any Cricut machine. The robust cutting machines in Cricut’s lineup are great and can perform multiple operations rather than cutting. Whether you want to create kiss-cut stickers or die-cut, both are possible with the Cricut machine.

Question 2: Does the Cricut machine cut vinyl materials?

Answer: Cricut Joy can cut a wide range of materials, including vinyl, iron-on, cardstock, paper, and even some kinds of fabric. Although the list of compatible materials for Cricut Joy is less than that of the rest of the Cricut machine, it can still cut up to 50 types of materials, which is too much for this small device.

Question 3: What are the Cricut wood projects with vinyl?

Answer: Many Cricut projects are there that you can create using wood and vinyl. Also, you can cut these materials using your Cricut Maker or other Explore models. Below, I have mentioned a few examples of wood projects that you can make with vinyl:

Drawer Fronts

3D Floating Decorative Letters

Table Setting Place Card

Coasters

Hello Signs

Christmas Ornaments

Bookmarks and more.

Source: Cricut Projects With Vinyl

Visit here For More Information: Cricut.com/setup

Twitter

#Cricut Projects With Vinyl #Cricut wood projects with vinyl #Vinyl projects with Cricut #cricut.com/setup #Cricut Explore Air 2

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glazemedaka · 6 months

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and my bones adrift.

furina / f!reader (3k) sfw. set after the events of 4.2 archon quest, but before the events of Animula Choragi. slightly contradicts character story #5, but in the spirit of loving furina.

The lights are out; the stage is silent. There's no need for an actress without a show, and no need for a maid without a mistress. But for Furina, the show continues past its final chorus.

On the first day of her new life, she carried her bags herself.

The officers at the waterway dock had asked, several times, if her ladyship needed any assistance? Any help whatsoever? And her ladyship, Furina de Fontaine, had smiled and thanked them, before dramatically declaring that her cases were as light as her heart and swinging them around in wide circles for good measure.

She didn’t tell them that there was nothing inside her cases. All of her ladyship’s things were still in their places within the Palais Mermonia; silver trays and silver tins on spotless shelves, in rooms full of light and mirrors. Perhaps there would even be a slice of cake on its little blue saucer waiting for a her that never came to eat it.

At least she had the aquabus to herself for the journey downcity. She set her cases down, and her smile with it, as the city rooftops rolled by the waterway. No need to wave, no need to pose. No need to do anything at all.

“I’m sure the quiet is a nice break, Lady Furina!” the melusine conductor piped up, from the steering well. “The parties have been getting quite rowdy the last few nights— but of course, people need to celebrate!”

Her ladyship smiled. “Yes, of course. Parties. Yes, I’m going to one just now, actually…”

“… and it’s sure to be the most boring gathering of the season,” she lamented, throwing herself on the pink satin sofa of the dressing room.

“I’m sure they’ll be grateful, then, for your presence, my lady,” you said without looking up, head down over the skirt you were hemming.

“Assuredly,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The Marquess Durande will be beside himself—“

“Durande?” you asked absently, shaking out the skirt, assessing your work. “I don’t recall a Durande on the seating chart.”

She could see his face, could remember inviting him. She’d handed him the invitation herself. Surely you were mistaken? Durande with his strong nose and bellowing laugh… Durande with his duelist’s hands… Durande looking over the lake, smaller somehow, with the years resting heavy as he leaned his weight on his cane…

Nephew. It was the nephew who had inherited. He hadn’t changed his name. Right.

“… did you think I said Durande? I said Durvenne, of course! Ahaha!”

The apartment was smaller than the prints had made it seem.

It had a narrow front stair up from the door, with peeling wallpaper that vaguely smelled of pipesmoke and lamp oil, even though the listing in the Steambird had boasted ‘modern lighting conveniences.’ The main room itself was… roomy. There were no walls to divide it up, so light from the unwashed windows filled the space and made every mote of dust more apparent. It came with ‘complimentary furniture,’ as per the listing— though she wouldn’t exactly compliment any of the furniture. There was one wicker chair with a hole in the bottom, a scarred table that looked like the it had survived the great cataclysm and would probably survive another, and the bed, well… it existed.

It was, in a few words: cheap, ugly, and awful. Not at all the sort of place for Furina de Fontaine.

“As you can see,” the manager said, wrestling one of the kitchen cabinets open, “it’s got… quite a bit of storage! Though, of course, if your ladyship finds it lacking, I do have other properties that are a bit, well, more… ”

It was not the first time they had suggested she visit other apartments. Apartments with higher ceilings and new wainscoting. Apartments that would suit her better than this one, with its cramped kitchen and its dingy iron stove and its cracked floor tiles.

“It’s lovely,” she said, and smiled before they could say more. “It will suit me perfectly.”

“If your ladyship is sure…”

She dreamed of a mansion that had fallen into the sea, flooded halls and shattered portrait frames. Beautiful bronze casts greened over by algae and smooth-edged by time, shattered plates and glasses littering carpets centuries out of vogue.

It was an old dream, familiar around the seams; she knew it well.

There was always a door, always, and she needed to find it, to find the door that would save everyone, the door that only she could hold closed. Or open? Was she supposed to open it, or keep it shut? Was she supposed to search for the missing master of the house or was she supposed to take the stage in her stead so the party could carry on?

Kicking off the brass-clad balustrade she drifted deeper and deeper into the bowels of the house, through rotted pantries and ruined closets until finally she felt the knob, just as it began to shake—

She woke in her awful new bed, alone.

flour milk cheese macaroni tomato onion cake?

She tapped her charcoal pencil against the scrap of paper. That was good, right? That was a good list? That seemed like the sorts of things she’d seen in the lithograph illustrations in ladies’ magazines.

The provenance of her meals had never really concerned her; there had always been a bevy of maids and a bushel of butlers to busy themselves with the production of grand banquets and feasts. She simply presented herself at the correct hour, with the correct amount of aplomb, and it all took care of itself. She was beginning to realize that a great deal more effort went into these things than she had thought.

She wished you were here, with your practical little reusable list. You would know just what to buy, and how much, and what sorts of things she would want three days from now. You always did.

But you weren’t here. You were in the Palais Mermonia, doing your job— the great clockwork of daily life hadn’t stopped just because she had packed her cases and moved out. Surely someone else would be grateful to have you brush their hair, and hem their trousers, and read detective novels with them, laughing at the ridiculous premises—

— oh. The charcoal was smeared, wet and messy. Her list was ruined. She scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. Perhaps shopping could wait. Yes, it could wait. She’d make a new list, and go tomorrow.

“You never forget a thing,” she said. “However do you remember it all?”

You were cutting something, silver shears carefully circling a scrap of fabric. Without removing the pins from your mouth, you fished a hand into the pocket of your apron, and pressed a flat little piece of metal into her hands. Around the pins, you mumbled, “I wuse ah wist, of couwrseh.”

She turned it over; it had words engraved in a tiny, meticulous script. Flour, milk, cheese, pasta, tomatoes, onions… “That looks more like a plaque than a list. Do you just buy the same things every time?”

“No, silly,” you said, mouth freed of pins. You tapped your finger beside the words. “See? There are little pegs. You slide them over for the things you need, so you remember which ones to buy.”

“How do you remember things that aren’t on here? Special requests, like, oh, I don’t know, my sweetflower syrup…”

You smiled, plucking the list-plaque back from her hands. “I take care not to forget my lady’s special requests.”

“So you’re always thinking of me! I knew it,” she play-preened, pretending at self-indulgence; the role called for it.

“Always,” you said, entirely serious. “You’re always in my thoughts, my lady.”

Her laugh stuttered a beat. “O-oh! Well— good! As it should be!”

Yesterday faded into tomorrow. The morning sun slanted through the dirty windows, cut into neat squares over the narrow, sagging bed. Curtains. She should get curtains. People had curtains. She’d get around to it, tomorrow. Or yesterday. There wasn’t much difference.

She dreamed of the parlor, with the lights dimmed, the day done. You sat behind her, carefully pulling a comb through her hair. Gentle. Always gentle. She leaned against it, enjoying the sensation of resistance.

You had always liked to hum, and you were doing it now. Sometimes it was her songs; sometimes it was older tunes. It was soothing, like the brushing, warm and familiar. Everything here was familiar: the blue velvet stool she sat on, the wide teeth of the comb in her hair, your quiet little song.

“What’s the name of that song?” she asked. She could almost remember it, almost feel the shape of the words in her mouth. She’d sung this one, she was sure of it.

“Oh, now, I dunno, yer ladyship,” you said. Had you always had that accent? “It’s your solo, though. I’m sure you know it by heart.”

Your hands kept brushing, smoothing her hair, rhythmic and steady, as her heart skittered out of sync. By heart. She felt her heart in her chest, hammering, uneasy. By heart. She knew it by heart.

Why couldn’t she remember any of the words?

She turned, finally, to face you. Had your hair always been brown? Yes? No— maybe—

That was your face, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

In the end, hunger won.

The apartment did not come with complimentary food— not that she would have trusted any even if it had. List or no list, she had to get something to eat, even if she didn’t feel like it.

The only trouble with that, it turned out, was not knowing where. Oh, she knew the locations of all the popular cafes—

(and cafes that had been dreamt, built, aged, decayed, ruined, rebuilt, reopened)

… but she didn’t know where to buy dry goods or packaged meals. It couldn’t be that hard, surely. People did it all the time! She could figure this out. She would just keep circling the area, and eventually someone with a basket of groceries would pass by, and she would simply walk in the direction they had come from until she found—

“My lady? My lady!”

She turned, and there you were. Running down the street at full tilt, skirts billowing behind you, apron askew.

Her heart clenched, in fear and wanting. Why were you here? Was something wrong—? No, no, she had to play nonchalant, it wouldn’t do to be too concerned.

“Oh! G-good to see you. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Or anywhere. Or ever again.

You leaned on your knees, panting, as you came to a stop. “… e-excuse me, my lady. I ran all the way from the station, because I thought I saw your hat from above— and then it was your hat, and I was so excited to finally— to finally—“

“You… you were looking for me?” she said, nonplussed.

“Of course I was looking for you! The Palais hasn’t been the same without you, my lady. I— we all— understand if you need a vacation, of course, with the prophecy and the waters and whatnot, but I’m— we’re all— excited for when you—”

“Yes, yes, that’s all. I needed a solitary sojourn to refresh myself after the great… the…” She stopped. Those weren’t her words. Those were Furina de Fontaine, and that role had run its course.

“… actually, I won’t be coming back,” she continued, quietly. “You see, things are all set now. There’s no need for me.”

“I think there’s a great need for you, my lady!” you said immediately, still half out of breath. “Who else will sing in this year’s winter concert?”

It was absurd. Utterly farcical. And she found, for just a moment, she craved it so badly she was sick with wanting. It would be so simple, to step back into the role. So easy, so familiar. Sing at the winter concert. Sit at the trials. Pose for the fashion plates. The steps were already measured out, and she knew them all by heart.

“No,” she said, more firmly. “I won’t be singing in this winter’s concert, or next year’s concert, or ever again. I’m quite finished. I’m so glad to have seen you again, but I really must be going.”

And her ladyship smiled, and turned to go—

— but found her wrist seized in a desperate grip.

“Unhand— let me go—“ she said, struggling to pull her cuff out of your hand. “I think I’ve made myself quite clear! While I thank you for your efforts and attentions, they are no longer necessary!”

“No,” you said, stubborn still. You hung onto her sleeve with crab-like determination. “Who will wash your chemises? Who will warm the hot stones for your bed? Who will make sure you get a slice of 16-per-day cake? You can’t even get out of bed before noon!”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I can! Maybe I will! You don’t know— anything about me! You only know Furina de Fontaine and— I’m— not— her!” She finally wrenched her sleeve free, and stumbled back with the recoiled force. More softly, she continued, “You knew a little princess on a stage who ate cakes and slept late. You don’t know anything at all.”

Nevermind that it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing to know; water filled any vessel.

“Wait— my lady—!”

Her ladyship turned and fled.

Were those your hands in her hair? Or another’s, a hundred years gone?

Was it your smile that made her chest ache— or another smile, faded around the edges, nameless now?

Did she miss you? Or did she miss someone else whose shape you were filling?

Did you miss her?

Did it make a difference?

Was it not enough to be wanted, to be missed?

Was there a difference between the glass and the water?

Did it matter if the glass had been empty from the start?

Shortly after the eighth bell the next morning, there was a knock at her door.

She rubbed the dried tears from her face, stumbled out of her narrow, squeaking bed, struggled into her undershirt, corset, and shirtwaist, attempted to put her hair in order, gave up, changed her mind, gave up again, and answered the insistent knocking before she could really think better of it.

It was you. Of course it was you.

“Wh—“

“Hello,” you answered brightly, a basket in your hands. “I’m—”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, pulling up as much imperiousness as she could manage with tangled hair and puffy eyes. “Didn’t I make myself perfectly clear yesterday? Was I not explicit?”

“Oh, perfectly,” you said, and your smile still made her chest ache. “You made yourself quite clear. I know nothing about you. We are to be strangers, but— how did that one poet write it? ‘Every friend was a stranger once’? Something like that. So! I’ve brought you a getting-to-know-you present.”

You unfolded the top of the basket, and inside there was an array of… breads? She didn’t recognize any of them, not a single one.

“You’re so stubborn,” she said, and felt tears sting her eyes again. “Why can’t you understand? I can’t be your lady anymore.”

You carefully folded the basket lid back, and set it aside. She noticed, finally, that you were not wearing your uniform anymore. She’d never seen you without it, couldn’t have imagined you wearing anything else— and somehow, inexplicably, that was a balm. Now there was a memory of you she could never mistake for anyone else.

“When my la— when you left,” you started slowly, fingers knitting together, “it was so… empty. The chamberlain said we could all stay on to keep the halls open for visitors, but it… it just… there wasn’t anyone to make emergency costumes for, anymore. Nobody to share my novels with. I could have stayed on, but… nobody needed a maid anymore. And I got to wondering if anybody had, you know, made sure you brought a winter coat, or a parasol, or—”

Needed. Nobody had needed. She knew what that felt like. She felt the pressure begin to build behind her eyes, and she swiped at them. “You don’t know the first thing about me…”

“So teach me, then,” you said, exasperated. “If I don’t know the first thing about you— teach me! I want to know!”

“What if I don’t know?” she sobbed, the words bursting out of her. “What if I don’t know the first thing about me?”

“Then— then we’ll learn together!” you said, as practical and stubborn as ever. As if it was that easy. As if it could be that easy. “I don’t know what troubles you, but I won’t let it trouble you alone.”

“Stupid,” she said, squeezing out tears, feeling her nose begin to run. Unmannerly, undignified, and unladylike. “Stupid! You’re so stupid!”

“I know,” you said, taking her face between your work-calloused hands. She didn’t resist. “And so are you! Running away without even a spare shirt! I can see the stains on your cuffs, you know!”

“Wh— I— why are you even looking at my cuffs!”

“It’s a maid’s job,” you said, thumb rubbing her cheek, wet with her tears, “to care about things like that for you.”

“Not anymore,” she said, suppressing an absurd giggle. “You’re not my maid anymore.”

“Well,” you said, and you were so close that she could feel the heat of you. “I suppose I must be somebody else, then.”

“I suppose you must,” she agreed.

Furina de Fontaine would never be caught dead kissing her (former) maidservant in the crumbling doorway of a third-rate apartment. It would have been deeply improper— the things the gossip columns would say!

It was a good thing she wasn’t Furina de Fontaine anymore.

If I was dead, and my bones adrift like dropped oars in the deep, turning earth;

I swear your love would raise me out of my grave, in my flesh and blood,

like Lazarus; hungry for this, and this, and this, your living kiss.

if I was dead, carol ann duffy (abridged; full version)

#furina x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #me fics #reader insert #x reader

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futuron-of-my-youth · 1 year

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4 movies I saw for the first time.

I got to see several movies the last few days, I've never seen any of these before

The Last Starfighter: The CG was very smooth and looked really good for being such an early example of the special effects. The inside of the alien base looked like it might have inspired some of the Lego Space panels that had an octagonal shape, I wonder if the design decisions made at Lego in the mid 80's were at all related. I wish the acting were better, it was a solid little video game sci fi movie. It was surprisingly short with one specific conflict that resolved in a rather smooth progression. I'm sure it would have been a great movie if I'd seen it as a kid, but alas, that's not when I saw it. My least favorite of the batch, but... I was not disappointed.

Gaslight: When my friend said, hey, that's Angela Lansbury, I almost didn't believe it, she's a saucy young house maid who dotes on a police officer in this movie; I guess she got her first role in this film. As for the movie itself; it's good, really good. There are lamps everywhere in this movie... if you like streetlamp imagery, and lamplighters, this movie is downright gorgeous. Easily my favorite of the batch.

AmbuLAnce: Michael Bay made a bank robbery movie about a getaway on an Ambulance in Los Angeles. I thought it would be about the day in the life of an Ambulance... well, it was that too. My friend started by asking me if I wanted to watch an entertaining review for it, and I said, no... but somehow he got me to give the review a few minutes of my time, and then I said... yes, I will watch Jake Gyllenhaal act like an angry bank robber having a bad day in an Ambulance for 2 hours. It was a very fun movie... my second favorite of the batch.

Outland: I've been on a bit of an 80's sci-fi movie viewing kick, so when Outland was brought to my attention I kept trying to get it into the rotation... and my friend kept asking if I wanted to see Galaxy Quest. Well, I prevailed... and we watched Outland on a really early, poor resolution dvd in pillarbox widescreen. It looked rough. Sean Connery's a police marshal for a small mining colony on the Jupiter moon of Io. Miners keep killing themselves, but Io's isolated, grey featurless mining facility just might make anyone go a bit mental... that's the official report anyway. It's got Sean Connery sleuthing his way around a grey and white metal rig trying to figure out why miners are killing themselves. I enjoyed it, I wish the resolution was good, (It looks like there's a much better bluray available, so I may revisit this film just to see a good printing of it.) The movie was a fine example of a cop movie with the pleasing industrial aesthetic of 80's sci fi. My 3rd favorite of the batch.

So that was quite a lot of movies for one weekend, there wasn't a bad one in the batch... although... Outland really should have never been released on dvd in such poor quality.

#movie night

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samwisethewitch · 3 years

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An Open Letter to Christian Witches

On this blog, I often champion the idea that witchcraft is a practice, not a religion, and that a witch can practice any religion, provided that religion does not explicitly forbid witchcraft. I still very much believe this, and the point of this post is not to tell Christians that they can’t be witches. However, as a non-Christian witch who has been deeply traumatized by Christianity, I do wish Christian witches would be a bit more mindful of how they show up in witchy spaces.

Recently, I’ve noticed a pattern of self-identifying Christian witches dominating the conversation and centering their own beliefs in spaces dedicated to witchcraft. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that this is unintentional, and most of these Christian witches seem like lovely people. But it’s still deeply frustrating and upsetting to be promised a safe space and support from other witches, only to be preached at.

Or be told that I’m doing witchcraft wrong because my ethics are not the same as someone else’s.

Or be told that I don’t understand Christianity, despite having spent the first two decades of my life fully immersed in it.

Or have my trauma invalidated because, “Not all Christians are like that!”

Or spend the majority of our time together reassuring and comforting a Christian witch who is uncomfortable with the inclusion of pagan and/or occult elements in a ritual.

These are all genuine experiences I have had with Christian witches in 2021. And in every single one of these situations, the Christian witch had a very negative reaction to any kind of constructive criticism or request that they be more mindful of the diverse beliefs and experiences in the space. Any suggestion that their actions may be causing discomfort for others was met with defensiveness, if not straight-up denial. The result is a situation where Christian witches are at the center of every discussion and demand (knowingly or not) coddling or hand-holding from teachers and facilitators, while those of us who are not Christian are left deeply uncomfortable but unable to express that discomfort without upsetting someone or being accused of creating conflict.

And I get it. I really do. Because for most of the people in the above scenarios, this was the first time they encountered a situation where their religion wasn’t the norm. But what I need Christian witches to recognize and be mindful of is that this discomfort of being surrounded by people who do not share your beliefs is something those of us who are not Christian experience every day.

In the Western world, and particularly in the United States, Christianity is a religious hegemony. (A hegemony is a group with total political, social, economic, and/or military dominance in a given area.) Everything in Western society was designed for Christians, to serve a Christian worldview, and to reinforce Christian hegemony. Everything from our government to our business practices to our media reinforces Christian values. For Christians, this creates the sense of comfort and security that comes from being part of the in-group. For non-Christians, it meas being constantly bombarded with someone else’s religion. For former Christians with church-related trauma, it means reliving that trauma constantly.

Here’s a look at an average day in my life as a formerly-Christian pagan with religious trauma. Please note that this is not an exaggeration — this is a description of what I experienced on the day I wrote this post.

I get up and, because I live with Christian family members, I walk past exactly five images of Jesus and/or the Virgin Mary on my way from my bedroom to the front door. On my commute to work, I drive past at least a dozen churches, including the one I used to attend, where my religious trauma occurred. I stop at a red light, and the car in front of me has a bumper sticker with an image of a cross and the message, “If this offends you now, just wait until you see it on judgement day!” I happen to know that these bumper stickers are for sale not at a local church, but at a privately owned, nominally secular business. When I get to work, the woman who greets me at the front gate is wearing a crucifix necklace.

I work in diversity education. When I get to the office, my boss asks me to join the local Interfaith council because I am the only person in our department who isn’t Christian. My current big project at work is trying to get a transgender speaker to visit our organization and help us lead a workshop to work towards amending a history of transphobia in our organization. My boss tells me today the she isn’t sure the speaker I arranged will be approved, because our administration might not think it is in line with our organization’s values. When she says this, I know she means evangelical Christian values. She doesn’t have to spell it out — there’s a chaplain down the hall from our office.

After my lunch break, my coworkers are talking about a church event one of them attended over the weekend. I do not contribute to this conversation. It has been several months since I attended an in-person religious event with people who shared my faith. As I’m leaving the office at the end of the day, I pass a Bible study group that has set up in our recreation area. On my drive home, I pass the funeral home where my grandfather’s memorial service was held earlier this year. The programs for that service had the Lord’s Prayer printed on them. My grandfather was an atheist.

This is my level of exposure to a religion I not only don’t believe in, but have been actively hurt by, on a daily basis. This is my normal. I’ve learned to live with it, tune it out, and self-soothe, because there is no other option.

When I’m finally able to be around other witches, many of them are coming from similar experiences. I am finally in a space where I can be vulnerable, where I can talk about what I really believe, and where I can receive support from like-minded people. But if there is even one Christian witch in the group, it’s highly likely that this space too will be dominated by Christian hegemony.

It’s a noted fact that a person exists within a hegemony, they have very little ability to tolerate challenges to this hegemony due to a lack of exposure. This is the origin of the term white fragility, which sociologist Robin DiAngelo uses to describe the discomfort and defensiveness white people feel when confronted with “racial discomfort” such as being asked to consider racism as a system they are complicit in and benefit from rather than as the actions of lone extremists. White fragility is something I have personally experienced as a white woman involved in antiracist work, and it’s something I have taken years to work through and am still actively working on. Since DiAngelo popularized this term, similar terms have been used to point to similar phenomena in other hegemonic groups, as in the cases of male fragility/fragile masculinity, cishet fragility, and yes, Christian fragility.

I’m not trying to argue that all hegemony is the same, and I am definitely not trying to say that my personal religious trauma is anywhere near the level of pain caused by the mistreatment of Black and brown people by white supremacist society. My point here is simply that being part of the dominant group breeds a very low tolerance for exposure to other groups.

Christian witches are members of a hegemonic group entering a space historically occupied by marginalized people, which creates an imbalance of power. (And yes, you can benefit from hegemony even if you are marginalized in other areas. Identity is multi-faceted. Queer Christians, disabled Christians, Christians of color, and yes, Christian witches still benefit from Christian hegemony.) The only way things are going to get better is if Christians are willing to do the work themselves of building tolerance for religious discomfort. The rest of us can host as many interfaith and secular events as we want, but if Christians aren’t able to tolerate the inclusion of other belief systems, we’ll never truly be on equal footing. Until Christians stop centering the Christian experience, it will continue to dominate interfaith spaces, including witchy spaces.

TLDR: I’m asking Christian witches to be mindful of the privilege they bring into interfaith spaces. I’m asking you to be willing to feel uncomfortable, and to recognize that your discomfort does not invalidate the work your facilitators have put into creating the space and/or program. If you truly can’t stand the discomfort, I’m asking you to politely excuse yourself instead of demanding emotional labor from other witches.

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

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Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

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alrightberries · 3 years

Text

three weeks

❈ pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.9k

❈ summary: “It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.”

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of violence, death and gore. explicit description of panic/anxiety attack.

a/n: i’m not sure what... this is since i just randomly started typing it but hopefully y’all still like it.

He could still feel you.

Feel your presence in his room; in his hollow heart. With every shallow breath he took he swore he could still feel your warm palm on his skin, gently patting his shaking shoulders.

The clothes you'd left behind were still in his closet. The little notes you'd scribbled to him on random days still compiled. The letters you wrote sit heavy in a wooden box inside his bedside drawer.

He once complained that they created clutter in his room when you started slowly moving your things into his private quarters. It started off with clothes left on his unmade bed and eventually ended with you bringing your hygiene products to his personal bathroom. Slowly but surely, you moved in. Slowly but surely, you cemented a place in his life where you'd already cemented a place in his heart.

But now glancing at your shared bed, half empty, he simply couldn't find it in himself to do anything about your ‘clutter.’ It was, after all, all he had left of you.

The pillows on your side of the bed still smelled like you. The cotton where you slept countless nights before had a slight depression, an imprint of your body on the mattress. Faintly, if Levi closes his eyes, he swears he could still feel your fingertips running through his scalp as you peppered sweet little kisses onto his calloused skin.

His own fingers reach out and grasps at air where your beautiful face should be, sleeping peacefully next to him. Snoring. Twitching your eyes when you had nightmares. Him gently shaking you awake and holding you close to reassure you that everything was okay, whatever you dreamt of wasn't real, and he'll be here to make the darkness go away.

Yet his own darkness starts to eat at his conscience. He curses at his hands for even having the audacity to reach for you when it was these same hands that signed your death certificate earlier in the day.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it's been since he woke up next to you. Since he bid you good luck before breaking into formation as you crossed the walls and rode your horses through titan country.

It’s been three weeks since you were separated from your squadron. Since they came back from the expedition and he'd only noticed you weren't there when they finally reached the walls. Since he searched through countless corpses and severed bodies, trying to find your own.

It’s been three weeks since he's pushed off on signing the "M.I.A. - PRESUMED DEAD" document with your name and information printed at the top before he was forced to come to terms with your fate when the second search party once again came back empty handed.

It’s been three weeks since he last cracked a smile. Since he lost the last reason he had to strive forward. Since he lost the last reason to hope for a better place; a better future; a small home in the suburbs to live out the rest of his life with you.

It’s been three weeks since he last heard your voice. Since he rested his cheek against the palm of your hand. Since he first picked up a bottle of bourbon and let the alcohol numb his distressed mind and aching heart to the reality that you were gone.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.

A breeze passes through the open window, snapping him from his thoughts. Goosebumps form on his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to get underneath the sheets or close the window because he tells himself that the breeze was you. It was you, checking up on him, scolding him for drowning his sorrows in bottles of brewed brown, wiping away the tears he didn’t even know he’d shed as the pain of loss and mourning— the very things he’d been trying to outrun— hit him all at once.

He closes his eyes to stop more tears from falling. But he knew he was really doing it because he found darkness more comforting than having to look at your shared room. Not when you weren’t there to make the darkness go away when he opened his eyes. Not when every little thing reminded him of you.

The chair in the corner where you always sat, reading under the dim glow of candlelight. The shelves full of books, an impressive collection you’d both amassed throughout the years. Even the porcelain cup that sat on his bedisde table reminded him of you. It was a gift you’d given him when you were both still in the Underground. A cup matching his own sat on your bedside table, that much he already knew without having to open his eyes. He brewed you a cup of tea hours before going on the expedition that would seal your fate.

His skin tingles when he remembers the way you held his hand as you both sipped tea on that day. You were sat next to each other on the bed. He was reading the newspaper and you were reading a book, intertwined hands resting in the space between your bodies.

A new wave of tears threaten his eyes and he hears himself sob before he realizes the tears have fallen again. His hands clutch at his hair, pulling at the strands, and he lays on his side to curl up into a ball as he wills himself to stop, be quiet, and stop being so weak.

His heart began to speed up and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t focus. It was so noisy— everything was too much. The was talking. So much talking.

shut up. be quiet. leave me the fuck alone.

Levi realizes that the talking was his own conscience degrading him, and he wonders if he’s finally snapped. He heaves and gasps for air, trying to get his mind to shut up, but it only serves for the noise to get worse and suddenly the ringing in his ears turns into static. His heart begins to thump louder, and he’s accutely aware that he was having a panic attack.

Pathetic mewls leave his lips and his hands reach out to your side of the bed out of habit, just as he’s done plenty of times before. Only this time he doesn’t feel your fingers gently grasp at his shaking wrists to pull him to your chest, to hold him and whisper sweet nothings into his ears to calm him down. Instead, he grasps at white fabric, and he lets out a frustrated growl when he once again feels air where you should be.

Unfair. It was unfair.

It was unfair how you were taken away from him so easily. How he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. How he didn’t have a body to mourn, knowing you were either rotting away in a forest or disfigured in some titan’s belly.

Levi cracks open his eyes and his gaze lands on splotches of wetness on his pillow, the marks of his sorrowful tears. He sniffles, telling himself there was no need to be so pathetic when soldiers died everyday. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.

But then, he thinks, you weren’t just any other soldier. You were y/n— his y/n. The owner of his heart. The love of his life. The one who kisses his forehead good morning and good night. Who held his hands underneath the table before giving him a knowing glance, like you were sharing a secret that only you two knew of. Who would slip little notes into his pockets when you thought he wasn’t looking. Who sat with him in silence and calmed him down when emotions got the better of him. Who held him close and tight on nights like this, when the crushing reality of pain and loss finally broke him. And the sickening irony of needing you the most because he was mourning your death almost made him want to laugh.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Unmoving. Curled up into a ball on your side of the bed, nose digging into the sheets to find comfort in the remnants of your scent as he hugged himself to slowly calm himself down.

Suddenly, he hears the door to his office burst open and rapid footsteps approaching his room. The wood slams against the wall, and his reddened eyes meet the wide and panicked ones of a soldier he’s seen in passing. She’s breathing heavily like she ran a mile to get there, sweat dripping down her forehead as she frantically looks around in search of the captain before finally landing on the man in question.

“Captain Levi, we—“ She’s cut off when he heaves a loud sigh, slowly sitting up and rubbing his red puffy face.

“Has there been a breach?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, she notices. The tone is calm but his eyes are angered, clearly not amused to be interrupted when he was mourning, and the soldier visibly gulps as she replies.

“N-no, Captain.”

“Are there titans anywhere in the walls?”

“No, but sir we—“

“Has anyone died in the few hours that have passed since dinner? Choked on their own spit, perhaps?”

“Well, no. But—“

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Captain I was—“

A thought crosses his mind and he clicks his tongue in irritation. “Tch, did shitty glasses send you?”

“...yes but—“

“Tell four-eyes to stop sending people to check up on me.” He murmurs, beginning to lie down. “I’m allowed some goddamn privacy the night before my fiance’s funeral.”

“Yes but, sir, that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Whatever motivational words you have to say, save it for someone who cares.” He pulls the sheets above his head. “I’ve had enough pity-filled glances and half assed condolences thrown my way to give a damn—“

“Captain Levi, Y/N is alive!”

The soldier doesn’t know what’s happening until her back is abruptly slammed into the wall behind her and pain shoots from her spine to the back of her head. Hands are tightly wrapped around her throat in an ironclad grip, and her feet are dangling from the ground. She gulps.

The captain’s face is mere centimeters away from hers. If she thought he looked angry before, then the scowl he gave her now made it look like he was smiling just moments ago.

“What kind of sick joke do you think you’re playing, huh?” He sneers. “You think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s death?”

She tries to reply but only choked sounds escape her lips as her fingernails claw at her captor’s hands. Tears blur her vision as the Captain tightens his grip, but the way his eyes almost glowed a bright red— the clear intent to murder if she so much as breathed out of line— didn’t go unnoticed to her.

“Do you get some fucked up kick out of this?” He asks again. “You get a kick making fun of a man who’s lost everything?”

He loosens his grip the slightest, and the soldier is momentarily releived when she realizes she could finally speak.

“N-no, sir, I—“

“Levi, let her go!” Another frantic voice pleads with him from behind. “She’s telling the truth.”

Wait, what?

“What?” He chokes out. His grip loosens on the soldier and she slides to the ground in relief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Hange cautiously walks closer, almost scared that any sudden movements would put Levi in a state of shock. They slowly, warily place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s true, Levi. Y/N is alive.” The Section Commander murmurs. “Your Y/N is alive. They’re looking for you.”

If you want to be added to the tag list, click this link!

#writing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot imagine #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman imagine #levi imagine #snk imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine

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ameliterature · 3 years

Text

Writer's Block Cont. (AnderPerry ficlet)

Continuation of Writer's Block

It was a breezy evening downtown and Todd hasn't been at the Coffee Shop since he'd kissed Neil. For obvious reasons, this made the coffee shop barista extremely worried.

"Why the long face?" Charlie asked. He propped himself by the counter beside his brooding friend. Charlie was one of Neil's best friends and the actual manager/owner of the coffee shop (this way he could play his saxophone every Friday night without any objections).

"Todd... He hasn't been here in three days, Charlie, and he's almost always here." Neil buried his face more onto the linoleum counter.

"Oh Todd, ah yes, your big time author-crush-person." Charlie recalls Neil always gushing about him during his break time. He always insisted making all of Todd's orders too. "I mean, today could just be another busy day for him. I'm sure he doesn't necessarily have a reason not to go here." He chuckled.

Neil fell silent.

"... Neiiiilll? What did you do?" Charlie glares at his direction. "Why do you think Todd Anderson wouldn't go here for three days straight?"

Neil fiddled with his thumbs. "I-- I may have... maybe- uh... k-kissed him last weekend."

"YOU WHAT?!" Charlie blurted out, alarming some of the customers and their other barista, Meeks. Unlike Charlie, Meeks was already aware of this situation but he didn't exactly want to stop making his latte art at the moment.

"SHHHH, pipe it down, Charlie- I... Okay, so the other day uh..." Neil huffed before pulling Charlie into the back office to talk more privately-- naturally leaving Meeks in charge.

"Details, Perry, I. NEED. DETAILS." Charlie shook Neil by his shoulders.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting to it-" Neil rattled Charlie off of him. "So- The other day when I was closing up shop for you, Todd was the only one left and- well, long story short- He needed kissing experience for his book and I gave it to him and now I think it was a mistake and he is most likely avoiding me." Neil buried his face into his hands this time. He whined as Charlie comforts him with a pat on his slouched back.

"Neil- Come on! I'm sure he's just shy and all. Hey maybe you gave him the wrong phone number- remember that time when you sent me the wrong one-"

"OH MY GOD-- THAT'S IT-" Neil face-palmed.

"What?"

"I FORGOT TO GIVE HIM MY NUMBER--" Neil sounded both relieved and hysterical. "Of course he wouldn't just come back here- He couldn't just... talk to me in person after what I did- and- and..." Neil sunk to the floor.

Charlie looked down at his distraught friend. "Who am I kidding, Charlie... I ruined it... The one time I got to meet my favorite author and I blew it by kissing him."

"You sure that's blowing it? I'd say it was the best thing you could possibly get from any famous-person-interaction." Charlie smiled, trying to pick up Neil from the ground.

"Just let me die in peace." Neil says to the cold floor. "That kiss might've been the first and last time I ever got to know Todd Anderson in person and I didn't even ask about his other books. He probably thinks I'm just a floozy."

Just as Charlie was about to complain about Neil's focus on Todd's writing than Todd's kiss, someone knocks on the door.

Meeks opens the door to see Neil lifting his head from the floor with tears in his eyes while Charlie is grabbing his arm.

"Uh.. Neil, there's a guy looking for you. He said his name's Todd Ander-"

Neil instantly perks up and immediately bolts to the counter.

When Neil arrives by the cash register, he sees the same dark-blonde author he kissed mere days ago. Todd had eye bags yet his expression was one of breathless excitement. Still beautiful to Neil's eyes.

"T-Todd..." Neil greeted him.

"Neil... When... When do you get off work?" Todd asked fervently yet it was polite to Neil's eyes. "I... I need to talk to you about something."

Just as Neil was about to say 'Around 10pm' Charlie appears from behind him.

"Thank you for your work, Mr. Perry! I see you're done with your shift for the day! I'll see you tomorrow!" Charlie beamed, making quick eye contact with both Neil and Todd. Neil picked up on what Charlie implied and immediately took off his apron.

After a short while, Todd guided Neil to his car parked right outside the coffee shop. "D-Do you mind going with me to my apartment?"

It was a non-question for Neil. As much as he wanted to scream from the rooftops and YAWP in excitement, he kept his composure and followed Todd. "Sure, I'd love to."

The drive to Todd's apartment was silent and short. Todd lived incredibly close to the coffee shop and this fact made Neil grow even more fanboy-y. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

He wanted to respect Todd's privacy so he purposefully didn't take note of the floor number or the apartment number before he entered Todd's home. (In turn, he kept his eyes on Todd the whole time).

As they entered the apartment, Neil could only stare at how neat Todd's living space was. It wasn't exactly neat as it was mostly barren. The most "decoration" you could find was Todd's various bookshelves. A good portion of the area was his own books while the rest were a plethora of Classics and collections of multiple pieces of literature. Todd was a well-read author after all.

"D-did you want anything to drink? Unfortunately the coffee I have here isn't as good as the ones you make so-"

"Wait, Todd... I'm- I'm sorry for what I did... If I made you feel uncomfortable. I- I was worried the past few days-"

"Huh, What- You're sorry?" Todd, bewildered by Neil's apology, let out a chuckle. "Neil, if anything, you helped me, remember?"

Neil looked at him with an intrigued look.

Just then, Todd took Neil's hand and led him to his office. Unlike his perfectly neat living room and kitchen area, Todd's office was a chaotic room full of papers and notebooks. In the back part facing away from the windows was a desk with a computer, multiple stacks of papers (and paper balls), and emptied out paper cups marked on the inside with coffee stains.

"Our little uh- field research actually got me out of my writer's block and I've been writing my book like crazy for the past three days." Todd confessed. "I'm basically almost done with it."

"Wait- Three days?" Neil wheezed. He didn't think Todd could get even more impressive than he already was. "My kiss got you to finish your newest book in three days?!"

"Well... yeah-" Todd scratched the back of his head in humility. "Can't say I've ever done that before. It'll need a shitload of editing and proof reading perhaps, but it's mostly done. Thanks to you."

Neil didn't know how to respond to Todd's words. Neil's favorite author, the person he's been following for several years now, was inspired by his kiss, and finished an entire book in THREE DAYS.

"Todd- I... F-from my kiss?"

"Yes. Well of course it was also the caffeine, but yeah mostly your kiss. I just wanted to personally thank you for getting me through one of my toughest works yet." Todd sat by his desk, pulling up some of the papers he already printed.

Neil walked up to his side, staring at the tentative manuscript- one Todd's editor has yet to even see. (Cameron was not gonna have an easy time).

"Did you want to read it?" Todd asked, instantly making Neil swoon.

"Todd, you're gonna kill me- OF COURSE I'D LOVE TO READ IT-" Neil gushed, looking at both the papers and a blushing Todd.

Neil held the loosely bound papers in his hands, then back at Todd who looked incredibly proud of himself and yet still very reserved.

Neil couldn't tell if he was looking at Todd as an author anymore by how close he was this time. Their arms were brushing against each other, the sound and smell of papers filled the room, Todd was so close.

Neil carefully places the manuscript down by the table. "Before I read it... do you mind if... If I asked you something?"

Todd blinked a couple of times before nodding. "S-sure."

"Do... Do you think it's weird that I... kissed you? I know I said I was helping you for research but... I think a part of me did it because I really liked you. And I'm not sure if it's because I really admire you for your work or if I think you were as beautiful that night as you are now."

Todd looked at him, flustered and speechless. "Y-you sure do know exactly what you want to say..."

"Yeah- I'm sorry."

"And I'm envious of that." Todd responded. Not that Neil needed another reason to gush, but Todd being envious of him is another strike for Neil's humility.

"Usually, when I write my books-- the surrealist ones, they're usually the ones so weird and detached from reality, I usually didn't need to put myself into the protagonists' shoes. But with this book, a book where it's a journey of romance and discovery, I didn't think I'd ever find the right words to describe how the character felt, let alone myself."

"So my kiss gave you existential clarity?" Neil chuckled softly.

"For a short while, yes. I'm all out of it, currently. It's been a draining past few days." Todd leaned back by his office chair.

Neil smirked at him with allurement. "I mean, I'm here. I wouldn't mind giving you a refresher."

Todd raised his eyes at him, blushing even more. "I-"

"I'm just kidding- relax. I'll only kiss you when you want me to. If you ever need anymore field research, that is. I wouldn't mind being your primary source."

Todd bit his lip, gazing upon Neil as he sat over his desk nonchalantly.

"W-what if... say, I wanted a kiss for other reasons?" Todd's voice was like a mumble.

"Excuse me?" Neil felt like he was playing the most intense game of chess with their interaction.

"Like, what if- I thought you looked really handsome right now and I wanted to kiss you, is that a good enough reason to ask for a kiss?"

Neil was enthralled by this interaction. Was it Todd being forward? Or was it his lack of sleep making him this way.

"I... Yes... That's a great reason, actually."

"So... to answer your question earlier: I didn't think it's weird that you kissed me because, right now, another kiss wouldn't seem to bad. And this time, I won't need it for a book."

Todd stood up to meet Neil at eye level, catching him by surprise.

"You're still gonna have to credit me for that book- do you know about royalties-" Neil joked before Todd planted a kiss on him.

Their second kiss was full of small bits of laughter before it turned into something more. It was no longer about Todd's lack of experience or motivation to write, nor was it Neil's admiration as a fan anymore. It was in their second kiss they realized the person they were kissing would be someone to rid them of their woes and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

Aside from that, Todd's career as an author had a new component to it, the skill to garner inspiration in the form of kisses from Neil Perry.

#anderperry #coffee shop au #anderperry fic #anderperry perry two shot?#anderperry fanfics #dead poets society fanfic #dps fanfic #dps fic #dps #dead poets society fic #neil perry #todd anderson

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by-nina · 3 years

Text

A Cordial Invitation

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 4 – Communiqué Rating: K+ (light drinking) Genre: Comedy/Fluff Word Count: 2,840

A/N: This fic takes place when Roy and Hughes are both still stationed in East City, before Hughes is transferred to Central—or in an AU where that happens, if that wasn't the case in canon. Brain empty, no thoughts but Royai. Screw canon. What's important is that Hughes is here. 😂

There is the briefest pause as Hughes leaps back, startled by the outburst, then he laughs again upon seeing the look on Roy's face. Roy can only shake his head in horror—what the hell does the man find so funny? Well, he might have laughed at this little comedy of errors himself if the situation weren't so ridiculously flustering for him. Instead, he is left to imagine it in sheer panic. R. Mustang. Riza Mustang.

His face is burning red.

———

MAES HUGHES, son of Thomas and Evangeline Hughes,

and

GRACIA EVANS, daughter of Rupert and Georgina Evans,

are delighted to announce their blessed and loving union come Saturday, the 25th of June 1910. The ceremony shall take place at Charlotte Hill, attended by their immediate family and beloved friends. Comprising their entourage are Mr. A. Armstrong, Mr. and Mrs. H. Elliott, Miss S. Garber, Mr. and Mrs. C. Marshall, and Mr. and Mrs. R. Mustang.

———

Five different people have congratulated Roy—two of them expressing mild surprise at his previously unknown marriage—by the time he comes across the root of his very confusing Friday morning. He reads the announcement in the paper thrice, flipping the page back and forth as if doing so might correct the error. When it doesn't, he picks up the receiver of his office phone, then replaces it and instead decides to see the man himself.

He passes by Breda and Havoc on the way out, but he isn't quite sure if they’re watching him because they know what's going on, or if they're just as puzzled as he is.

Two floors down, Roy raps away at the door of the Intelligence Division office. "Hughes," he calls out. "Hughes, I need to talk to you about—"

He cuts himself off, rubbing his temple as he realizes the pointlessness of his visit. It's at this moment too that Maes Hughes opens the door with that old, damning grin, the one Roy has known from Hughes' courtship with Gracia and all through their engagement. It's the grin that precedes the talk, as Hughes has annoyingly come to call it. Roy is ready with any of several retorts, such as—

"I don't have time for this, Hughes," or;

"Go bother someone else," or;

"Stop telling me to get married, I'm not looking for a girlfriend, leave me alone—"

But to Roy’s surprise, he doesn't find reason to say any of these today.

"What brings you here, old pal?" Hughes chirps in a tone that hardly suggests he has Roy's romantic prospects on his mind at the moment. Of course he doesn't—his wedding is just around the corner, and it's not like he's marrying Roy.

Roy opens his mouth, closes it, and sighs as he enters the office. He heads straight to Hughes' desk, where he drops his copy of the East City Times, folded open to show the incriminating page.

"Oh, you've seen the announcement!" Hughes is beaming. "I would've taken out an ad every single day after the proposal, but here we are! Can you believe I'm getting married tomorrow?"

"Thanks to your constant reminders over the past three months, yes, Hughes, I can," Roy says dryly. "But how come your announcement is printed like that?"

It's only then that Hughes realizes that an error, not excitement, brought his best man to his office. Roy manages to remain patient as Hughes leans over the paper, a finger trailing the announcement word for word until he reaches the end. Hughes then grabs the paper right up to his eyes and blinks incredulously, and his expression quickly changes. It’s somewhere between incredulity, hilarity, and exasperation—as much as a cheery man like Hughes is capable of, anyway. Hughes breaks into laughter and shakes his head.

"It's not funny, Hughes,” Roy snaps, but not quite. He isn’t so upset as to be eager to start an argument. “I've spent the entire morning wondering what the hell people were congratulating me for!"

"Oh my goodness, Roy, I am so sorry that this happened. I truly am." Hughes rubs at the side of his head, tutting in good-natured disbelief. "I can’t believe it, and on the day before my wedding, too! Ah, but I think I know what happened."

"Mm-hmm?"

"I went to the newspaper office yesterday over lunch, right? It was a last-minute thing because my beautiful bride-to-be doesn't really want too much of a fuss over our wedding. So, at their office, I fill out a form—"

"Mm-hmm."

"—and these announcements are usually short, so there wasn't much space on the form. I write down the date, the location, and then I start to run out of space towards the end as I'm listing the guests."

"Mm-hmmm."

"So, the names are squeezed into the little space I've got left, there's the Marshalls, the Elliotts... and I suppose they assumed that you were a couple with Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"WHAT?"

His face is burning red.

"No, no, no," Roy sputters, "this—this is serious, Hughes! Hawkeye is my adjutant, and if anyone from the top brass hears this and thinks—"

"Okay, slow down, Roy. Deep breath," Hughes says, gripping Roy's shoulders. "Let's be real. They're not actually gonna think that you would just carelessly break military laws. Ambitious youngster rising up the ranks after becoming the Hero of Ishval, who would suspect you? You know what else, they also think you're some kind of heartbreaker going on dates all over East City, up to Central—and her name isn't actually on the paper next to yours, is it?"

"But what—but—so why was it written like that anyway?"

"You’re right. Lieutenant Hawkeye is an important guest. I owe her an apology.” Hughes pauses in thought. “But while we’re on the topic, maybe you two should go together, considering how much she’s actually helped with your best man duties. You know what I mean? It shouldn’t be a big deal. Take her along as a companion, save yourselves the trouble of finding dates—don't play cool, I know you haven't invited anyone—it'll be more convenient for the two of you!"

Roy runs a hand over his face, now nearly out of things to argue about short of something more personal, something more selfish, more... honest. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hughes," he sighs sharply, interrupting his own thoughts. "All right, the announcement—it’s not your fault, we can let that go. And I’ll extend your apology to Lieutenant Hawkeye—”

“And take her as your date?”

“No, because she’s already invited anyway, so there's no reason for me to do that—and if I do, then I'd have to explain to people that I'm not actually married, and she—"

"Come on, it'll be no trouble. No one’s gonna think much of it!”

"I’m thinking much of it! It’s just not a good look.” Roy begins his way back to his own office, stopping at the door just to finish saying, “And I’m not dragging Lieutenant Hawkeye into your crazy ideas!”

———

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, would you like to go to Hughes’ wedding together?”

There is a brief pause when, all at once, Roy bristles with panic for the impulsive utterance, and mild surprise breaks through Lieutenant Hawkeye’s typically impassive face, and Lieutenant Hawkeye regains her composure as Roy watches and wonders what she actually thinks of the invitation, hoping that it’s welcome.

“I don’t think I could, Sir,” she says, deadpan, “Mrs. Mustang would be devastated.”

“What the—Hawkeye, you know I don’t have a wife—”

“Damn it!”

Breda bursts into laughter behind them, drowning out Havoc’s frustrated groan as the latter reaches into the pocket of his trousers, then drops a few coins onto the table where they have been working. Roy scowls at them, partly perplexed and partly exasperated by having to deal with the ridicule twice over. When Breda recovers somewhat, he explains, “We had a bet. Havoc was so sure you really were secretly married.”

“I was counting on it, okay?” Havoc grumbles. “I haven’t had a proper girlfriend since I started working with Mustang, no one will even look twice at me—”

“There you go,” the Lieutenant says as Havoc and Breda banter on. She continues sorting the reports on Roy’s desk into dated envelopes, having been momentarily distracted by his surprise invitation. “Any of Havoc’s girlfriends would be happy to be your date to the wedding.”

“Well, I just thought—I mean, Hughes suggested that maybe it would be more convenient for you and me—for the two of us to attend together.” Roy clears his throat when he realizes that his voice is quivering slightly. What is he so nervous about? He affects a smile to regain a casual confidence. “As colleagues, of course. Friendly companions in the entourage. That’s how all of this happened, there was a mistake with our names when they printed Hughes’ wedding announcement.”

The Lieutenant remains quiet, focused on her work. A moment later, Roy asks over the sudden, quiet thumping in his chest, “Are you… already bringing someone with you?

“No,” she promptly replies, eyes remaining on the reports before her. “I was just wondering what brought this on. You don’t owe me a favor for helping out with your preparations.”

The nervous thumping subsides, only to be quickly replaced by dull dismay. Never mind the idea of being each other’s date to a special occasion, or the imaginary scenario of being a couple. He and Riza—he and the Lieutenant have been working together for over a year now. He would like to think that in that time, they would have broken down enough walls between them for her not to think that everything they do or say to each other can only be strictly pragmatic. Roy certainly sees her in a warm, friendly light, not unlike the way he did as a boy. Surely she could at least not hold him at arm’s length after a year.

Roy finds it easy to be honest when he says, “It’s not that at all. And it’s not just because of what Hughes said.” A careful pause. “I think I genuinely would enjoy your company.”

He watches Riza carefully. No expectations, he reminds himself—and then he childishly proceeds to imagine all the ways that she could react to the whole situation. Roy lingers a little too long on the scenario where she might have imagined him with some mysterious Mrs. Mustang, then felt the relief of disproven jealousy when he explained what actually happened. No—it’s far too complicated an expectation for the time being.

She looks up at last.

“All right then, Sir.”

———

The Hugheses’ wedding is the happiest, most beautiful thing that Roy remembers witnessing in a long time. The ceremony proper and the reception beginning at sunset both take place in a pavilion overlooking a lake, awash in shades of gold from the table draperies to the twinkling lights and the flowers swaying in the breeze. There isn’t anyone in his opinion who deserves a day like this more than his best friend, which is why when Roy prepares to give his best man's toast that evening, he finds himself easily turning sentimental. He drains his glass of wine, then pours himself another just before beginning his speech.

Towards the end of the toast, he says, “Gracia, I have no words for how grateful I am that Maes met you, and that you’ve loved him through some of the most difficult times of his life. You showed him that it’s possible to be truly happy even when it might appear to be difficult or impossible.”

He draws a quick, sharp breath as emotion wells up in him. Laughing to conceal it, he quickly adds, “I’m sure he tells you that enough, of course, but I’m saying this now because you’ve also made the rest of us believe it. We all see it in him. And the two of you give us hope that it can happen for anyone, with anyone who can break down our walls.” Roy raises his glass towards the newlywed couple. “Maes, Gracia, may you be a home for each other for the rest of your lives.”

The modest crowd erupts in applause, accompanied by the clinking of glasses all around the pavilion and sweet, light music for the Hugheses’ first dance. Between the spirits he consumed during his speech and the infectious joy that fills the venue, Roy soon starts to feel lightheaded. He steers clear of the dance floor as the guests pair off and weave around one another, and it’s easy to spot Riza in the crowd from where he stands.

Riza sits at the far side of a table occupied by some of Gracia’s friends, chatting away good-naturedly with a drink in hand. She’s laughing, and what a sight she is on this night away from work, so relaxed and carefree, wearing a honey brown dress that brings out the color of her eyes. She should be dancing, Roy thinks; she should be enjoying this night, not just sitting back to watch it go by as if she had come here alone.

Well, some date he is.

It’s even more outrageous now, the idea of being Riza’s date to this wedding. Not that he knew what he was thinking even when he asked her to go together, but he never actually planned as far ahead as dancing or dining or anything they can do together now that he has completed his duties as the best man. Above all, this isn’t how he had pictured Riza to look tonight, so warm and friendly and beautiful—no, different from the one he invited to be his date yesterday. This is closer to a Riza he hasn’t seen in a long time, not since he left for Ishval, anyway. How does he even strike up a conversation with an old friend from a lifetime ago? What is he supposed to do?

Roy knows one thing—he will mind seeing her dance with someone else right now.

Gracia’s friends rise from the table after a while, leaving Riza by herself. By this time, Roy has helped himself to one, now another glass of brandy, and he isn’t sure whether he’s still on his feet despite the drink or drunk enough to be bold. He takes the long way around the venue to Riza. She turns her head when she hears him approaching.

“That was a very beautiful speech, Sir,” says Riza as Roy sits at the table, leaving one empty seat between them. “It’s a shame Mrs. Mustang isn’t around to hear it.”

Roy laughs, only now realizing that no one has brought up that gaffe since yesterday. “Well, shame it isn’t my wedding. But thank you. I’m glad you think so.” He breathes a deep, thoughtful sigh. “If I’m being honest, this is perhaps the happiest I remember being in a long time.”

Riza nods slowly. “I see.”

Without directly looking at her, Roy can tell that Riza is watching him, deep in thought. She takes a sip of her wine. After a long silence, she admits, “I haven’t been to a wedding in a while, myself. I’d forgotten it was possible for people to be this… happy. It hasn’t been easy to find things that make everything we’re doing worthwhile.”

The look on her face now is different from her usual quiet expression. There she is again, Roy thinks—perhaps she suddenly looks so much like her younger self because her thoughts have wandered to a much simpler time, before all the pain they went through together. Or could she perhaps have carried those thoughts in the back of her mind all along, never allowing herself to pay attention to them, but hoping she might find a place for them in the complicated circumstances they have found themselves in?

And in this moment, Roy realizes that more than remembering the Riza from his past, what he wants is to care for the Riza he knows in the present. To be a companion to her, and for her to return the favor; goodness knows how much they have needed each other all this time, and how much more they will need each other moving forward. Above all, she is someone he knows well enough to want to know better.

So, after a while, he quietly asks, “What are you thinking now?”

Riza smiles. “That what you said in your speech is true.”

Roy raises his glass, and she clinks hers against it. This is the first time in a long time that he has seen her smile like this, that Riza has smiled at him. It feels now as if he has been newly welcomed into her life, that at last—once again—she could trust him as much as he does her.

He rises to his feet.

“I’d hate for you to have just come to watch a speech, Hawkeye. Would you like to dance?”

#Royai Week #Royai Week 2021 #RoyaiWeek21 #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Royai #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Day 4 - Communiqué #one-shot #fanfiction #fanfic #comedy #fluff #writing #written by nina

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pitviperofdoom · 3 years

Text

I wrote something for Aspec Archives Week!

Prompt: Wish/Pride

Warning for internalized aphobia, some elements of exclusion

(AO3)

He had a test the following day on a unit that had been giving him trouble, so he was too absorbed in his lecture notes to notice the growing gathering until someone brushed past him to join it.

Jon glanced up, faintly irritated. He didn’t have much of a right to complain; he was in a student lounge, not a library, and there were no rules limiting chatting and gathering here. There was only one of him, after all, tucked away at a corner table where no one was paying him any mind. He could always move.

His memory tugged at him. He’d heard something about a club meeting here today, hadn’t he? Someone had announced it, at some point…

Halfway across the room, one of the other students glanced up and noticed him staring. A tentative smile broke out on her face, and she jerked her head at the others settling down on the couches and armchairs. “You here for the meeting?”

“The…” Jon hesitated. “What was it, again?”

“LGBT coalition,” she answered. “We meet here every other week?”

“Oh! Oh, I…” Embarrassment stalled his tongue—his presence now felt like an intrusion.

She was still looking at him, polite and open and welcoming even though what she was offering wasn’t—it didn’t have a place for him, he didn’t need it, and they certainly didn’t need him taking up their time and space—

“I’m just ace,” he blurted out, lamely. The word felt odd on his own tongue. He’d never spoken it out loud before, much less to describe himself, and the moment it was out, he was seized in the grip of sudden doubt. He longed to take it back—what if he was wrong, what if he just wanted the attention that came of stepping outside the norm—? “I’m not really…”

The girl shrugged, still polite. “That’s okay. Everybody’s welcome, if you want to join us.”

It wasn’t—he didn’t really count—

“Thank you,” he said, and turned back to the notes in front of him. The girl must have turned her attention back to the group, because she didn’t press him, and neither did anyone else.

The meeting went on, but Jon had a test coming up and only one day left to study for it, so he tuned them out.

That was fine. It had nothing to do with him anyway.

***

Jon wasn’t altogether sure when his mind made the switch. There was no spark, no grand epiphany, anymore than there had been when he first understood himself at all. It was a gradual process, full of maybes lingering in the back of his mind, testing it like ice beneath his feet, until one day he simply understood it to be true.

He thought about that day from time to time, that quiet afternoon he’d spent in the student lounge, surrounded by notes, with possibility blooming just within reach.

He hadn’t reached. And now here he was, his school days well behind him, smarting from the missed opportunity.

The button was a small victory, but it felt like a hollow one. The point of these things was to share them with someone, to show them off to those who understood, and now…

It was with quiet resignation that he fixed it to the strap of his bag. Too little, too late—the time to show these things off was long past him. All he could do now was wear it and imagine a world in which he’d been a little less pathetic.

***

“Nice button.”

Jon’s eyes were beginning to smart from the screen. He’d missed his required break again, too absorbed in the project in front of him to acknowledge the promise of a tension headache in his forehead. He looked up reluctantly, and did a double-take when he realized that Tim was sitting on his desk, on top of his accumulating stack of printed articles.

“I beg your pardon?” Jon blinked hard, several times. Tears welled up from strain, and he wiped them away on the heel of his palm. The research office was drafty, and his hands were cold enough to soothe his aching forehead, as well.

“On your bag,” Tim explained, pointing. “Spotted it from across the room and thought, thank God, you know? Last place I worked was a bit stuffier, you’d never see people showing off.”

“I’m not—I’m not showing off,” Jon spluttered. Truth be told, he’d forgotten the button was even there.

“Right, wrong choice of words,” Tim said, wincing. “Think I’ll get yelled at if I swap my mouse pad out for one of my own? It’s got bi colors.”

Jon relaxed, just a little. Tim was older than him by a few years, but he’d only started at the institute last month, and the idea of having any sort of seniority on him was… odd, to say the least. “I doubt anyone would mind,” he answered. “No one’s said anything to me.”

“Fantastic!” Tim beamed. “Reminds me of my uni days. We should start a club.”

Jon laughed humorlessly. “Now that might catch Elias’s attention.”

“Might be a good thing. You do anything for Pride around here?”

Jon paused, wracking his brain for a moment. “What month is that, again?”

“Take that as a no, then.”

“I’ve never had anyone to do it with,” Jon replied, which wasn’t quite true. He’d had Georgie, once. But that had been a long time ago, and they’d never…

It’d just been too new to him. Too much like a gray area between two sides of a binary, before he’d known better.

“Seriously?” Tim went on, oblivious to what was going on in his head. “Where’d you go to school? Nobody does pride like university kids.”

Instinctively, Jon glanced around at the rest of the office. The other desks were unoccupied, which was odd considering how sure he was that someone had been around to overhear this. Where was everyone…? Oh. It was lunch already. Where had the time gone?

“Just never had the chance,” he said. It came out unexpectedly bitter. “At the time, I was…”

His voice trailed off. He’d never told anyone about this. Georgie had already been out of his life, and he’d just… never had anyone else to tell. But here was Tim, looking at him without a trace of judgment, open and expectant like he was actually interested in what Jon was saying.

“I knew I was ace at the time, but I didn’t realize I was anything else, yet,” he finished. “So I just… never joined any of the…” He gestured vaguely.

The expression on Tim’s face shifted. It was the first time Jon had ever seen him look cautious. “You know ace counts as queer, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Jon replied. “I know that now.” He shrugged, easing a page out from under Tim. Obligingly, Tim got off his desk to let him. “But I didn’t then, and… well, that’s that. Missed my chance, I suppose.”

Tim snorted. “Jon, you can’t miss your chance to make friends.”

You can if you’re me, Jon thought. Out loud, he said, “Still wish I’d known better, back then.”

“Ah, well. Least you do now.”

“I suppose.” Jon finished neatening his research notes. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Tim said brightly. “I’m still a bit new to the area. Where are the good lunch places?”

“There’s a cafe just down—” Jon began, before Tim waved him off.

“That won’t work, I’m afraid, I’m useless with verbal directions,” he said airily. “In one ear, out the other. You’ll have to lead the way.”

Jon stared at him. Tim stared back.

“I have work…” The protest withered on his tongue. “Fine. But I won’t be making a habit of this.”

“Sure,” Tim said brightly.

It was not the first time Jon had ever been wrong about himself. It would not be the last.

#AspecArchives #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #tma fic #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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mystic-deep · 3 years

Text

“Whipped Cream” - Part 2 | Nanami Kento fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Taking cooking classes seemed like a nice way to relax and sharpen your skills, too bad the teacher hates you.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: explicit content not suitable for minors, nothing graphic but please be advised, light swearing

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: Here's part 2! Things are starting to move in the right direction. Nothing too explicit though, part 3 will be the first real reason. Hope you enjoy and as always, please forgive any errors and mistakes.

♡ ♡ ♡ previous parts: Part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 3.4k

The second the doors of the elevator opened you dashed out, your eyes glancing nervously at your hand watch. Your weekly meeting had lasted longer than expected and now you were running late for your cooking class. You couldn’t wait to add another reason for that jerk to pick on you.

As you hurried through the lobby, the receptionist that you met on Monday noticed you and offered a sympathetic smile.

“Good afternoon! Nanami-sensei forgot some documents so he went back to fetch them from his car, you should hurry up before he returns.”

“Thank you!” You grinned at her and quickened your pace towards your classroom. It was good to know that not every staff member here was a devil in disguise.

You practically barged inside the room and for a second everyone looked at you with hopeful eyes, only to shift into disappointment when they realized it wasn’t Nanami. Or was it perhaps the fact that they all hoped you’d quit and they wouldn’t be forced to deal with you anymore.

Ignore them, this time around you wouldn’t lose your temper and become another subject for them to gossip about when the class was over.

With that thought in mind, and hopeless positivity, you scanned the room and realized that your previous working space had been occupied already. The only free space was at the very front row, near Nanami’s desk. Strange, you were sure that was probably the most sought out station, seeing how close you’d be to the chef.

You pushed your worries to the side and took out your apron from the bag before putting it on. Only a few seconds later the door opened again and Nanami stepped inside.

“Good afternoon and sorry for being late.” He offered a small apologetic smile and deep inside you thought that he was actually really pleasant to look at when he wasn’t criticizing your existence.

The smile vanished quickly when his eyes landed on you and you kicked yourself for finding him attractive just a few second earlier.

“Miss Y/n, as you probably noticed, I’ve moved your seat in front of my desk. After the events from last time, I need to supervise you attentively.”

You fought back the urge to argue, knowing full well that this is what he was looking for. Obviously today was a test of patience, to see how much he could push your buttons until you’d explode.

“Oh I don’t mind, Nanami-san.”

“I would like you to address me as Nanami-sensei or chef Nanami during classes.”

“Of course, Nanami-san.”

He shot you and angry look but you beamed at him innocently. You had told your friend that it would me a miracle if he didn’t kill by the end of the week but now your execution seemed right around the corner.

“Let’s start today’s lesson.” Everyone took out their phones and placed them on their working station.

“Today we’ll be making Paris Brest, it’s a very popular French desert. I’ve sent you the list of ingredients and instructions on the group chat, make sure you read them carefully and if there’s something you don’t understand you have 20 minutes to ask your questions. After that we’ll get started.”

Everyone gave a short nod in reply, well everyone except you. Your hand rose up causing Nanami to arch his brow in annoyance. “Yes, what is it.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not part of the group chat so I don’t have the list of ingredients or instructions.”

“That is, unfortunately for you, not my fault. Yamamoto-san is the admin, it was her idea to stop the waste of paper that we usually printed on in favour of sending everything via chat. You’ll have to talk to her.”

He made a short hand gesture towards one of the older women and you realized with distress that it was the old hag that questioned you during the previous lesson. She didn’t even bother to look up from her phone, like you didn’t even exist.

Fine, no point in begging to be added to some group you didn’t even want to be part of. You were sure you could find some recipes on youtube or something.

As the 20 minutes passed and Nanami began to take questions, your hand went up again but this time he ignored you. You frowned and went back to study the recipe you found. You were going to make this work, you were going to nail this desert and bask in the glory of your achievement.

About an hour and a half later all deserts had been finished and they were now presented to the chef for inspection. Nanami had moved from station to station giving advices to everyone and correcting mistakes here and there. He of course never spared you a glance and you had to admit it was starting to hurt. You didn’t know you craved so much for his approval or was it maybe the fact that it pissed you off to be pushed aside in such a way. At the end of the day you were paying for this course, it seemed unfair to be treated in such a manner.

“Right, let’s see what we have here.” He studied your Paris Brest, probably looking for any mistakes that he could judge. “A bit underdone, the bottom is somewhat soggy.” You bit your tongue and looked at him as he cut a small piece from the desert but didn’t taste it like he did with the rest. “I’ve asked for crème praline but instead you filled it with crème patissiere. Are you perhaps unable to follow instructions?”

“I didn’t have the list of ingredients and I didn’t have your instructions so I had to search for the recipe myself.”

“And I told you to ask Yamamoto-san to add you-”

“No, you said to talk to her as though this wasn’t your responsibility at all! Meanwhile you didn’t bother once to stop by my station and correct me even though you saw I was making custard crème.” Your cheeks turned red from frustration and you clutched your hands in small fists.

“If you don’t plan on teaching me anything then at least have the decency to say so! If I wanted to learn recipes from youtube I would have stayed in the comfort of my home without having to pay a dime for this joke of a class.” So much for keeping a cool head and not letting him get to you.

Nanami was a tall man, you noticed the second he first set foot in the classroom and back in the parking lot when you dropped your key. Yet you didn’t realize just how tall he was, at least compared you, until he was looming over you. His blue eyes had turned icy and his lips had tightened in a small, sharp line, a sign that he was barely keeping his anger in check.

“You will stay after class.” Despite not raising his voice even an octave, he said it in such a strong manner, like a divine command. When your mouth opened he sent you the most chilling glare. “You.will.stay.” With that he returned to his desk and you were left to boil in your frustration.

Class ended in what seemed to be mere seconds and everyone hurried out after saying their good byes, probably not wanting to delay you imminent death.

“Now, let’s talk in my office.” He gestured towards a door just a few feet away from his desk and you followed him as he opened it and stepped inside.

His office was quite impressive and you wondered just how much this school was making for him to afford such luxury. The room had large windows with a nice view of the office buildings in the distance, a solid wooden desk with a black leather chair as well as a couch with a modern looking coffee table. On the walls you could see several certificates and degrees that were framed, probably from all the cooking classes he had taken.

“Please take a seat.” He sat in the leather chair and you sat in from of him, legs crossed and eyes narrowed. Whatever the hell he wanted to discuss it had better be quick, you just wanted to go home and take a hot bath and forget about this miserable day.

“It seems that you are not adjusting well to this course so I will speak to management in order to return your money. No point to continue this if you don’t want to be here.”

“Oh no, you will not make this look like it’s my fault.” You sat up so quickly you thought you sat down on a spring. “You have treated me horrible since the very beginning and now you’re angry that I don’t sit quietly and take your abuse.”

“If you think that not praising you for the disastrous bake you did on Monday, a bake that I might add you half assed the whole time and then proceeded to blame everything except yourself, was too harsh for your sensitive self then it just further proves how unsuited you are for my class.” He sat up as well, his expression mirroring your own. “The class is a joke, the students are a joke, I am a joke. It’s all a big joke to you, the successful business woman who has no time to waste on such a silly course.”

You felt waves of anger washing over you but deep down inside what you felt more was sadness. Sure he was part right about what he said, you did look down on your classmates and you did insult him back then in the parking lot. Still, it wasn’t that you thought so highly of yourself, it was the opposite actually. Your self-doubt sky rocketed when he pointed all the flaws of your cookies and you couldn’t stand the way those women had chuckled gleefully in the background. Of course, you’d rather eat your fist than to admit to all of that.

“I don’t think this class is a joke and I have nothing against my classmates, it’s just that some of them don’t want me here. As for yourself, you’ve treating me differently than the rest of the class so the problem here is you not me.” You crossed your arms and looked at him in a defiant way. “Rather than returning my money, I want to be moved to a different course where someone else will properly teach me.”

He couldn’t have looked more shocked or upset if you had punched him in the face. This must had been for him the ultimate insult, for you to suggest that his teaching was bad and that someone else could do a better job. Truthfully, you weren’t questioning his skill as a teacher, just that you two obviously couldn’t get along. You weren’t sure that the point came across though.

“You insolent little-” He stopped himself and took a deep breath, clearly fighting the urge to strangle you. “You are absolutely impossible to deal with.”

“No, it’s you who just doesn’t know how to deal with me and I have had enough. There is nothing you can teach me.” With that you grabbed your bag in which you had previously stuffed your apron and hurried towards the door. As your hand reached for the knob, you felt his presence behind you and his left hand slammed against the door while his right quickly turned the key to lock it.

You turned to glare at him but as your eyes met his, your words got stuck in your throat. He looked at you with such intensity that it made your body temperature rise.

“I could teach you a lot of things if only you’d learn to keep that little mouth of yours shut.” The way he said things made you think he wasn’t necessarily referring to cooking.

His right hand suddenly reached for the back of your head and he pushed you forward, taking your lips in a hungry kiss. At first you didn’t move, you were too shocked to fully process what was happening. As his tongue slowly began to push against your lips you parted them and gave him full access to your mouth. Your hands reached for his broad shoulders and you instinctively stood on your toes in order to kiss him back.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds but it felt like a life time when you finally parted. The anger from his eyes had been replaced with what seemed like hunger and he licked his lips making your knees to tremble.

“You could actually pass as cute when you’re not trying to push all my buttons.”

His words were like a wakeup call and your eyes widened at what had just transpired inside his office. He kissed you, but more importantly, you kissed him back! Not only that but you did it with such desire that no amount of denial would get you out of this one.

“Why-Why did you-”

“Because I wanted to.” Just like that, because he wanted to. He trapped you in his office and kissed you just because he wanted to.

He grabbed your wrist, quite gently to your surprise, and began to pull you away from the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you silly on the desk, what else.” Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets and you froze in place.

“I’m joking, obviously.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Your fist aimed for his shoulder but he dodged the punch without a problem. He then sat down on the couch and pulled your body so that you would seat next to him.

“Now then, let’s discuss a few rules if this is to continue.” What exactly was he talking about? What did he think was going to continue?

“Whatever happens in this room stays in this room. Once we’re out the door we’re back to teacher-student relationship and nothing more. You’ll give me your phone number so I can send you further recipes and set up meetings but we’ll never discuss anything that goes on here via messages or calls.”

“And what’s going to happen here?” You asked feelings a mixture or excitement and curiosity wash over you.

“That depends a lot on you.” He gave a little shrug as his hand landed on your thigh and began to smoothly move upward. “Depends on how obedient you are, show me that you want to learn.” You almost found it impossible to breath as his hand began to massage your flesh through the fabric of your pants. Why, why in the world didn’t you wear a skirt today?

“First, I think it’s fair to ask if I should be worried about you seeing someone. I don’t want to ruin a relationship or marriage.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” After your promotion from last year it had been nearly impossible with your work schedule to form any kind of meaningful relationship and truth be told it was starting to show. God knows how much time had passed since you shared such a deep kiss and you wanted more of that. Even though there was a part of you that worried about what you were getting yourself into, you absolutely needed to feel that light headed again. Also, you knew that what he had offered was just a taste, just a fraction of what he could do to you.

“What about you? Is this something that you do often?” His hand on your thigh tightened and you let out a little whimper.

“I know you have the tendency to always believe the worse of me, but no, I’ve never done this with anyone. All the more reasons to set up clear rules. Obviously I’m also not in a relationship.”

You didn’t question him- he indeed didn’t seem the type to just sleep around with his students. If anything those women from your class would give and arm and a leg just to be here, in his office, sitting on the couch with his hand on their thigh. Yet for some reason, he chose you. The annoying, opinionated one that always rubbed him the wrong. Or maybe, you were actually rubbing the right way.

“I came to the conclusion that the only way for you to behave during my class is if we can take care of some of that pent up frustration you have.” You cheeks coloured red and you hated to admit it but he was right.

“What about you?” Your fingers began to travel provocatively to the growing bulge in his pants but he grabbed you by the wrist before you had the chance to reach your destination. You whined a little but he just chuckled and kissed the inside of your palm.

“Obviously, I’m not immune or I wouldn’t be here, offering to give you extra lessons.” He let go of your hand, his expression turning seriously.

“Before we continue, I need you to agree that you will behave accordingly.” You nodded in agreement, a bit too quick for your liking.

“I want to make it clear that we’ll not be dating. The second your course ends, so will this arrangement. We won’t meet anywhere else except here and once that door is locked you will be obedient. I won’t do anything that you’re uncomfortable with, but I want you to be opened to try new things, do you think you can do that?”

You nodded again finding it almost impossible so seat still. You were both nervous and excited for this little arrangement and you couldn’t wait to get started.

“Good, one last thing that we need to set straight.” He grabbed your waist and manoeuvred your body until you were sitting in his lap, his hand gripping your chin so he could look straight in your eyes.

“Inside this room you’ll address me as sensei or sir, none of that Nanami-san bullshit you pulled earlier. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes...sir.”

“Good girl.” He offered you a low chuckle and a light smack on your ass. You were absolutely desperate for more of his touch and seeing the need in your eyes, he pulled you in for another deep kiss.

As his tongue explored your mouth, your hips moved against his and his hands gripped your waist in order to stop the friction. He pulled away and looked at you in a threatening way.

“Don’t be greedy, your lessons haven’t started yet.” You wanted to protest but you were also afraid that he would end this before it even had the chance to start.

His slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt and let his mouth fall on the swelling of your breast. He licked the flesh and nibbled, making your head fall back in pleasure.

“N-Nanami-sensei.” You mewled his name and he smiled against your breast. After a few more seconds he pulled away, admiring his work. The first mark he had left on your body and the promise of many more.

“Up you go.” He gave you another light smack on your bottom and with trembling legs you moved away from his lap.

“The next meeting will be and Saturday, to make up for the time you wasted today.” You frowned slightly, wondering how you’ll be able to resists until the weekend.

“Don’t make that face, I promise to give you and extra reward if you do well during Friday’s lesson.”

Your expression turned into an excited one and he laughed whole heartedly. “You’re so easy to read.”

With that, your little discussion had come to an end. He unlocked the door of his office and you stepped outside, practically waltzing through the classroom, down the hallway and through the lobby. The nice receptionist asked you something but you couldn’t register anything that she was saying so you just smiled like an idiot and waved her goodbye.

As the elevator door closed, a part of you began to worry about what you were getting yourself into. You weren’t a reckless person and you knew what scandal this could cause if you were caught. Still, it was even more dangerous for Nanami who could risk getting fired, so you had to trust that he knew what he was doing. All worries aside, on Saturday you were going to wear a damn skirt.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader

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