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alchemie-tarot · 1 year

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Words of Hope and Healing

Hi! I meant to accomplish this way earlier but my Pisces season had me prioritize the easygoing flow of my energy. Anyway, even if you may have doubled down on your Aries energy, I hope you still find something good for you here. 🦋

Feel free to choose the pile/s that call out to you. Some details may not resonate with you since this is a general reading. As always, nothing is set in stone, so please don’t take it too seriously.

As usual, a little background about the pictures for this pile: my mom got me these Tiny Tan figurines for my birthday. This mini photoshoot I put them in is for one of my college classes. I have around 36 other pictures of them posing around the house, lmao.

Pile 1

Cards: The Magician, 9 of Cups, Temperance, Page of Cups

You’re making your dreams come true, Pile 1– make no mistake about that. You really dug deep into yourself to manifest those goals and dreams that you deeply long for, and what a power you just uncovered. You’re right in the thick of it and doing everything you possibly can to make them a reality. There is this optimistic and go-getter outlook you have that’s so bright it’s almost blinding.

Your dreams are such a big part of you, but remember that these are not the only things that define you. What matters is how you feel about it. Have you been pushing yourself to the point of putting your health at risk? Please take some time to sit and slow down. Listen to what your body is saying. It has done nothing but carry you, heal your wounds, and rejuvenate itself from fatigue your whole life. Be careful not to do too much too soon.

Yes, a “dream” or a “goal” can definitely elevate how you see yourself or live your life, but it all depends on what each of us wants, right? These dreams don't need to be shiny or grand. You could be called as a torchbearer that leads the way to progress. You could also be a creator. You could also simply want a space you can call your own. You can simply be someone’s warmth and comfort, or your own. You can simply be, and that’s enough.

Close your eyes for a minute. Rest, and find assurance that the rest of the world is moving even if you sit still. Now, your emotions will tell you a lot more than you may realize. I’ll ask again: how do you feel about it? Are you scared of being too distracted by these feelings? It’s natural. Go with your flow. In a world where dreams have the nature of fire, it’s important to be like water, too, and listen to what you feel. That’s how your dreams will come to you.

= = =

Pile 2

Cards: Knight of Wands, 2 of Pentacles, Ace of Wands, 3 of Cups

You’re full of passion without a doubt, but you seem to lack direction at the moment. I feel like you’re trying to be adaptable, balancing two or even multiple things at once. You seem to want a lot of things and your first impulse is to charge at it, full steam ahead… until you maybe see something else and change your mind. The thing is, scattered focus and efforts make for scattered results. There’s a Filipino term for this called “urong sulong,” which means to move forward then move backward. It basically describes being unable to decide if you will act towards something or not.

I see this energy taking you places, Pile 2. This drive and enthusiasm is your strength, but too much of something, anything, can be a weakness. It could burn you out. I have a feeling that you know this already because it has manifested itself like that sometimes. There’s only so much effort your body can devote to many things at the same time.

Do you keep most of your pursuits to yourself? I feel like that’s the main reason why doing these multiple things is hard to maintain. There’s a message here to be among friends, people you trust and share the same vision as you. If there’s someone in your mind who you may have felt like reaching out to after reading this, this is definitely a sign to reach out. It’s safe to lean on them, Pile 2!

Send a message, talk over a meal or take a walk together. They’ll help you, maybe even teach you a thing or two. If some part of your brain is denying this, I’m telling you, it’s clear from the cards that they would willingly share this burden. Someone is, I promise. Spending time with them is definitely gonna reveal something about handling your inner fire better. Soon, it will be something you can wield in your hand and use well to your benefit. The picture of this pile is the only one with two figurines, too.

= = =

Pile 3

Cards: 4 of Swords, Ace of Cups, 7 of Swords, Judgment, Knight of Cups

I’ve been seeing piles more often that can’t seem to catch a break, and you’re one of them, Pile 3. Rest has not been coming easy to you lately, even when you’re just sitting down or lying in bed. Sure, your physical body is still, but your thoughts are anything but at ease. You don’t run out of scenarios to play in your head, don’t you? You have been thinking about things you are feeling strongly about. For a lot of you, this may also be something really new that you’re quite unsure how to really deal with on your own. Whatever this is, it’s making you restless.

You’re letting your imagination get the best of you, Pile 3. I feel like this new thing that has entered your life is an opportunity to deeply heal your soul and spirit. I know, right now nothing about it feels remotely good or soothing like you would envision healing to feel like. Well, sometimes it can feel pretty sharp to acknowledge something uncomfortable or even painful. Sometimes it can feel like a flood that’s rising and threatening to drown you.

It can feel paralyzing to face this but I promise that reaching the other side is worthwhile. In order to do that, first things first, is to get away from the thoughts that come up and blur reality. Nip them in the bud. There needs to be a deliberate attempt to stop. Wake yourself up and be intentional about it. It’s fine if you have to slightly trick your brain by focusing your attention on something else or by looking at it from a different angle– even if this method is something you find yourself out of character for doing (as long as it’s in alignment with your morals and highest good, of course!)

Slow down. Take it step by step. You’re being urged to take this consistently, and you will soon see how much it has changed your life. You may still have moments, but what once felt unbearable will feel lighter to carry. You’ll be more confident to deal with them if you need to. Breathe easy, Pile 3, and know that you’re no longer in danger of letting this overpower you.

= = =

Pile 4

Cards: King of Swords, 7 of Pentacles, 9 of Swords, 6 of Wands

Uh-oh, I sense some kind of heavy energy around you. It feels like a disciplinary person. Someone bearing down on what you’ve been doing and working on. The type to hover over your shoulder and pick on the tiniest details. I don’t think they come from a place of malice, though, but nonetheless, this presence takes a toll on you. For those who don’t really have a person in mind, it could be your self-talk or thoughts. You’re being hard on yourself and are either oblivious to the effect it has on you, or you’re hoping this would toughen you up for better.

I feel that this sharp energy has a way with words. Words that made a mark on you. Listen, Pile 4, they may sound like the authority, but know that these words do not define you. You know why? I feel that you and this person clash about having different ways of approaching things. They seem more traditional, valuing speed the most in accomplishing their tasks. You, however, seem to be on the slow and steady side. You take your time and keep your eyes open for innovation. The way I see it, there’s no “better” method. It’s just that you use whatever suits you best.

Whatever method you’ve been using to conduct your work, know that it is okay. Even if you aren’t anywhere near completion and there may still be a lot to be done, it should not be a reason to be guilty of taking a break. Your body needs it because it looks out for you. Remember that you are a living, breathing human being and not a machine– and even machines need their regular maintenance, don’t they? Go on and admire all the progress you’ve made.

I know that it doesn’t really change the fact that you’re still exposed to this energy and causes you frustration, my dear Pile 4. Let it all out in your safe space, the pent-up resentment. Tell a loved one about it. Cry about it if you have to. If you’re worried that it will always be like this, let me tell you that that will not be the case. You’re already near the end of this miserable situation. You will be successful– I see a victory with flying colors, in fact. Just a little more, and it will turn out better than you expected.

= = =

Pile 5

Cards: 9 of Pentacles, Page of Cups, Queen of Wands, The Hermit Rx, 2 of Swords Rx

Hi, Pile 5. Right off the bat, there is an “I’m older now but I don’t really feel like an adult” vibe. When it comes to material pursuits, you got the goods. You’re in a financially prosperous period of your life. I applaud you because you worked really hard to gain that independence. However, whatever security you have in the external, it’s quite the opposite with the internal.

You may feel like you don’t have much experience about genuine connections and getting yourself out there socially. A lot of you may also still feel like a child when it’s about matters of the heart, especially love and romance. You may have focused too much on establishing yourself in your career, or have not had the time to explore what emotionally fulfills you. There are also vibes of discovering how lonely it is at the top because there’s no one beside you to share it with.

Chin up, Pile 5, it’s never too late to find your people. The best way to feel less clueless or intimidated about it is to get more used to it. Don’t worry too much about feeling awkward and even silly if you fumble with a new interaction– that means you’re getting out of your comfort zone. Whether you started out naturally or not, you learn! It’s all part of the experience and an important step for you to feel more aligned to your soul, I feel. You may not realize it, but there are people around you who find you interesting and would like to get to know you more.

Try to get out of your head and stop second guessing yourself. I feel like you’re prone to psyching yourself out of it. Channel that laser focus you used for your career because it could help you for this one, too. Dip your toes in the water, take your time, and you’ll soon build up that confidence.

= = =

Pile 6

Cards: 4 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, 10 of Pentacles, Queen of Wands

Hey, Pile 6. I get that you’re the type to hold your cards close to your chest. You’re quite protective of yourself, your things, and your space. You appear closed off to people and you kind of prefer the peace that comes with it. You don’t seem the most receptive to change. In fact, I see that you’re prone to lash out in some form to those who try to force it on you. You then come off intense, impulsive and could even be explosive when provoked. You have a hard time reacting in a manner that is a middle ground between these two energies.

Why do you feel the need to put up these walls? Do you have a difficult time trusting or believing that people mean well? Is there a feeling of lack that you’re trying to get ahead of? If you have experienced being severely misunderstood or taken advantage of in the past, then I am sorry to hear that, Pile 6. However, I can see that opening up to these new people will be beneficial for you. You would not need to worry about losing what you currently have because the cards indicate that letting others in will multiply the good and beautiful things you call yours and even strengthen your feelings of security.

This is not an easy thing to overcome at all, but I hope that you’ll be fair to yourself and give it a try once more. It’s not just a matter of giving them a chance– it is also about giving you a chance, and that is a recovery that is always worth it. Believe me, they will help you find the balance you need. You will breathe more easily and control more gracefully the fire that you have. From a stone-cold wall, you will turn into a blossoming flower.

= = =

Pile 7

Cards: Knight of Cups Rx, The Chariot, Page of Cups, 10 of Pentacles, 7 of Wands

You seem to be caught between a rock and a hard place. There is something here about two separate things that are very different from one another and that you both attachments to. For some reason, I’m getting that these two things can never mix and the dilemma is that you’re having a hard time choosing one over the other. You want to keep close to both and be on good terms with both sides at the same time, but instead of feeling the “peace” you’re trying to keep, it ends up costing your energy.

Are you concerned about having conflict or missing out on either side that you would rather run back and forth between them? Not gonna lie, Pile 7, but in the process of doing that, you’re quickly losing touch of yourself. Your integrity is on the line here. I’m getting a strong vibe of people-pleasing for a lot of you, and while I believe wanting to be on good footing with various energies can be practical and simply be out of pure intentions, it’s not a good look for you in this case.

I sense some healing needs to be done from the strong emotions you have experienced or are experiencing that push you to be untrue to yourself. You have set this aside for far too long and you need to make a decision about this once and for all. Go back to the basics. You need to be by yourself and figure out who you’re really aligned with or what you really stand for. Think about it: in whose presence do you feel more in flow with? This step will lead you to feel way more stable and the most assured you have ever been.

Granted, choosing one may likely dampen your favor from the other, but it will not be something you will be defenseless to. I see that you will be emboldened by whatever you end up deciding on. Both of your feet are planted on the ground. A newfound determination to stand firm awaits you on the other side.

= = =

Pile 8

Cards: The Star, 8 of Wands, 3 of Cups, 10 of Wands

You seem to be at a point where you feel that things are happening incredibly fast, right here and right now. I feel like you’re already quite sure about the things that you want. You have pinpointed them and done the work, or are currently nose-deep doing the work. I see action plans popping up, being laid out, and then moving along in your head at a dizzying speed. The harder you work, the brighter your dreams shine for you. Wow! Your energy is fresh and exhilarating.

This pile has one of the most straightforward pieces of advice I have received. Work hard and play hard, that’s what the cards point you to.Whatever you’re trying to achieve, Pile 8, know that it’s just around the corner for you. I offer you my congratulations in advance! I suppose the only other thing I sense for you is that you may end up pushing yourself a little too much. With your growth at an accelerated pace, you run the risk of being overwhelmed and burnt out. Take the time to breathe and check if you’re doing okay from time to time, alright?

Plans and dreams and everything, but remember that you are still the most valuable thing in your life. Don’t forget about the rest of your surroundings, too. Do whatever needs to be done, own up to all the heavy lifting necessary to make the dream work, and then take the time to unwind and replenish yourself. You can definitely have it all but it’s important to never lose sight of yourself.

= = = = = = = = = = = = =

Thank you for taking the time to interact with my reading! I hope this has helped you in one way or another. Take it easy and stay safe~ 🦋

#pick a card #pick a pile #general reading #pac #tarot #tarot reading #pick a card reading #pac reading #tarotblr #divination #tarot community #hope reading #healing reading #words of hope #healing #tarot message #guidance

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katwatcheskny · 2 years

Note

Preferences about being friends with Rengoku and giyu. Thank you💕

being friends with rengoku and tomioka

type: preference

pronouns: you/your/yourself

characters: rengoku, tomioka

a/n: i made these ridiculously long because i got over excited to get a request, so these preferences are very detailed. the requests on this blog are still opened, and if you like bnha check out my main blog @katimagines, where requests are also open. enjoy~

KYOJURO RENGOKU

You met Kyojuro before he became a hashira. The two of you were part of a larger group sent to deal with two dangerous demons that had been terrorizing a village, and so fifteen kanoes to handle them.

Despite not being a hashira yet, Kyojuro was an assured and charismatic person who interacted with others easily, and was turned to as a natural leader by the frightened teens who lacked a proper leader.

You were one of these frightened kanaos, feeling in over your head.

You tried your best to hide your hesitation, not wanting to be the one who freaks out and destroys morale before you even arrive at your location. But Rengoku notices the way your hand shakes on your hilt.

“You should steady your hand. Have more confidence in yourself. You advanced to kanoe, you should hold your head higher!”

You just looked at him, very confused by this odd guy and his surprisingly upbeat attitude and complete lack of volume control. At the same time, there was something comforting about him despite his oddities.

“Thank you, i’ll do my best,” and steadied your shaking hand.

The mission goes about as expected for any mission at your level. A third of the kanoes are slaughtered by the demons when you first arrive, three more are killed in combat, and one bled out afterwards. Kyojuro manages to take the head of one demon, and you take the head of the other.

However, you collapse in exhaustion after you watch the demon finally dissolve into ash. Kyojuro runs to your side and holds you on his lap.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, checking for any excessive bleeding. You manage to mumble that you’re fine. “What is your name? I forgot to ask.”

You would almost laugh if your chest didn’t hurt so much.

When you wake up after recovering from your injuries, you find Kyojuro just kinda hanging around even though he was barely injured.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being friends with Kyojuro is very easy.

He is a very open and friendly person, who enjoys having companionship and manages to attract people to him like a moth to the flame.

Kyojuro is always excited to see you whenever you are assigned missions together, even after he overtakes you in rank. He never stops treating you that same way he did on your first mission as equals.

One day, you guys have a free morning and you decide to spend the day together. Kyojuro has the perfect idea for how to spend the day!

You weren’t sure what to expect and it definitely wasn’t watching sumo wrestling. Not that you were complaining, it was actually pretty fun.

Kyojuro enjoys sharing meals with friends, although he doesn’t understand why others often decline his invitation (it’s because of the screaming, but never change kyo, you’re perfect).

When you asked him why he was always screaming “UMAI” during meals, he explained how he just wanted to show his appreciation for every meal and encouraged you to try the same.

It was very embarrassing to scream “umai” in a crowded restaurant, but after the first few bites, it was actually kinda fun.

If you have a pet, Kyojuro is obsessed.

Doesn’t matter what the pet is. Dog, cat, bird, snake, even a pig. Kyojuro loves animals so much. He always wanted a pet growing up, but his father hated animals and so he was forbidden to have one.

Sometimes you wonder if Kyojuro likes spending time with you or if he’s just interested in hanging out with your pet. Why can’t it be both?

He is a constant hype man.

You cannot voice any self-doubt in this man’s presence unless you want a passionate speech. Kyojuro doesn’t believe that people are perfect, but he does think that everyone has value, and he sees yours.

Kyojuro tells you about Senjuro all the time, because he loves his little brother, and he decides to introduce you two one day.

You two happened to be near Kyojuro’s hometown and he invited you to come to the Rengoku residence for some training and a meal. You weren’t gonna pass on a free room and board.

Senjuro is the sweetest and you two get along great after introductions are made. Kyojuro really wants the two of you to be friends as well.

Shinjuro does not make a great first impression.

Luckily for you, he was passed out drunk for pretty much your entire visit except for when he woke up to scream at Kyojuro to get him more sake.

Being friends with Kyojuro is great and easy. Training with him, however, is the exact opposite. This man is insane. You cannot keep up or meet the insane standards he creates for himself. You will die in the process.

If you ask him to tone it down, he will but not by much.

Kyojuro is an endlessly enjoyable presence in your life. He is always pushing for you to become a better person and support you through anything.

GIYU TOMIOKA

You met Giyu after he already became the Water Hashira. Oyakata-sama thought that Giyu might need some extra hands on a mission he assigned to him, considering he had no tsuguko of his own.

It was a great honor to serve alongside a hashira, so you were honored to be considered worthy of work with someone as distinguished as the Water Hashira himself. You definitely had a small case of hero worship.

The first time you met Giyu face to face before you left for your mission, your first impression was less than stellar.

After you were dismissed by Oyakata-sama, Giyu didn’t even look you in the face “we should leave before sunset.” And then he just walked away.

I mean, you understood that as a hashira he would prioritize the mission before pleasantries, but you at least expected him to introduce himself or even ask you what your name is. And the lack of eye contact and just walking away like that was incredibly rude!

Who does he think he is!

You followed of course, and obeyed his every order as his subordinate, because you were professional and took your duties seriously as a demon slayer. But your opinion of Giyu did not improve at all.

When you finally faced the demon, it went for your face before you could react and it nearly tore your face before you were suddenly no longer facing the terrible creature. You were shocked before you realized that you were saved by Giyu, who turned to finish slaying the demon.

After the demon had been beheaded, you approached Giyu to thank him. Giyu shook his head, “you shouldn't thank me. I was too slow.” He motioned to the bloodied scratch on your cheek.

“You saved my life, that matters more than some scratch,” you argued, “so, you are entirely deserving of my thanks.”

Giyu continued to refuse your thanks. Until the following day when you offered to treat him to lunch before you would need to go your separate ways. “Anything you want, just name it and it’s on me,” you offered.

His typically stoic eyes perked up slightly. “Anything? Even simmered salmon with daikon?” You were confused over his uncharacteristic enthusiasm at a very typical dish, but it seemed to be a step in the right direction, so you nodded and you swore you saw a hint of a smile.

The two of you found a restaurant that served his favorite meal and shared a fairly pleasant meal. The conversation started off quite stilted, and you needed to do a lot of the heavy lifting, but Giyu was a surprisingly good listener and seemed to enjoy talking with you.

Your opinion of the Water Hashira vastly improved after that.

After that mission your friendship began to grow slowly over time. Oyakata-sama continued to assign you to missions with Giyu because of how well the two of you cooperated with one another. You even learned that Giyu expressed to Oyakata-sama his opinion of you.

“They talked to me often.”

And you continued to talk with him more and more often. Most of the time your conversations are focused on the mission, but occasionally you will get to talk about more personal matters.

Giyu is really trying to be better at conversing. The first time he initiated a personal conversation, he just said, “the sky is very blue today.”

He will often try to bring up old conversations to make sure you know that he remembered what you said. One day you mentioned that your mother had been ill, and a month later he asked if she was better.

Most of the time you two spend together is lunchtime meals when there are no demons to be slaying. That is the most pleasant time you two can spend together, where you almost appear to be normal people.

When the sunsets though, all personal matters disappear.

After a couple of months you think that maybe you and Giyu have reached some sort of friendship. Maybe. Sort of.

To Giyu, you’re his best friend.

You talk very nicely to him and buy him his favorite meal.

He’s a quiet and reserved person by nature, but having you around manages to make him come out of his shell somewhat that it’s relatively unnoticeable to most people, but impressive to people who know him.

Particularly to Shinobu, who is very curious about Giyu’s new friend.

“Ara, ara, Tomioka-san, tell me something about (L/N)-san. How did you two become friends?” she kept asking him, but he refused to respond. Shinobu spent the most time with him out of all the hashira, but she never managed to get that friendly with him. What’s your secret?

Of course, Shinobu tells the other hashira, which is very embarrassing for him when they all act so shocked that he would have a friend.

Urokodaki is glad to hear of Giyu’s friend when he writes often of a (Y/N) who has been accompanying him on missions recently. He remembers how happy Giyu had been with his childhood friend, so he hoped that he would find new happiness with a new companion.

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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 2 years

Text

Moments: Eight

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~ 6.4k

Author's Note: the final full-length part 🥹 I have some drabbles to keep these babes going a little longer, so they'll be back! Thanks for the support on this story! I can't wait to share my next one! ❤️

Moments Masterlist

2014: Sudbury

1 day after Minka-gate broke, Y/N and Chris flew home from their vacation early, feeling very tense and exhausted. They’d returned to the hotel immediately and Y/N was back in sweatpants within 5 minutes of crossing the threshold. Chris sat on the edge of the bed in his suit, his tie undone and his top button loosened, holding Y/N on his lap while she cried; his tears leaked into her hair. This was not how tonight should’ve been. She’d stayed tucked on his lap and they’d fallen into an uncomfortable sleep for several hours before Chris gently moved her to change for bed and returned to bed to find her awake and ready to crawl back into his arms.

3 days after Minka-gate broke, Chris begrudgingly went back to Atlanta to finish his last 5 weeks of filming. Y/N had driven him to the airport and they’d kissed goodbye in the drop-off lane, but with nowhere near the passion they normally parted. The three days between the phone call on the rooftop and this moment were filled with tears and stressed phone calls to all the members of Chris’s team. They all assured him with full certainty that this would not be interesting for long, to lay low, and not engage.

8 days after Minka-gate broke, Chris and Y/N got into a huge fight during one of their nightly phone calls. All their calls had been tense of late but they’d both continued to try. The anxiety and frustration hung in the background of all their interactions came to a head after Chris continued to repeat, “I never meant for this to happen,” to which Y/N snapped and said, “I know you didn’t, but what are you going to fucking do about it!” before Chris returned with his own ire.

10 days after Minka-gate broke, Y/N took a day off of work to lean into her feelings, stay home and sob watching Titanic and take a long, luxurious, wine-soaked bath in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Now it wasn’t just the tabloids but all the online gossip blogs and even a few credible media outlets had picked up the story, claiming to talk to “sources close to the couple” who knew that Minka and Chris had rekindled their romance months ago and were finally ready to settle down. Instead of passing, it was picking up intensity.

14 days after Minka-gate broke, Chris’s team was still advising him that the best course of action was to ignore the press until it goes away. Minka’s team was, according to Chris’s team, not responding. She’d even been seen leaving a grocery store with a ring on her finger. Chris had thrown and shattered his coffee mug when his assistant had to tell him and then immediately called Y/N to be sure he heard it from her. Around the same time, the media outlets had started to drag out old pictures of Y/N and Chris: grocery stores, sporting events, the dog park, fan sightings… anything for another chance to manipulate the story with new headlines: What about Chris Evans’s mystery Boston girlfriend? Does she know about his engagement to Minka? Is he planning to keep his side piece? Will he have an LA wife and a Boston piece of ass?

17 days after Minka-gate broke, Chris called his mother, who told him she didn’t understand the Hollywood ways, but she thought this was taking an awfully long time to die down. She gently, quietly wondered– in a way only a mother could– why he didn’t just make a statement to protect his real relationship. In another fit of frustration, Chris snipped at his mother, “I pay these people to take care of it, so they’re taking care of it.” Lisa sighed and responded, “but are they?”

19 days after Minka-gate broke, Y/N was sitting in her office, updating client charts, when her office phone rang.

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N, we’ve never spoken, but I’m calling about your situation with Chris.” The voice on the other end was a clipped female and there was a long pause during which Y/N expected her to continue and perhaps introduce herself. When she didn’t, Y/N rolled her already tense shoulders and sighed.

“Who’s calling?”

“Oh right, this is Megan.” Y/N obviously knew who she was but as she was mostly connected to Chris via phone, email, or when he was in LA life; they’d never met or truly spoken other than a quick wave on a FaceTime call. Obviously in the last weeks since the photo dropped, Y/N had been in the background of calls or seen emails that Chris forwarded her about the latest updates and plans, but they’d never had a one-on-one conversation.

Her phone buzzed on her desk with Chris’s caller ID, which was odd as he was supposed to be on a super secret closed set all day- no phones allowed. She ignored the call.

“Hi Megan,” she said tentatively, “you said you were calling about our… situation?”

“Correct. I’m reaching out on Chris’s behalf to move forward on our next phase of sidestepping this issue.”

Y/N’s whole body stilled at these words and her phone started to ring again. She ignored it again and a text immediately came through.

Chris: Do not answer a call from Megan. Call me, please.

Megan continued, “I know I called your work phone so I won’t keep you long, I’ll get right to it. I’ve been talking with Chris and the next best course of action is to announce your engagement. I think an exclusive with People with a shot of the ring and perhaps a few candids of you should do it. So we’d like to do that within the next week; can you get down to Atlanta by Thursday?”

Her phone was ringing again. She hit ignore again. And yet, she didn’t know why she stayed on with Megan; she had a sick feeling in her stomach from the second Megan had announced herself, but she couldn’t get herself to hang up.

She finally spoke to stall for time to process, “help me understand, why is this the best plan?”

“If we can put your real engagement out there with a wedding date attached, we can pull focus and put this mess to bed. I already have Chris booked for several appearances and interviews after where he’ll be asked…” Y/N stopped listening and switched the call to speakerphone. She set the headset back in the cradle and put her head down on her desk, her mind immediately wandering to that snowy rooftop…

Y/N’s whole body was shaking with rage when she handed the phone to Chris. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She didn’t know what, exactly, was happening, but how she’d ended up here on this rooftop while a picture of her boyfriend on one knee in front of another woman was circling the internet. How had she gone from an independent, strong, capable woman living on her own in DC to being entangled in a relationship with one of Hollywood’s up-and-coming heartthrobs who everyone wanted a piece of? She knew this wasn’t real but she just couldn’t understand how the stars had possibly aligned to set up such a suspicious picture.

She looked up to watch him look at the picture and, in slow motion, she watched his face drained of color entirely, his head dropped into his hands and she saw his shoulders immediately start to shake.

He was crying. He was squeezing her phone in his hand so hard that his knuckles were white and his body was trembling with sobs.

After watching him for a moment, unsure what to do, she reached out tentatively and took the phone from him, setting the table in front of her, and then moved closer to him. She put her hand on his leg and used her index finger and thumb to tip his chin up to look at him.

All of the initial anger she’d felt when seeing the photo melted away immediately. Y/N had seen Chris’s actor cry– this wasn’t it. This was pure devastation. He was already snotty and his eyes were swollen. His lip trembled as he looked at her, trying to keep it together. He fought against the hand that held his chin, trying to dip back down to avoid her eyes.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Y/N knew that she’d jumped to conclusions. He’d been as blindsided as she was. She knew nothing was going on with Minka; she knew what they had and he’d been upfront from the second he knew Minka was in Atlanta. This was the press going rogue and trying to get some money however they could. She’d process her emotions later– she had a lot to think about– but right now, she could see in his face how terrified he was that Y/N might be doubting him… them.

“I love you,” she told him quietly, still holding his chin. “I love you, and I know this wasn’t your fault.”

He lunged at her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her tightly against him. She felt his tears on her cheek as they were pressed so tightly together. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I’ll make this go away, you don’t deserve this. I love you so much.”

They stayed tangled up on the patio for another 15 minutes before they both calmed down enough and realized they’d lost their appetites. Back at the lodge, Y/N tried to keep herself together. She knew from the few whispered words between tears that Chris was distraught. Their relationship had already had so many bumps, he was so worried that they couldn’t survive another one… that she’d go for good.

And he hadn’t acknowledged it, but he’d been planning to propose tonight. She saw the hints now that she looked back- the surprise trip, his jumpy nature, his extra focus on using the word ‘forever’ in all of their conversations, the beautiful restaurant, the sexy suit, and the insistence she be equally done up.

Instead, this night had been ruined by a misunderstanding with a bunch of money-hungry strangers looking to stir the pot. They didn’t care about the real people involved or what hurt they inflicted.

So, once she’d donned sweats and washed her face, she took a deep, shaky breath to calm her nerves and walked back out towards the bed.

He sat on the edge, staring at his hands. No, not his hands, but something in his hands…

She unwillingly gasped when she realized he held the open ring box with tears running down his face. Her gasp alerted him to her presence and he snapped it shut, swiping at his eyes and spinning to look at her.

Y/N’s resolve crumbled and she let out the sob she’d been holding. He held his arms out and she crawled across the bed and into his waiting embrace.

Quietly he asked, “did you know?”

She shook her head and leaned back in his grasp to look at him, “I had no idea.”

He laughed bitterly, “another part of this ruined: the element of surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise whenever you do it,” Y/N smiled softly and Chris’s lips crashed into her, swallowing her startled noise.

When he pulled back, he said, “you still want to marry me?”

Y/N nodded, “I won’t accept a proposal until this whole mess is settled, but of course I do. I love you.” He kissed her fiercely with both of their tears mixing, muttering ‘I love yous’ against her lips every time they came up for air.

A soft knock on the door and then Stacey stuck her head in. Before she could speak she saw Y/N slumped on her desk and caught Megan saying “… and I’m also hoping you and I might be able to talk Chris into giving wedding photo rights to People Magazine…”

Stacey physically pulled Y/N to stand, caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face, and whispered, “Chris is on the phone in my office. Go. I’ll get rid of this,” she gestured to the phone where Megan was still rattling off her long-winded 18-month plan. Y/N nodded and accepted Stacey’s quick but tight hug before leaving the room.

She kept her head down as she moved through the hall and past the open lounge and slipped into Stacey’s office. Y/N saw the hold light flashing on the desk phone and took a steadying breath before rounding the desk and taking the call.

“Chris?”

“Oh Bunny, thank god,” she could hear his relief.

“What is happening Chris, why does Megan have the rest of our lives planned out?”

“It’s her job to manage my image,” she heard his sarcasm on the word image, “but this is not how I wanted any of this to go down. We need to be on the same page first. I tried to stop it but it’s just been–” he cut himself off and she knew that he was running his fingers through his hair. “She has been relentless. She pitched this plan to me yesterday, and I told her it was awful and that she needed a new one. She’s been pushing this idea for almost 24 hours and I didn’t realize she’d called you until I got a break. I came back to my phone and she’d blown it up telling me she was calling you to tell you ‘our plan’. It’s not my plan, Y/N, I didn’t back this idea.” Y/N could hear his frustration, his disappointment, and his confusion, but was feeling all of her own emotions.

“She wants to announce our engagement and then give our wedding photos to People,” anger was boiling in Y/N’s stomach even as her tears kept falling. “We aren’t even engaged, Chris! I don’t want People magazine at our wedding! What’s next? Let People Magazine have the first photos of our baby? Do they get the exclusive rights to be in the delivery room with me? What the fuck, Chris, you said you’d make this go away. And I’m all alone in our stupid house trying to wait this out by myself. All my close friends are in DC, and I have no one to talk to here, every day it seems to get worse and I wake up with more texts with screenshots from people… and I hate every second of this. I can’t do this anymore, Chris.” Y/N’s voice continued to rise with every sentence.

Chris was silent and then she heard movement- the rustle of fabric, a door opening, and closing, a zipper being pulled, “I’m coming home.”

“No, don’t do that. You can’t just come home from this project, you remind me of that frequently.”

“I’m coming home,” he repeated more sternly.

“Don’t bother, Chris. I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to come home just so we can discuss our 5-year plan with your team,” she spat the last word.

“I’m not coming home to discuss our plans or anything else with my team. I’m coming home to be with you.” She heard him pull the phone away to speak with someone. There was a back and forth and she couldn't hear all the words, but she heard Chris’s forceful tone to whomever he was speaking to. Then after a few more minutes of rustling, there was a car door shut and the dinging of a seatbelt reminder. “I’m headed to the airfield; should I schedule a car or can you pick me up around 6?”

Before Y/N could answer, there was more muffled conversation and then she heard Chris mutter, “fuck,” before coming back on the line, “can you pick me up?”

“What’s wrong now?”

“I’m still in costume. I have to change and then I’m going to the airfield… as much as I know you like me as Cap.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself when she snorted a quick laugh; that was her Chris, dropping a suggestive line amid a heated conversation. He’d be smirking if she could see him, trying to gauge if it broke some of the tension. “Are you sure you can come home?”

“There is nothing more important than getting this figured out. They’ll manage without me.”

“Chris,” guilt started to course through Y/N’s body as her frustration level lowered, knowing that once he’d decided to come home, he would be back with her soon, “this doesn't seem like a good idea.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a few days anyway, and have an email already drafted to suggest how we can adjust my filming to not mess everyone else up. I won’t be able to stay longer, but I’m not coming back until this is behind us. But stop worrying about this, Y/N. You’re right, you’ve been dealing with this alone and that isn’t fair to you. I’m coming home and we’ll manage it together.”

“Don’t you dare propose to me. Don’t use this opportunity to try to re-do, it is not the right moment.”

He laughed lightly, “wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Six?”

“Six.”

“Dodge and I will be there.”

“I love you, we’ll get through this.”

“Hey Chris,” Y/N’s lower lip was wobbling; relief was already flooding her body knowing that Chris would be here soon to weather this storm with her.

“Yes, Bunny?”

“Thank you,” she twisted a piece of hair around her finger and bit her lip, waiting for him to respond.

He heaved a heavy sigh, “always, sweeth’art,” he croaked before a quick goodbye.

Stacey was waiting in Y/N’s office when she returned and looked up, “that woman has a lot of nerve.”

“Tell me about it,” Y/N started to gather her belongings, ready to leave for the day with no more patients and too many emotions.

“She would not shut up. She just kept running her mouth like I was your publicist or something, all the ways I could try to convince you that her idiotic plan was in Chris’s best interest and therefore in your best interest. When you two do get married, do not invite her. I will punch her in the face for all of this.”

Y/N laughed for the first time in what felt like ages, “you’ll have to get in line, Stac. Thanks for getting rid of her; I’ve never had to deal with her and this has all just been…” she trailed off while she reached for her phone and smiled to see a picture Chris had sent in costume with a message:

Chris:

Chris: Had to leave the Farmer Cap costume, but see you soon, beautiful

Her bag packed and jacket on, she realized Stacey was still watching her and then tentatively began to speak, “I’ve been afraid to pry, but are you– how are you doing?”

Y/N shrugged while she pulled on her jacket, “I’ve been better.”

“Did he really…” Stacey trailed off, biting her lip and staring at Y/N.

“God, no. I mean, he dated Minka years ago, but no. He’s not cheating, he’s not living a double life. The photographers will go to major lengths to get some clicks on an article.”

Stacey nodded but continued, “and you’re positive? No doubt he’s just acting?” Y/N stilled in her preparations to leave and turned to look at her colleague… her friend… more carefully. Stacey continued, “I’m just saying, it’s his profession to fake things, would you even know?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation again, Stace, and I love you, so I’m trying to avoid snapping at you,” she sighed and slung her bag over her shoulder, “but I know Chris, I trust Chris, and I love Chris. He isn’t acting.”

Stacey threw her hands up in front of her, “I’m sorry, I just felt like I had to ask.”

“And you did, but please don’t ever question him again. We’ve been through so much already, I need my friends to have my back.”

“Won’t happen again,” she stepped towards Y/N offering a tentative hug that Y/N quickly accepted.

Y/N sat in her warm car on the tarmac waiting for Chris’s plane to land. Music played quietly but she wasn’t listening. She’d left her phone in the back seat so she wouldn’t be tempted to scroll while she waited; instead, she was aimlessly petting Dodger with one hand and playing with the edge of her scarf with the other.

She saw the lights of the plane and watched it take its time landing and taxiing towards the hangers on either side of her waiting SUV. Her car was the only one on the tarmac, although there were a few parked in the lot at the entrance, which made sense: Chris was likely the only passenger. For once, she’d been quite grateful for his privilege and situation to be able to get on a flight and come straight to her.

The door to the plane popped open with the stairs dropping down and displaying Chris’s silhouette as he reached the top of the stairs. He had a duffle bag in his hand and his backpack slung on one shoulder while he descended; Y/N felt her anxiety melt away seeing him. As he got closer, she pushed the door open and started towards him over the snowy pavement. Chris dropped his bags when they met and lifted her into his arms, his face tucked into the crook of her neck and burrowing through the fluffy scarf to kiss her neck, her jaw, her cheek, and her lips while pulling her legs around his waist. He took three huge strides and she felt her ass meet the hood of her car.

Chris set her on it carefully and continued to kiss her, to rub his hands on her, while she clung to him– it was freezing in the March air but she didn’t care, all she wanted was to be close to him. She didn’t realize she was crying until he swiped at her tears. A loud bark forced them apart when they noticed Dodge jumping around beside them and then untangled long enough for him to lean down and properly greet Dodger, then retrieve his bags. The drive home was quick and quiet while they listened to music and held hands on the center console. They ate dinner on the living room sofa with Y/N’s legs draped over Chris’s lap and Chris indulging in pizza, mozzarella sticks, and beer– definitely not part of his Cap diet– and didn’t bother to turn on the tv. Being back in each other’s company, Chris telling set stories, Y/N telling stories about her adventures with Dodger.

The doorbell rang and surprised both of them while Chris untangled himself and pulled the door open with a surprised, “Ma!”

“Chris?” Lisa sounded equally surprised as she crossed the threshold. “I thought you couldn’t leave set in this super secret last stretch of filming? What are you doing here? Where is Y/N?”

Y/N round the corner and greeted Lisa with a warm hug, accepting the tote bag she offered (full of homemade cookies) before gesturing Lisa into the house and pouring her a glass of wine. “I came home to be with Y/N. She’s been here all alone.”

“I’m well aware, Christopher, I’m glad you came to your senses too.”

Y/N shoved a whole cookie in her mouth instead of laughing loudly at Lisa’s directness with her oldest son. Chris shot Y/N a look and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, “I know, I know, it took me long enough.” Taking pity on him, Y/N rounded the kitchen island and put an arm around his waist, accepting the kiss he planted in her hair.

“I heard about Megan’s plan,” Lisa took a sip of wine and her eyes bounced between the two of them.

“It’s idiotic, I know, we’re not doing it,” Chris answered immediately, his grip on Y/N’s waist tightening when she leaned into him.

“Thank God. Are you firing her too?”

Chris glanced at Y/N and then shrugged, “We have to manage this first, then we’ll talk,” he looked back at Y/N.

“We?”

“You’re my team. Everyone else is just people who work for me.” If she wasn’t already in love with him, that line would’ve brought her to her knees. Y/N was immediately overwhelmed by emotions (again) and tried not to cry. She tucked her head into Chris’s shoulder and wrapped her other arm around him, “I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge that sooner.”

She nodded against him, not taking a chance to pull away and look at him, and Lisa broke the silence that followed, “so what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. If I post something on Twitter, especially at this point, it’ll seem fake. If we coordinate with a press outlet, it’ll be forced and that puts Y/N too far in the spotlight.”

Lisa was quiet for a few minutes and then she looked between the two of them, “I might have an idea. How long are you home?”

—

Two nights later, Chris’s hand fell to the small of Y/N’s back as he guided her through the door of the Concord Youth Theater. The House was open and it was mere minutes before curtain: all exactly as planned. They stepped through the nearly empty lobby and were greeted by ushers who started to ask about their seat numbers but quickly panicked when they processed Chris’s presence.

After a quick autograph on a spare Playbill, Chris and Y/N continued down the aisle towards the front where Lisa was, as planned, craning her neck to spot them. She stood up when she spotted them coming towards her and waved them into her row, offering huge (genuine) hugs as they took their seats. The production– Once Upon a Mattress, performed by the Young Adult Company– was heartwarming and well done, and when it was over, Chris was swarmed by all the teenage fans and siblings who had come to see people they knew in the show. Chris’s photo was taken, he signed autographs, and he talked to fans, all while he kept some kind of physical contact with Y/N, introducing her whenever it felt natural. Y/N, with her natural ability to connect with teenagers thanks to years of counseling them, jumped into conversations easily.

They even went backstage with Lisa to greet the cast and take more photos– many of that were quickly uploaded to various social media accounts. Afterward, Lisa took them to dinner at a local restaurant, which was packed on a Thursday evening, where Chris greeted more people and made sure to have Y/N beside him at all times.

By the time they were back at home, Chris was scrolling Twitter in the backyard while Dodger romped around and a slow smile broke on his face. He’d done something he didn’t normally do: he’d typed his name into the search bar. And there he was tonight: candid with fans in the theater holding Y/N’s hand, posed with a whole group, including Y/N, at the restaurant, blurry and distorted but definitely identifiable from someone’s creepy picture across the street as they left the restaurant.

When he came back in with Dodger, Y/N held out her phone for Chris to see a screenshot Lisa had sent: her Facebook page with a photo of them from tonight where Lisa had been tagged that included Lisa, Y/N, and Chris talking candidly behind the scenes. It had been posted by a parent of one of the performers, extolling the surprise visit from the sweet and engaging Chris Evans and his girlfriend, Y/N. Lisa had sent a picture of the comments; six different people– both performers and family members they’d talked with tonight– commenting on the couple and how exciting it was to meet them.

He leaned in to kiss her, and when he pulled back he asked, “are you up for a few more outings before I fly back?”

In the final 48 hours of Chris’s stay– one that he’d extended from two days to four after talking with the directors– they made sure to be seen around town as much as possible. They went to his niece’s basketball game, they stopped for Dunkin’ and groceries and ice cream, they went to the dog park with Dodger and Y/N went along with Lisa for her afternoon constitutional around her neighborhood. They’d been caught and posted– truly candidly, although by their design and not Megan’s– at least ten different times before it was time for Chris to head back to Atlanta.

With each post, comments continued to flow in from neighbors, from fans, on their interactions with Chris. And the more things were reposted and dragged into the fan accounts and boards, the more comments shifted to commentary on their relationship. Not all of it was positive and supportive, but much of it was and before his return flight had landed, Chris noted that the buzz about Minka was all but disappeared. The gossip blogs weren’t getting much traction on it at this point, but the next thing they’d expected happened: the media started to reach out to Chris and his people looking for Y/N’s name and comments from her or Chris.

Megan. Was. Furious.

To her credit, her plan had been one that she would mostly be able to control and Chris and Y/N’s rogue version was anything but controllable. But Chris didn’t care. He’d found a way to make Y/N more comfortable, to make it clear how he felt (he’d always been comfortable with PDA, and he made sure to lay it on even thicker), and to get traction moving forward from this awful misunderstanding.

In addition to his nightly call with Y/N, he now had a nightly call with someone trying to stay one step ahead. If it was Megan, it usually started with him being scolded for not listening to her… often a variation of ‘this is why you pay me, Chris’ and then she’d try to push a new narrative. Then he’d hang up with her and call Y/N to pass along any valuable information and hear her daily updates. They spent the final few weeks of his Avengers filming this way until it was finally time for him to pack up from Atlanta and return home.

April 1st arrived and with it, Y/N’s excitement: Chris would be back home tomorrow and it was her birthday. His plane got in around dinner time, so she would pick him up and go to Lisa’s, who had volunteered to host a joint birthday/welcome home dinner before they finally had some time alone. She tucked into bed with Dodger curled next to her and fell asleep quickly, only to be jolted awake hours later by Dodger pawing at the bedroom door.

“Dodge,” Y/N whispered in the dark, patting the edge of the bed, “c’mon, bud.”

Instead of a whine, as he’d normally do if he needed to go out, a low growl emitted from the normally friendly dog. It made Y/N’s hair stand on end. She groped for her phone, realizing she’d left it charging on the kitchen counter instead of on her bedside like normal. She’d left it there while she cleaned up from cooking dinner and chatted with Chris on FaceTime, and by the time she’d taken Dodger out, locked up, gotten ready for bed, and snuggled down in the covers, she realized where it was and decided she was too tired to go get it.

Dodger growled again and pawed frantically at the door. “What is it, dude?”

In response, he barked loudly and increased his scratching. She groped her way in the darkness to the small desk in the corner of the room, stopping to pull a sweatshirt on, and found the cordless phone that she was now so grateful Chris had insisted on keeping– “you should always have a landline!” he’d told her a million times when she moved in and laughed at it. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons while she tried to remember Chris’s cell phone number as Dodger barked again.

She finally dialed– hopefully correctly– and moved across the room to lock the door. “Hello? Y/N?” Chris’s croak came through the line and she looked at the clock on the bedside table: 2:37 am.

“Baby, Dodger is freaking out,” as if on cue, Dodger barked again and continued to scratch the door. She knew that there would be gouges in the wood tomorrow morning. “What do I do?”

“Is the security system on?” His voice was more alert and she heard him shuffling on the other end.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Can you hear anything? Does it sound like someone got inside?”

Y/N’s heart was thundering in her chest and Dodger was getting more and more frantic, “I don’t think so. Chris, what do I do?”

“I’m going to call the security company and see if the alarm was triggered, I’ll call you back.”

“NO! No, don’t hang up!” She yelped, sinking to the floor in the dark corner, trying to urge Dodger to come to her. “My phone is in the kitchen, and I’m scared.”

Chris sighed, “I don’t have another way to call and check, Bunny. I promise I’ll call you right back.”

“What if someone did get inside, Chris? If you call the house phone it’ll ring and they’ll know!”

“Y/N, I promise you are safe in our house. Let me just call the security company to be sure. Just stay where you are. If you don’t want me to call back, give me 5 minutes and then call me.”

“Okay,” she whispered; her whole body was shaking.

“I love you, babe, it’s going to be fine.”

“I love you too,” she muttered as she hung up and held the phone to her chest. “Dodger,” she moved towards the dog and grabbed his collar gently, deciding to take him into the bathroom with her while she waited to call Chris back. He threw his head away from her, jerking wildly and barking. Y/N started to cry while she tried to pull Dodger away from the door, begging him to come with her.

The phone in her hand rang loudly, startling her, and she yelped despite herself before scurrying across the room to answer in a whisper, “Chris?”

“The call is coming from inside the house,” came his reply in his creepiest voice.

Y/N froze.

Banging came from the other side of their bedroom door before he yelled his best “hereeeeee’s Johnny!” impression.

“FUCK. CHRISTOPHER!” She swiped at the tears on her face and moved to unlock the door, letting Dodger tumble out and greet Chris.

Chris collapsed to the ground while Dodger greeted him; he was laughing his boisterous, contagious laugh and Y/N wanted to be mad at him. The adrenaline coursing through him was going to take forever to settle down, “you’re an asshole.”

Between laughs and kisses from Dodger, he said, “I thought I could get in without you guys noticing. This guy isn’t typically so protective.”

“Yeah, well, he likes me better than you so he wants to keep me safe.”

“Seems that’s correct,” Chris gave Dodger one last rub before getting to his feet and reaching for Y/N, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you when I called?”

He shrugged, “sometimes I can’t resist the urge to be a 12-year-old. But I’m happy to see you.”

She sighed and uncrossed her arms, deciding not to be mad at him and accepting the hug he wrapped her in. “I’m happy you’re home, you absolute jackass.”

“Take me to your bed, gorgeous girl,” he pressed kisses to her cheeks and neck while he walked her back towards the bed.

“If you think I’m even spooning with you after that mean trick, you’ve got another thing coming, sir.” Y/N laughed up at him, kissing him once solidly before crawling back into the bed and watching him strip off his clothes. Once he’d dumped his clothes in the hamper and brushed his teeth, he stumbled into the bed beside her and pulled her to his chest.

“Please spoon me, I missed you too much not to have you touching me tonight.” She started to wiggle away but stilled when his bulging biceps were caging her in and his hard pecs were pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt. She sighed into his grasp, enjoying the smell of him wrapping around her.

“Only because your Cap muscles are so good I can’t resist them,” Y/N turned in his arms and snaked an arm around his waist while she looked up to kiss him.

“Happy birthday, Bun,” he whispered against her lips before he pressed another long kiss onto her lips and pulled his arm away from her, reaching her hand and interlacing their fingers. She leaned into his kiss, luxuriating in each feeling– each comfort of having him home– when she felt him press his palm into hers, and something cut into the palm of her hand.

Y/N pulled back and started to pull her hand away from his, only to have him wrap his huge palm around the item and pull away from the kiss. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked down at her carefully, not breaking eye contact.

“I love you, Y/N, and I want to spend my whole life with you. I never want another minute where the world doesn’t know we’re together.” He kissed her tenderly, his fingers once again playing with her hand, but this time, rather than their fingers intertwining, he held just her left ring finger and slid a cool metal circle down it until he reached the base. The movement was loving and sensual as he traced his fingers back up her hand, then her forearm, then the back of her arms, and around to cup her neck, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth and swallowing both of their moans. He finally pulled back and looked at Y/N again, “marry me?” he whispered against her lips, his eyes dancing between hers while he waited for a response.

She nodded frantically, pulling him to her for another long, deep kiss, when they finally pulled apart, her eyes were glazed with tears but she was grinning, “yes.”

Taglist: @bellaireland1981 @before-we-get-started @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @elrw24 @maylaysia109 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @behindmygreyeyes

#chrisevans #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris+evans+fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans series

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praetoravila · 1 month

Note

Olive and Logan for the OC ship game? <3

i'm gonna do the first 20 questions for rn, so if you'd like to send questions 21-50 again for a later date feel free to!

1. Describe their first date.

their first date is mid s3! they decide to try and keep things casual, so they go to the movies and then go to a pizza place nearby for a late lunch. they have their third kiss afterwards.

2. Who wakes up early/Who sleeps in late?

logan is a perpetual early riser. he only ever sleeps in if he’s really feeling like shit. olive on the other hand could sleep her fucking life away if someone let her.

3. What was their first impression of each other?

olive thinks he’s a poser, and doesn’t understand the boy band hype. logan think she’s pretty but intimidating.

4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?

logan! he’s a cuddly guy, and he likes being affectionate with the people around him and especially with olive. olive doesn’t hate pda, she just never really grew up seeing it, so she’s kind of like oh ew at first.

5. Do they argue often? If so, what do they argue about?

not really. olive’s working really hard on controlling her anger and her triggers, and logan isn’t typically a confrontational person. when they do fight, it’s usually over jealousy. olive still isn’t the biggest fan of camille and logan staying friends after they break up for good in early s3, and even though she tells logan that it’s fine, he can tell that it’s still bugging her. their biggest fight to this day, was logan accusing her of being jealous of camille and her denying it.

6. How do they make up/apologize after an argument?

logan usually goes for saying that he’s sorry and then trying to find something to make olive feel better, ie after the big camille fight where they almost broke up, he gives olive one of his t-shirts so she can sleep in/with it while the boys are on their summer tour. olive cuts up fruit and makes snack trays and just gifts them to logan. she’s not really a words girl.

7. How often do they say “I love you”?

pretty often. logan says it first, but olive says it more frequently, bc as stated above, she’s not a words girl, so she knows it means a lot to logan when she does say the words. she’s also more likely to say it just randomly while logan says it in very pointed moments.

8. What do they love most about the other? Why?

logan loves olive’s passion and her loyalty. he also really really loves her hair. olive loves logan’s intelligence and how self assured he is about it. she also really loves his eyes, especially when he looks at her in a certain way.

9. What do they dislike most about the other? Why?

logan dislikes how olive will retreat into herself when she thinks she’s fucked something up. he just wants to communicate with her. olive hates how stubborn logan can be, and how he sometimes will outright ignore her opinion because it’s “wrong”

10. Do they share any hobbies or interests? How do these things bring them together?

music i guess? they both like a lot of the same indie bands, and they enjoy sharing new songs. they also both like reading, though olive is more fiction while logan’s a non-fiction dude.

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

olive initially hates nicknames, but she hears logan call her his sweetheart once and is like okay maybe i get why people like this. logan’s nicknames for her are sweetheart, liv, ollie and baby. olive’s are babe, bro and dude. what? bro is totally a pet name.

12. Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent?

yes. olive knows it’s part of the deal of dating a band member, but it still sucks. she has a couple of shirts and sweaters of his that she sleeps in, and they facetime a lot.

13. How do they keep in contact when they’re apart? Do they write letters, talk on the phone, or simply wait out the time?

answered above ^

14. Do they enjoy PDA, or are they more private with affection?

logan’s a pda guy. olive is okay with it, but she gets flustered easily. however, in her more risky moments ie post s4 when they are in college, she has been known to climb into logan’s lap for a kiss or to give him a solid makeout session before he has to go onstage. it becomes an ongoing joke for the btr boys that logan can’t sing as well if his tongue isn’t down olive’s throat ten minutes before a show lol!

15. What songs remind you of their relationship?

well, i have an entire playlist for them linked here but their top four songs are, all over again by big time rush, falling over me by demi lovato, ko by the ready set and love me again (uncensored/demo version) by big time rush.

16. Would they ever get matching tattoos? If yes, what would these look like?

yes! they both get 11.21.11 tattooed, which is the day that btr released all over again, and i hc is the day when logan confessed his feelings for olive. they also both get small heart tattoos on their inner wrists for their 10 year anniversary.

17. How well do they communicate? Are they open with their feelings/thoughts or more reserved? Why?

they communicate pretty well, but they have their struggles. olive has a tendency to withdraw into herself after a particularly bad ied episode. logan sometimes pushes too hard to try and get olive to tell him how she feels and when olive snaps, he gets angry at her for being angry at him.

18. How do they care for each other when one of them is wounded/sick?

logan goes full doctor mode (even more so after he is… y’know a licensed doctor) and he’s got all the meds olive could need, plus his laptop to watch movies. for olive, she freaks out for a moment bc logan never gets sick, but once she gets her bearings, she goes full mother hen.

19. Do they wear each other’s clothes/jewelry?

yes! olive steals logan’s cardigans and shirts all the time, and she will do so forever. she also steals a couple of his rings. olive gifts logan a silver chain for his 19th birthday that he wears on a regular basis.

20. How do they comfort each other when one of them is upset? Is this method of comfort effective?

lots of cuddling and holding hands. olive likes being smushed by logan’s arms after a long and stressful day. logan just likes being close to her.

#oc; olive pasqualina #ship; olive x logan (any kind of guy you want)#logan mitchell x oc #*mine #asks #dolly tag

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tirsynni · 1 year

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Years ago (crazy to think about how many years, honestly), I started Sands of Time as writing practice to see if I could get into the practice of writing on a regular schedule (it failed). I had a bunny inspired by thinking too much about Ganondorf and his role in OoT and WW, decided it was as good as an excuse as any to work on writing regularly (failed so hard), and it ended up becoming a love letter to a game series which I've loved almost my entire life.

That fic kept going and going and taught me so much about writing, both in general and fanfic-specific. It ended up being far longer than planned, more detailed than planned, and even when I was distracted and tired and side-eyeing this massive WIP, it reminded me of how much I loved the Zelda games and the many details, overt and subtle, in them. Writing was more than just putting words on paper: it was translating the things I was passionate about. Even if there are some definite issues in the fic due to the many distractions occurring during its creation and how sometimes I wrote less because I was passionate to write and more because I was just stubborn about seeing the fic through, it's still a fic I'm very proud of. It is also, without a shadow of a doubt, my most popular fic. It is a fic that someone refused to rec because they wanted to hit lesser known Zelda fics, and holy shit, I preened when I read that.

I have been struggling with fic and fandom in the last year for many reasons, including some serious RL stressors. The other big reasons have to do with the evolution of fandom itself. I'm not talking about the rise and fall of the popularity of certain things. For example, while I'm not a fan of "reader" fic, I feel like it's a fantastic example of the things that can be done with the fanfiction medium and also a way to explore how tropes/genres/random things in fanfiction reflect different cultural changes in the same way horror movies do. What I hate, though, is the rise of negative feelings and negative takes in fandom, transforming it from a fun, collaborative atmosphere into an arena full of witch hunts, deliberately bad takes, and people terrified to write because they are afraid of being attacked for their content, pairing, writing styles, grammar, etc. I love fandom as a love letter to canon, an exploration of canon, an exploration of self and writing styles, among other things. Now it feels like it's no longer that.

Back in the Old Days, people put disclaimers on fics because they didn't want to be sued. Now people put disclaimers on things assuring readers that of course they don't advocate these things, these things are bad, they know it, they aren't a criminal, they aren't a pedophile, they aren't a Bad Person. Now I see people skip summaries just to tell people to stop attacking them for their pairing and to just let them write what they like.

I see people indulging in deliberate bad takes of the original content, of the original creators, of other writers in fandom, of different tropes, of game mechanics... fucking everything. Sometimes it's just a nasty circle. Sometimes it's done to elevate something else, because we all know the only way to elevate something is to put something else down. I understand vent sessions. I understand going to a friend and going "Holy shit, did you see that summary??? Wow!" It should stop life as a quick vent. It shouldn't make up the person's entire personality. It shouldn't require a full online presence. Hate should never be detailed in the comments. Call-out posts should be left to actual nazis, terfs, etc., not to someone who wrote a "gross" or "unhealthy" or whatever pairing. Seriously. If you waste so much time on that, you need to look into some self-exploration and therapy. In all sincerity.

Fanfiction is not a published work. It should be fun. It is put online to be shared with fellow fans. It is something where someone gets excited about something or has an idea about something or wants to explore something or just wants to write some kinky porn and then share it with fellow fans. That's why writers post work and then sit eagerly .02 seconds later waiting for people to comment on it because they want to share their thoughts and love and happiness and excitement and sadness and grief and their general emotions with others and they want those others to respond and share their thoughts and reactions, too!

I just saw a post tearing into Moffat's Sherlock series because it lacked sincerity for the audience and source material and instead indulged in its arrogance, contempt, and self-righteousness. My immediate thoughts turned to the Lord of the Rings movies. If Sherlock is remembered, it will be purely in the critical sense, an example as to how a popular series was forgotten and dismissed. LotR remains loved. It is a classic. It is something people repeatedly marathon despite the lengthy watch time. LotR was a love letter to its source material. It wasn't just the writers and directors: everyone involved was sincerely, fiercely passionate about it, and it shows. It drags the watchers in, prompted people who had never read the original to pick up the books, inspired so much fanfiction. It was sincere and passionate and loving and, in turn, its fans are sincere and passionate and loving.

The LotR movies explored and loved the genre, the characters, the message. Even when characters faltered, it didn't make them terrible people. It made watchers hold their breath, it made watchers cheer them on, it made watchers hope. Check out people who do bad takes of Frodo and his struggle with the Ring and watch how many people come out of the woodwork to defend Frodo. There was no tongue-in-cheek humor mocking the source material. There was no critical analysis of "Well, you see, this is how the hero was actually stupid." No. It was sincere. It was loving. It still makes people cry and cheer and happy even when they're wiping away a sad tear or two.

I've read fanfics where the writers insist on the worst takes for the characters. It isn't done out of humor or a teasing love or an exploration into the characters/writing styles/etc. The writers want to drag the characters down, put themselves on a pedestal, and do it not through sincere analysis but by doing the worst possible takes on the situation. This usually relies on going into the source material with a negative mindset and desiring negativity in return, feeding primarily on the negative takes of others rather than looking into the source material or looking for positive takes, or just having a "bad faith" mindset. They go into it with an axe to grind and want to drag everyone else down with them. It isn't one or two fics: it's a growing, poisonous movement which is one of the things driving people out of fandom. It isn't a love letter to the source material. It is hate and disgust and contempt and Moffat writing Sherlock, patting himself on the back all the while and surrounding himself with people doing the same exact thing.

I'm a strong believer in people writing whatever they want to write. You want to write this character being evil? Sure! You hate this character and want to make them OOC to bash them even more? Go for it! I've written so many things testing how far I could go or feeling angsty and wanting others to feel angsty or even feeling happy and grinning like a feral gremlin as people wrote comments talking about how the angst in the story made them bawl. Want to write vore? Want to write character death? Whatever! It is fucking fiction, and it should be something you can enjoy doing. Hell, an asexual person can write two people fucking without wanting to get fucked. A lesbian can write two men fucking. A pacifist can write a murder mystery. It is fiction. Write whatever you want, and I hope that you feel better after doing so, even if it is only in the catharsis way of having a bad day and getting it out by making characters bleed.

Already, I can fucking hear people insisting that all of this makes you a bad person. No. No. If you truly believe that, it means you don't understand writing. You don't understand art. OR it's not a misunderstanding but a deliberate Bad Take, an extension of the poison I described above, because you want to attack someone and you want any opening. See: Republicans going after Drag Queens now, probably not actually believing that Drag Queens are harmful but recognizing vulnerability and knowing they can manipulate others through hatred. If you truly believed that, you would be wondering about Stephen King and other writers, but instead, you use conservative attacks and uncritically promote purity culture and are oblivious to the day when the leopard turns around to eat your face.

It's exhausting. It's a growing trend that is poisoning the water that is fandom and is not only playing a part in driving people out, but is keeping people from ever trying their hand in the first place. It is keeping people from enjoying what should be a fun thing. It is fucking poisoning minds, because this is a damned slippery slope. Hammer/nail and all that. It is seeing one thing as "problematic" and knocking over one tile and then seeing a full domino effect because they never bothered to analyze what "problematic" meant or why they found that "problematic." It is people grabbing a torch with the hope they won't find themselves on the stake.

Let people enjoy fandom. Try having positive takes. Let fanfiction and fanart and fanworks in general be something enjoyable again. Maybe some people use it as a way to vent current political issues. Maybe some people want to explore certain sexual kinks and writing these two (or three or five or seven) characters going at it is a great way to do it. Maybe they had a funny thought and want to share it via fanfiction. Whatever. We can't go online and bash people like Moffat and then casually do the same exact thing. We can't bitch about conservative politicians attacking people and then use the same exact thought processes and methods to attack others.

Let people be sincere in their enjoyment. If you don't like it, find something you do like. Maybe take some time with some tools and explore things which make you happy instead of indulging in deliberate bad takes to tear others down and use those takes to bind yourself to others and their bad takes like barbwire. Remember why things like LotR lives on and makes people so happy and why Moffat's works are going to be used in classes in the future as to what not to do.

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ratsoh-writes · 7 months

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Happy Valentine’s Day ratsoh :) I have a request for a Matchup for my babygirl Charlotte!

She’s 23 and currently working at a bank but her dream job is something involved with fashion history. Charlotte is soft spoken and generally prefers to hang back and keep to herself except around people she’s very close with. She lives on a property with a few different houses with her family (immediate and more distant) she’s very patient and detail oriented, and tends to be very understanding and forgiving. On the flip side she can be a bit of a pushover, especially around stronger personalities, and generally won’t stand up for herself until she’s reached her limit.

Aside from fashion history, she’s a big foodie and likes cooking, going out to eat, etc. she’s curious and open about learning and trying new things as long as she gets enough time to herself in between. She’s also good at building and fixing things (assigned furniture assembler), and very good at math- she’s the kind of friend people ask for help when filing their taxes

She’s the oldest of 5 kids and has younger half siblings from 19-7 years old, but the family living together is around 30(?) people. Her family is important to her and while her SO certainly doesn’t need to be around them all the time (and she’s open to moving away from them so long as it isn’t super far away), she’d still want to feel comfortable bringing them around each other and not having to worry about it if she isn’t there to supervise the whole time. Similarly, she’s pretty introverted and while someone who is very outgoing isn’t a deal breaker she wouldn’t do very well with someone who is constantly taking her out of her comfort zone.

She doesn’t have a lot of strong preferences, she has a partial preference for people taller than her (she’s 5’7) but it’s not a very strong one. Her partner also being detail oriented is a pretty big plus bc details are so important to her. I think she’d appreciate confidence, whether is more boldness and bravado or a quiet self assurance, she’d subconsciously drift more towards those kinds of people.

Her general aesthetic leans more towards light colors and flips around between historical, country cute, elegant, and girlish depending on the day. She’s almost always carrying a sewing kit , notebook, and her multitool pocket knife with her, and she’s got shared ownership over a pair of pet doves with her cousin/best friend/ roommate Lenore. The doves are her babies

Anyways , I hope this wasn’t too much or too little. Thanks ratsoh! Your writing always brightens my day <3

Lovely character description! Anyways Charlotte has very specific needs. She needs someone who’s confident but observant enough to realize when they push to hard. And a family lover of course! So after searching for those requirements, I decided to match her with ….. SALT! Lustswap papyrus!

Salt has a type. That is very obvious if you look at all his exes. He’s attracted to this shy softies. He loves bringing them out of their shells. Over time he became quite good at reading people’s body language and expressions to tell their comfort levels. Salt is a great choice as someone who can give Charlotte the confidence to be adventurous while still being restrained enough to feel secure to her.

Salt is 100% extroverted and would do well in a large family setting. Picking him means that there’s no need for Charlotte to move away if she doesn’t want to. He’ll blend in well with the group, and become the annoying uncle with dirty jokes the kids don’t understand lol. Every family needs one of those after all lol

Salt is a professional makeup artist! So while it’s not the same field as clothing design, it’s still very similar. Salt is someone who needs to keep up with trends in order to keep his job relevant. He’s someone that Charlotte can always talk to about her passion, and he’ll be able to keep up just fine

Charlotte should be warned though, salt is a lust monster lol. So she’s gonna have her hands full with him ;). And maybe a few kids down the line. He’s a family guy, and while he can go without, he does hope that his future partner would want one or two someday

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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Been binge reading all the warprize AU posts rotating slut Hob in my head before I got giggly thinking about them meeting Shaxbeard in this universe.

The king tolerates few and favours fewer, topmost of them all being Hob ofc, and while Dream is a powerful and stern King who rules with an iron fist, his kingdom is prosperous. Schools and a certain level of education is mandatory for all children, and both art and artists thrive within the capitol.

Im thinking about a twist 1589 scene where Dream takes them to watch some kinda play, maybe one of Marlowe's and Hob enjoys himself, sure. The flamboyance and the drama are immensely entertaining and he loves a good story. But what sours the experience was when Dream insists on meeting the screenwriters and actors afterwords (Jessamy explains that Dream has a soft spot for screenwriters and new, passionate actors) and was just. COMPLETELY enamoured by Shakespeare. (Not really, but Dream paid one WHOLE MINUTE of his attention on someone else besides Hob. Even when Hob was trying to call him!) At one point Hob was even SHUSHED. AND NOT EVEN FOR FUN. HE TURNED BACK TO FACE SHAKESPEARE. After a moment of stunned silence Hob's expression grew so angry and thunderous at the new fucking twink upstart the table's cupbearer-who was approaching the table to top up the wine-froze and shuffled hurriedly backwards. He looked so PISSED that for a moment you couldn't tell WHO possessed WHOM.

Hob can't just kill him. The King likes him too much. He never liked all the people Hob's killed before as much as he seemed to like Shakespeare, but that won't stop him from making Shakespeare's life living HELL

I feel like we totally have the same brain!!!! I've been slowly working on the new chapter for my feral!Hob au fic and Shakespeare may or may not be making an appearance...

I'm obsessed with how you've put this tho... Hob getting hushed by Dream one (1) time and being so incredibly upset and offended?? This is amazing. I can see it SO clearly. He's so used to being Dream’s darling little pet and he just can't cope with the idea of sharing the king’s attention with anyone.

Shakespeare is just trying to live his life and write some good plays, and he's not even aware that he's caused trouble in paradise until he catches Hob’s eye and oh my god, if looks could kill Shakespeare would be dead on the floor. He doesn't know what he did to upset the King's favourite pet but he's kind of terrified now. Hob is still the big muscular soldier he once was, and under his silky skimpy clothes there's a VERY large knife strapped to his thigh. Shakespeare felt it when Hob deliberately pushed past him to get away.

Later on Hob is in such a mood, Dream has never seen him be such a brat before. He's utterly clueless as to what's caused his pet's bad behaviour, but he finds himself quite enjoying Hob’s pouts and rude little quips. If nothing else it's a good excuse to take the brat over his knee and spank the truth out of him.

When Hob admits to being jealous, you can bet that Dream has a hearty laugh about it. He can't help finding it hilarious that his beloved little "prisoner" is so possessive over him. Hob gets a direct order not to hurt Shakespeare, but he also gets the assurance that he is Dream’s favourite and nothing is going to change that.

(That doesn't mean he stops glaring at the twinky playwright and leaving him in fear for his life. Hob’s gotta have some fun.)

Also thank you so much for your birthday message! It was so sweet of you <3

#iprefertheterminsane #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #warprize hob

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pillbug-armor · 8 months

Text

Professor x Student slow burn

8k words

summary: When Professor Jonathan Holbrook meets his new TA, Emma Morgan, he is struck by her magnetic, charming personality. Before long, he finds himself drawn to her in ways that violate every rule of professionalism in the book. When they find themselves alone in his office after a long semester together, Jonathan finds that his resolve is not as unbreakable as he would hope...

cw: age difference (legal), prof-student relationship, protected seggsual activity, p in v, unequal power dynamics

original characters, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

this is a pretty slow burn, with full consent from both characters bc i think it's important also find it really hot. Also has a bit of a softer feel, the characters like each other a lot/have a relationship outside of the seggs. hope you like it, bc i had a great time writing it! also if you are a compsci nerd this one goes out ya'll bc holbrook is a data science professor haha

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

The first day of a semester was always simmering with energy. Professor Jonathan Holbrook was still getting used to the fact that it was his job to capture and direct the attention of an entire lecture hall full of early twenty-somethings.

He looked at the clock on his computer screen: 9:26 AM. In four minutes, he wouldn’t be Jonathan, the newly 30 year old man who had struggled to drag himself out of bed two hours earlier with a sore neck. He would be Professor Holbrook, sharp, alert, assertive, ready to share his passion for data science with approximately 250 people who may or may not feel the same.

Absent-mindedly, he tipped his chair back and forth, bracing one foot against the podium from which he’d soon be delivering an icebreaking personal introduction.

“Professor Holbrook?”

With a slight jerk, he righted his chair. A student was standing in front of him.

Shaking her hand, he replied, “Yes, that’s me.”

Her grip was as firm and assured as her voice. She smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Emma. Emma Morgan. I’m your TA for this semester.”

“Emma! It’s great to finally put a face to your name. Would you want to sit up here? Or would you rather sit with the students?” He noticed that she had curly brown hair and freckles, neither of which had been apparent in her tiny email profile photo.

She turned to look out at the lecture hall. “I think I’d like to sit with the students. I mean, I feel more like a student than anything else.” The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she walked over to a seat in the front row and set her backpack down.

Jonathan nodded, then glanced at his laptop again. 9:29 AM. He turned back towards Emma, who was looking at him with a slight furrow in her brow.

“You ready for the semester, Emma?”

Her face relaxed, and her brown eyes met his. “Ready as I can be, I guess.”

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

“Hey, Professor Holbrook”.

Jonathan looked up from the email he had been typing. “Hi Emma. You don’t have to call me Professor Holbrook, by the way. You can just call me Jonathan.”

Shrugging her backpack off her shoulders, she replied, “If you say so. Where do you want me to sit?” In the current emptiness of his office, her purple and blue striped shirt was the only pop of color.

Hastily, he reached out and pulled a chair up next to his own. “Here’s fine. And would you mind closing the door before you sit down?”

She shut the door gently, sat down, and turned to face him, legs crossed at the ankle. He pushed up his sleeves and turned to grab his planner. As he was about to ask Emma how her morning was going, he noticed her gaze had settled on his forearm.

Almost as quickly as he’d noticed, she flicked her eyes back up at him. Her mouth opened slightly, soundlessly, before she said, “Sorry. Uh, I like your tattoos. Is that a parakeet?”

“Yeah, it’s a blue winged parakeet. I had one as a kid and it was my favorite pet of all time.”

She smiled, crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and set them in her lap. She ran a hand through her hair, then said, “That’s cool. Birds are my favorite animals.” For a second longer, she held his gaze, then she looked down, waiting for him to continue.

Her nervousness was making him slightly nervous as well. He laughed politely, then said, “So anyways. Let me give you the rundown of how recitation is going to work. Then, we can discuss when you’d like to have your office hours, and anything else you have questions about.”

This first weekly meeting went by smoothly. Jonathan found that he did most of the talking; Emma rarely interrupted him to ask questions. She took notes in a somewhat battered, plain notebook, writing unhurriedly. Her hands were delicate, nails perfectly painted a light shade of pink.

As their meeting came to a close, Jonathan said, “Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She paused, then said, “Do you have any for me?”

He thought for a brief moment. “How has your first week back on campus been, Emma?”

She blinked at him, then said “Good. I mean senior year is going to be super busy, but I’m really glad that I get to see all my friends all the time.”

He replied, “Well, that’s good. I’m thankful to have you as a TA. You seem very organized and on top of it.”

At this, she laughed. “Don’t be fooled by the notebook, Jonathan.” He found himself smiling as she said, “I actually have no idea what’s on most of these pages”.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, checked the time, then said, “I have to go to my next class. I’ll see you in lecture tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

She stood, threw her backpack over one shoulder, then turned and walked into the hallway.

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

“Aaaaand voila. Ok, if you’ve been following along, you’ll see that the output of this function should match the correlation coefficient given in the answer key.”

By now, a month into the semester, Jonathan had eased back into the swing of lecturing. He felt he’d established a good rapport with his students; a decent number of them even showed up to office hours.

He hit the Enter key to run the code cell he’d just written, only to be shown a red “error” message. A murmur broke out through the lecture hall.

He sighed, then said, “Don’t panic guys, this is only the 8th time this has happened this week.” He scrolled to the top of the cell, combing through the lines to find his mistake.

“Jonathan.”

He looked up, and saw that Emma had raised her hand. “What’s up?”

She grinned mischievously, then said, “You spelled “scipy” wrong at the top. Like where you include the libraries.”

He made a show of scrolling very slowly back to the top of the cell, and saw that she was correct.

The students laughed, and he laughed with them. He raised his hands in defeat and said, “I’m a computer guy, not an English major.”

As the noise died down, Emma said, “You do know that “python” starts with “p-y” right? Not “p-i.”

He shot back, “Emma. You double indented like 7 lines in a for loop last week and you couldn’t figure out what was wrong with your code.” As he spoke, he moved to the front of the podium so he was standing in front of her.

In mock outrage, she put a hand on her chest. “That’s because I was using your stupid new IDE that runs on GitHub Copilot”.

As he stepped closer to her chair, she bent her neck to look up at him. He looked directly into her eyes and said, “Let us know when you’re ready to leave the stone age and join us in 2023.”

He was acutely aware that everyone in the classroom was looking at them, as their banter had become a regular occurrence in every lecture.

She raised a hand to the side of her neck and took a breath in. He saw the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand brushed the smooth, soft, skin of her jaw.

After a beat, she extended her hand towards him. He stepped even closer to her, and grasped her hand in his. He swore he could feel her pulse in her fingers.

She shook his hand, then said, “I’ll send a smoke signal to your iPhone.”

He grinned as the class laughed, and stepped back behind the podium. As he continued on with his lecture, his gaze kept falling on Emma, and the soft smile that never left her face.

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

8:30 AM was too early to be on campus by any metric. Yawning unabashedly, Jonathan walked towards the undergraduate lounge, the only room with an espresso machine in the engineering building. He couldn’t wait for a shot of raw caffeine to jolt him awake.

When he pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Emma there, sitting on the sofa, laptop perched on one thigh.

She looked up at him briefly. “Hey.”

He blinked. “What are you doing here so early?”

Her fingers brushed the touchpad of her machine as she said, “I have interview grading downstairs in like 20 minutes, and I figured I’d get here a bit early to add some final comments to my code.”

Jonathan leaned one hand against the table, then said, “What’s the project?”

She grimaced, then replied, “It’s an optimization lab.”

“Hmm.” He thought for a second. “Want me to take a look at it?”

“Sure,” Emma said.

At the same time that he moved to sit on the couch, she stood to place her laptop on the table. Jonathan froze. Emma was still, both hands clutching her laptop, eyes shifting to the side. After a beat, he said, “Let’s just sit on the couch, you were already there anyways.”

Nodding, she sat back down. He took a seat next to her.

Without looking at him, she went back to scrolling. She brushed a few curls away from her face as she explained her code to him.

As Jonathan gave his feedback, he noticed, for the first time, the light brown, almost shimmery hair on her forearms, and that she had a thin gold chain around her neck, the small pendant resting against the junction of her collarbone and her throat. Her white sneakers were scuffed, and she had purple ankle socks on. Suddenly, he was very aware that his thighs were only a few inches away from hers, and that he could see the outline, the shape of her crossed legs through her blue jeans.

He folded his hands in his lap, looked over at Emma, and asked her why she had written a particular line of code with recursion instead of a loop.

She smiled and nodded, pointing at the line of code he’d referred to. She had a perfect cupid’s bow, and her teeth were rounded and had slight gaps in between them.

Jonathan’s mouth felt dry. He cleared his throat and said, “I think you’ll be fine. There are a couple places where a little restructuring could make the code run even faster, but honestly at that point it’s diminishing returns, you know?”

Emma’s gaze met his, and he was momentarily struck by the warmth in her brown eyes, despite the tired, purplish shadow that lay beneath each one. She yawned, and Jonathan almost looked away, but he didn’t, instead noticing the way her head tipped back, exposing the skin under her jaw, the way her tongue rested against her bottom teeth.

She closed her laptop and slid it into her backpack. Jonathan blinked, feeling like some charge in the air had just vanished.

“Thanks for the feedback, Jonathan. I appreciate you taking the time to help me out.”

He nodded, and said, “Anytime. You can always Slack me if you have questions about this kind of thing.”

She got up, and moved so she was standing directly in front of him. His knees were directly across from hers. she said, “I’ll let you know how interview grading goes. See you later, in lecture.”

“Sounds good,” He replied. She left the room, and for a few seconds, Jonathan stayed on the couch, not moving.

He couldn’t believe that he’d thought to himself that, if he’d just reached out, he could have slid his hands under her t-shirt and onto the soft curves of her waist, and pulled her down until she was sitting on his lap.

Uneasily, he looked around. Nobody was there. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if people could see his thoughts anyways.

It was going to be fine. It was just a fleeting thought, and, of course, Emma was beautiful. Anyone could see that. He was sure his mind wouldn’t betray him like that again.

He got up, made his espresso, and went back to his office.

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

As the next few weeks went by, Jonathan was starting to think that maybe he should request a different TA for the next semester. Emma was extremely helpful to him, always attentive to student’s questions in lecture, always completing tasks he asked of her on time. She was never late to a weekly meeting, and she was smart and funny to boot.

But. Ever since running into her that early morning in the undergraduate lounge, his thoughts had become more and more intrusive. Rationally, he knew that the more he tried not to think them, the more they would take over his mind, but he couldn’t help it. Some kind of floodgate had opened, and he was powerless to stop the contents of his imagination from bursting through.

During lecture, they bantered and conversed as usual in front of the class, and he was starting to feel like the student’s eyes were too much. Surely, every time he spoke to Emma, every time he walked out from behind the podium to stand in front of her seat, they could see that he was drawn to her like a magnet. Surely they could see that his eyes flickered to her lips, her hands, the delicate lines of her chest visible through her clothes. Surely they had noticed that he smiled every time she smiled, that he was inventing excuses to tease her and get her attention as he spoke.

Emma was a student, a good student. It was completely unfair to her that his wayward thoughts threatened the professionalism of their interactions.

But he couldn’t help it. When they had their weekly meetings, where it was just the two of them in his office behind a closed door for 30 whole minutes, he was overtaken by thoughts of what they could be doing instead of discussing curricular materials. He felt like he was gripping onto a mask of normalcy, struggling not to let even a hint of these imaginings show on his face when she was there.

But when she left, and the door to his office closed, he would lean back in his chair, and his mind’s eye would open, hungry for something he could never see. He had given up trying to restrain it.

He could see himself asking her how she was doing, how she was really doing. She would sigh and tell him that senior year was stressful, that she was struggling to figure out her next steps post undergrad. He would place his hands on hers, tell her that she had nothing to worry about, that she was so smart and capable that he was sure she would find her way. She would look into his eyes, the warm, melty brown color blooming in his vision, and she would incline her head towards his. He would lean in, breathe in the clean scent of her skin, brush his lips against her jaw, her neck, lace his fingers through the soft curls of her hair. He could see her breath quickening, her eyes closing, her fingers tightening their grip on his. He could hear the way she would try not to make a sound.

He could make her feel so good, he knew he could. He knew his hands could wrap around her waist, support the weight of her body if he held her close. He wondered what she had experienced in the past, if anyone else had touched and caressed and kissed and tasted her in the ways that he couldn’t stop imagining.

He also knew that none of this could or would happen. It was probably in their best interest that he found a new TA for the next semester. He dreaded having to tell Emma this, knowing that she couldn’t know the true reason for his request. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

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

The last day of the semester before winter break had arrived. All day, Jonathan had been helping to run the fall undergraduate showcase, where top students from various engineering disciplines displayed projects that they had worked on this year in class. Some highlights had been a web app that summarized terms and conditions, a working smartwatch prototype meant to help remind people to take medications, and a 3d printed fully articulating human hand with working motors that could theoretically be modified into a prosthetic limb.

He checked his phone. 9:00pm. All that was left to do was fold up the last few tables and chairs, put them to the side of the engineering lobby for the cleaning crew to put into storage, and then finally, he could go home for the night.

“Hey, is there anything else you need help with?” Emma’s voice brought his attention back to the tasks at hand.

“If you just wanna fold up those chairs over there and put them on that rack over there, that would be great.”

He watched her walk away. For a second, he braced his forehead with his fingertips, and suppressed a sigh.

He still hadn’t told Emma that he was going to be requesting a new TA for the upcoming semester. At this point, he was going to have to send her an email over break. Maybe it was better that way. Simple and quick. Impersonal. Professional.

Even now, he had to measure his actions around her. It was starting to become unbearable, being near her and being unable to give substance to the thoughts that had been plaguing him.

Another faculty member caught his eye and waved. “I’m gonna head out. Have a good break!”

He smiled tersely and waved back. His eyes surveyed the lobby, and he found that it had been tidied up satisfactorily.

“Emma.” He called her name. She turned to look at him. “I think we’re good on cleanup. You wanna come up to my office with me to grab your stuff?”

She nodded. “Sure. It’s getting late.”

Side by side, they walked down a long hallway, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. After climbing a stairwell and turning a corner, Jonathan rummaged in his pocket for a key, unlocked the door to his office, and flicked on a light switch.

He grabbed a couple notebooks off his desk and put them on a shelf, then looked over at Emma, who was blinking at the sudden onslaught of bright light. She pulled a jacket out of her bag and started putting it on.

“Do you have a way of getting home? It’s getting cold out there.”

Emma responded, “Yeah, the bus runs for another hour, so I should be good. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded, surveying his office for any other things that might need to be stored away during break.

“Jonathan?”

He paused. Emma stood, leaning on his desk, arms crossed. Her curly hair fell loose around her shoulders, slightly frizzy from rubbing against her jacket.

“Yes?”

Emma moistened her lips with her tongue, then swallowed. Jonathan tried not to look at the way her throat bobbed up and down.

“Thanks for having me as a TA. I had a lot of fun working with you this semester.”

She was staring into his eyes. She smiled at him, and he felt like he was going to lose his mind. Continuing on, she said, “Also, I appreciate you helping me out with looking for internships and stuff like that. And for giving me advice on projects. Seriously, you didn’t have to take the time to do all that. I really…I really felt like you were looking out for me.”

Against his will, Jonathan took a step forward, closing a good portion of the distance between them. She was now standing between him and the desk, neck craned slightly up to meet his gaze.

He chose his next words carefully. “You’re a good…person, Emma. You really helped me out a lot this semester. I’m thankful to have had you as my TA.”

Emma swallowed again. Her eyes hadn’t left his, not even for a second. She uncrossed her arms, and gripped the edge of the desk with her hands.

He added, “If you ever need help with anything else, Emma, you can always email me. Or Slack me. I’ll be here.”

She blinked up at him, and nodded her head. “I appreciate that, Jonathan. You’ve helped me out a lot too.” He saw that her knuckles had tightened on the desk.

His heart dropped. Oh no. He’d failed. Somehow she knew all the wildly inappropriate thoughts that had passed through his brain for the better part of the semester. He was finished.

But then, he saw something else. A pink flush had begun to creep up her neck. For a beat, he didn’t say anything. He felt like if he looked at her any longer he was going to go blind.

After a moment, he said, “Emma. Are you ok?”

She let go of the desk with one hand, and pressed it against her neck, trying and failing to cover up the redness that was now flushing into her cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry. Yeah I’m fine. I’m just…I’m just tired.”

“You should probably go home, Emma. Get some rest. It’s been a long semester and a long day.” He couldn’t believe that he was taking a step closer to her, even as he said this. He didn’t know if he’d ever stood this close to her. He didn’t know what in the world was possessing him to act like this. Every rational fiber of his being was screaming at him to step away from her, to let her go.

Emma looked down at her shoes, then crossed one leg over the other, one hip jutting out as she shifted her weight. For an agonizing second, she didn’t say anything.

Jonathan’s heart was starting to race. She was going to report him. She was going to tell someone that he shouldn’t be a professor at this school any more.

Without looking at him, she mumbled. “The bus doesn’t get here for another 20 minutes. Maybe I could wait in here?”

No. She couldn’t wait in here. If she stayed in here, in his office, in this empty building where everyone else had gone home for break, his final thread of rationality and self control was going to snap.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. I mean, you can also probably just wait in the lobby. I mean, not that I need you to leave. Like I can wait with you. If you want. In the lobby. Or here. Whatever makes you more comfortable.” Christ, this was bad. He sounded nothing like the grown, adult professor that he had to be while he was on this campus.

She leveled his gaze with her gorgeous, endlessly alluring brown eyes. “I’ll just wait here.”

He stared at her. Her cheeks were fully flushed pink now, and he suddenly noticed that her breathing had become measured, as if she was struggling to exert control over it.

This wasn’t happening. This was definitely happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Slowly, slowly, he leaned towards her. He was easily almost a foot taller than she was, so he had to bend down quite a bit. He put his hands on the desk, one on each side of her. Without touching her at all, he moved his head until his mouth was a breath away from her jawbone.

Her eyes closed, and her head tilted back. She inhaled, and he swore he could see her pulse jumping in her neck.

Into her ear, he said. “Emma.”

At the sound of his voice, she exhaled deeply. She said, in a voice lower than he’d ever heard her use. “Professor Holbrook.”

He hovered there, still holding himself back from fully closing the space between them. For a second, there was no sound in his office but their breathing.

Jonathan knew at that moment that it was over. He was absolutely powerless to stop whatever happened next. He’d spent months resisting, fighting himself off, just for it all to end like this.

Softly, he pressed his lips to Emma’s ear. She shivered, but made no motion to move away from him. Into the warmth of her skin he said slowly, “You should just call me Jonathan.”

She let go of the desk and placed her hand on his exposed forearm, onto the tattoo of a parakeet that she’d commented on all those months ago. He felt her fingers land on his skin with every single nerve that he had. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Emma. Are you alright?”

She turned to look at him, their noses inches apart. She nodded, fingers stroking over his arm softly, eyes searching his face.

“Good” He rasped. He lifted a hand and cupped the side of her face, bending her head slightly away from him to expose the flushed skin of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed once more, and she sighed softly. She placed her hand on top of his, lightly encouraging him to hold her. He bent his head down and kissed her right beneath the ear, firmly and slowly, savoring the way her breathing had become ragged and uncontrolled. As he pressed into her slightly with his tongue, fingers nestled in her curly hair, she softened, leaning into his touch fluidly. Jonathan’s mind had completely fogged over, and he was aware of nothing but the feeling of her skin, the heat now radiating off of her.

She moved to unzip her jacket, and he helped her shrug it off her shoulders, letting it land unceremoniously on the floor. She jumped up so she was sitting on the desk, and he knelt carefully in front of her. Her hands were resting on her thighs; he grabbed them and placed them onto his shoulders. They felt warm even through his shirt, and Jonathan was remembering the sheer number of times he’d imagined her perfectly painted nails dragging against his skin. The upper part of her chest was exposed by her sweater, and he leaned in and kissed his way down her sternum, breathing in the vibrations in her chest as she gasped. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, and he had to stifle a groan. He nudged her knees apart with one elbow, and moved forward so she was bracing her inner thighs on either side of his torso. Placing a hand on each of her hips, right where her jeans met the curve of her narrow waist, Jonathan reverently pulled her body closer to his, relishing the feeling of her hips pressing up against him.

As he moved his mouth lower down her chest, she squeezed her legs tighter around him. Her breathing deepened, he could see the haphazard rise and fall of her shoulders. He wanted to feel more of her skin, more of her warmth. He slid his hands up under her sweater, fingers splaying against the smooth muscles of her back.

Emma moaned softly, and Jonathan stopped, resting the side of his face against her stomach.

“Jonathan.” He looked up at her face, and saw that her mouth was slightly open, her skin starting to dampen slightly with a light sheen of sweat.

“Yes, Emma?”

She started to say something, but then slowly moved her hands onto his forearms instead. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled his hands up higher, so that her sweater slid up against her body, exposing her navel and the lower part of her ribcage. Her skin was beautiful, rosy and smooth and soft to the touch.

Jonathan couldn’t hold back. He stood, gently pressing on her with his hands so she reclined onto his desk. She looked into his eyes as she laid back, searching his face. Her legs were still on either side of him as he bent over her, pressing slow, methodical kisses onto her stomach, her ribcage, where her bra concealed the lower curve of her small breasts.

Her hips lifted against his thighs, and tension pooled in his lower stomach. He felt himself hardening against the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d felt like this, so single mindedly focused on the task at hand.

He pulled her sweater up, over her head, and off her body. She was perfect, every bit as perfect as he’d imagined her to be. Her jeans hung loosely off her hips, her shoulders were sloped and elegant and curved perfectly into her neck, and he could see the peaks of small nipples nudging at the gray cotton fabric of her bra. One of them was intersected by a horizontal barbell. Jonathan felt a surge of heat course through him, upon finding out that his TA had had someone run a needle and metal jewelry through such a sensitive and hidden part of her body.

He grabbed her by the waist and moved her farther up onto the table. He brushed the sides of her ribcage with his thumbs, and he pressed his mouth to the upper curve of her breast. A small sound escaped her throat.

“Is this okay, Emma?”

She nodded soundlessly. He knew it was in fact not okay, that he was breaking every single rule about student-faculty relations he could think of. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care. Deftly, he pressed his tongue onto her nipple, wetting the thin fabric covering it. She jerked against him, and a moan left her lips. She traced her hands up to his head from his shoulders, fingers pulling slightly at his hair. The sensation shot through him and settled low into his hips, and he sucked in a breath. Without thinking, he surged forwards, pressing himself into her, and she responded by arching her back up off the desk. The thought that she could feel his length, that his stiffness felt as good to her as her softness did to him, made his pulse race.

Jonathan reached up to cup her small breast; it rested perfectly in his hand. He used the pad of his thumb to brush lightly over her nipple, and he felt it harden at his touch. The color was high in her cheeks now, and her face had an expression that he’d only ever seen deep in the recesses of his mind. He hooked his thumb under the elastic band of her bra and pulled it up, fingers pressing soft dents into her skin. She was beautiful, her nipples perfectly round and a warm shade of light pink, accented by the gold barbell she had chosen. Even here, she had a light dusting of freckles on her skin.

She tightened her grip on him, knees pressing into his sides urgently. He looked up at her, locking onto her brown eyes. Her lashes fluttered gently, and her eyes fell closed. Carefully, gently, he took her nipple into his mouth, softly licking the tip of it with the flat of his tongue. The hard metal jewelry clicked against his teeth, and he tugged at it ever so slightly.

Emma moaned, loudly, breath quickening. Encouraged by the sound, his hand softly stroked the bare skin of her other breast. Jonathan was coming undone, and he needed to feel more of her. His own desire was a white hot flash burning through him, filling him with need. He pulled her bra up over her head, and the sight of her naked torso spread all across his desk gave him pause. She really was perfect, and he couldn’t believe he was touching her like this, making her feel things she maybe hadn’t had the chance to feel before.

He continued for a few minutes, sucking gently on her nipple at first, then gradually harder. He relished the textural contrast between her velvety skin and the smooth, hard jewelry. He slid his hands under her back, tracing them up and down, feeling every contour and curve. At this point, she was no longer silent. Every sound that escaped her went straight through him, eating away at whatever shred of his restraint might have remained.

When her hips started to jerk up, pressing into him involuntarily, he moved his hands down to the waistband of her jeans. He asked, “Emma. Do you want me to take these off?”

She sat up, and his hands stilled. Gently, he grasped her shoulders, bending down so he matched her eye level.

He tried to slow his breathing as he waited for her to respond. After a beat she said, “I don’t know if we should.”

Immediately, he pulled back. “Of course, you’re right. Here, let me-”

She cut him off. “But also, it’s my senior year.”

Slightly dumbfounded, Jonathan just looked at her. A small, earnest smile was creeping its way onto her face.

Her gaze darted down to the zipper area of his pants, then back up to meet his eyes. Jonathan found himself feeling a bit exposed, which did nothing to remedy the situation that had caught her eye.

Emma spoke again. “I feel like…I’ve had a lot of fun getting to know you this semester, Jonathan. I think you’re a cool person. You’re really good at your job, you’re smart, you’ve been looking out for me. I guess, you know, whatever happens next, I still just want to keep having fun getting to know you.”

She was complimenting him. Genuinely complimenting him while she was sitting on his desk with no top on. His brain felt like it was going to explode.

After a pause, she took a breath and continued. “I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything. Like for real, nobody is going to find out about this. If you’d rather stop that’s ok too but to be honest, I’m having fun.” She let out a laugh. “Jonathan, you have to know, you’re the hot professor. I feel kinda dumb saying this, but everyone says it. You - you’re gorgeous. During our first meeting in this office I felt like I couldn’t even look at you because you’re so…you know. And now I’m back here again and-” She laughed again, and he found himself smiling too. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Jonathan was at a loss for words. Finally, he gathered his thoughts enough to say, “Thank you. For the compliments, I mean. I really appreciate everything you said. And Emma, you have to know too, you’re beautiful. Everything about you-” He stopped and leaned forwards, placing his hands on her waist. She looked up at him, head tilted to the side.

“Do you remember that morning when I helped you with your optimization lab?” Her eyes widened, and she nodded. He continued, “After you left the room, I thought to myself-” He hesitated. Was it a good idea to tell her?

Her brown eyes were so lucid, and he decided he didn’t care if it was a good idea or not. He wanted her to know how much she turned him on.

Her inner thighs were pressing against him. He cupped a hand around the back of her head, lacing his fingers into her hair. Her breathing hitched. He said, “I thought to myself that I should have put my hands up your shirt and pulled you down onto my lap.”

While tugging slightly on her hair, he traced his other hand up until his it brushed over her pierced nipple. A small sound escaped her throat, and she shuddered. Back and forth, he delicately smoothed his thumb over the tight bud until a pink flush was blooming across her chest and neck. After pressing a kiss to her jaw, he said, “I’ve been thinking about you ever since. Every time we had lecture, every time we had a meeting, I was picturing you like this.” He took in the sight of her, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, the perfect line of her spine, the slight protruding curve of her exposed lower belly, and he felt his heartbeat pick up again.

She reached out a hand and grasped the front of his shirt. All she said was, “Take this off.”

And at that, the next several minutes were lost to a haze of flurried movement and agonizing sensation. His shirt disappeared, flung to some random spot on the floor. Her hands haphazardly explored his skin, and he was hyperaware of the way her nails dragged lightly against him. Her breasts pressed into him as he drew her close, and the warmth between her legs surrounded him deliciously. His pants were starting to feel like a lid screwed too tightly onto a jar.

He moved his hands to the top button of her jeans, and paused to look into her eyes. She nodded at him, chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm.

He unbuttoned and unzipped, then hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down. She rocked her hips so he could get them off, and then Emma was sitting on his desk in nothing but a pair of blue cotton panties.

She started to lie back on the desk, but he braced a hand against her back to stop her. “Sit. I want to see your face when I put my fingers inside of you.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly, and a blush rose into her cheeks. Jonathan couldn’t believe how turned on he was. He wanted to wind Emma up until she was tight like a coiled spring.

He pressed the palm of his hand between her legs, closing his eyes as he felt the damp heat through the thin fabric.

For a second, he rested there, before saying, “Emma, if you want me to stop, tell me now.”

Immediately she shook her head.

“You want me to keep going?”

She nodded.

“Say yes.”

In a slightly choked voice, she said, “Yes.”

He pushed the fabric of her underwear to the side with his fingers. Her smooth folds were slick already. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed a finger into her warm depths.

She moaned, and clutched at his arm. Encouraged, he slid his finger out almost all the way, then pressed it back in, repeating the motion methodically. As he did so, He watched Emma's eyebrows furrowing, her lips parting and wrapping around broken, uncontrolled sounds, her hips rocking forward to meet his thrusts.

When he felt her relax around him, he pressed another finger inside her. He lightly drew his thumb across her clit, and her muscles clenched.

“Ah! Jonathan-”

He bent forward to press kisses into her neck. “Yes?”

Her breathing was ragged. “Jonathan, you-you feel-”

He pressed the flat of his tongue onto her nipple, dragging wetness across her skin. He sucked on it before pulling away to say, “What? What do I feel like?”

Her hips rocked forwards, as if of their own accord. He flexed his fingers inside her, reaching for the spot in her lower belly that he knew would drive her crazy.

She gasped, and he felt her tighten around him, drawing him in. “Oh my god, Jonathan. What-? how did you-? nngh-”

He flexed his fingers again, marveling at how sensitive she was, how she responded so willingly to his touch. “Tell me how you feel, ” he said hoarsely.

“Your hand. I can’t-I feel like-ah!” Her sentence was cut short as he started drawing gentle, tight circles around her clit with his thumb. With a little more force than before, he thrust his fingers into her again.

“Emma? I didn’t quite catch that.” She opened her eyes to look at him, and he saw a glow in her dark eyes that would be seared into his brain for quite some time.

“You’re- you’re teasing me. You feel like-” She breathed in sharply as he sank his fingers into her once more.

He grinned, and said, “Well, if you won’t tell me what I feel like, I’ll tell you what you feel like.” He was in a rhythm now, steadily moving in and out of her, relishing the friction between the pads of his fingers against her walls. “You’re so, so warm. And wet, and I can feel how tight you are.” The only response he got was her breathing, the sound of her starting to lose control.

With his arm, he pulled her closer to the edge of the desk so he could sink his fingers into her even deeper.

“Agh! Ah, nngh-” Her voice was strained beyond the formation of clear words.

Gently, he pressed his thumb to her swollen clit. He felt her clench inside of him, and he knew she was close to coming undone.

Suddenly, Emma reached down and grabbed his wrist, stopping the motion of his hand. After taking a moment to steady her breathing, she said, “Wait a second. Wait- I don’t-I don’t want to come yet.”

Jonathan, with his fingers still inside her, pressed a kiss directly onto her pierced nipple. “No?”

“Oh-Jonathan, hang on. Do you have condoms in your office?”

He looked at her. Matter of factly, he said, “Yeah, I do. In my bag.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, urgently. Her curls were starting to frizz up, and her skin shone under the fluorescent lights. She squeezed his wrist, and said, “Do you think-do you think we could use one?”

It was all Jonathan could do not to moan out loud as a wave of lust crashed into him. As if aware of the possibility of release, his dick became almost unbearably hard against the stiff zipper of his pants.

Gently, he withdrew his fingers from inside Emma’s body, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed and her lips parted at the sensation. He looked into her eyes and said, “Yes. Anything you want.”

She smiled, and for a moment that was all Jonathan could see. He reached for his bag under the desk, and rummaged around in the innermost pocket.

He pulled out a foil wrapped square, then said, “Do you want to do it? Or should I?”

Almost primly, Emma crossed her legs at the ankle. “I want you to do it.”

Jonathan’s head felt like it was full of electric current, waves of energy humming and building up in a dizzying way. A whole semester of restraint, and it was all coming down to this.

He unbuttoned the waistband of his pants, pulled down the zipper. The faint sound of the teeth separating was drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears. He pulled his pants down just past his hips.

His boxer briefs provided only scant separation between him and Emma now. He paused, and saw that Emma was looking directly at the outline of his dick against the tight fabric.

He stepped close to her, closing the space between them. Sometimes, he had lamented the fact that his desk was a bit too high, even for a tall man like himself.

But in this moment, when he saw how their hips aligned perfectly, he was glad he’d never asked to switch it out.

She looked up into his eyes, chin tilting up to reveal the satin skin of her neck. As he bent down to kiss her throat, he pulled her forwards so that her legs splayed on either side of him, and their hips pressed together tightly.

As soon as her wet, warm center met his cock, every coherent thought he may have had evaporated from his mind. Even through two layers of fabric, the feeling of her against him had him harder than he had been in a long, long time. Having her fully pressed against him, flush against his body, was better than anything he had imagined. His eyes closed, and he let out a groan.

Emma placed a hand on his chest, and used the other one to brace herself on the desk. Without warning, she rolled her hips forward.

Jonathan suppressed a moan. “Emma-you can’t-”

She rocked her hips into him again. “Why not?”

The friction increased the pressure in his lower stomach to a boiling point, and he was struggling to control his breathing.

He growled, low and deep in his throat and placed his hands on the soft curves of her pelvis right where the edge of her panties were. His thumbs pressed soft divots into her skin, and he said, “Do you want me to open the condom or not?”

She was leaning into him; his torso was the only thing keeping her from falling off the edge of the desk. Her skin was so soft and smooth against his, her curves felt exquisite under his hands.

“Open it, Jonathan. I’m not doing anything to stop you.” The huskiness in her voice was hot and velvety in his ears.

He picked the condom up off the desk, tore it open, and hastily discarded the wrapper. He pulled down the waistband of his underwear, finally freeing his erection from the close-fitting fabric. Carefully, he rolled the condom on, trying not to let the sensation of his own fingers push him closer to the edge.

When it was properly in place, he nestled himself back in between her legs. With one hand, he pushed her underwear to the side, dipping his fingers into her once more. She moaned out loud, and he said, “Are you ready?”

She leaned forwards into him, and said, “Yes. Do it.”

He couldn’t believe that Emma, his ever reliable and diligent TA, was now almost naked sitting on his desk, legs splayed apart, looking at him with an almost feral expression, ready to take him inside. He was never going to be able to look at her again without imagining this in agonizing detail.

He placed a hand at the base of his cock and slowly guided it towards her entrance. The head met her folds, and he pushed forwards into her carefully.

She was so, so warm, and wet, and soft and pliable all at once. He groaned and said, "Emma, you're unbelievable. I can't believe how tight you feel." He pressed into her halfway, and then withdrew.

Her face had an indescribable expression on it, she looked like she was atmospheres away from the reality of where she was.

“Do you want the whole thing?” Jonathan needed to hear her say it.

“Yes. All of it. Put the whole thing inside me.” She was almost panting as the words fell out of her, eyes half lidded in bliss.

Jonathan didn’t hold back, he couldn’t. He thrust himself into her, until he was buried inside all the way.

“Oh my god. Jonathan-”

He pulled out, and thrust into her again. Already, the pressure inside him was building to a dangerous level. Having her wrapped around him was a feeling more delectable than anything he could remember.

“Your voice sounds so pretty when you say my name, Emma.”

He placed his hands under her ass, so he could lift her off the desk slightly. The change in angle sent him in even deeper. Trying to maintain control, he entered her with a slow, methodical rhythm, making sure he was hitting the most tender spot rooted deep inside her, where he knew the pressure of his cock filling her would send shockwaves through her system.

With each thrust, he could feel her response deep within her body. Each gasp, each breath that escaped her went straight from his ears to the pool of heat coiling up low in his hips.

“Jonathan, this feels amazing. I can’t even-I feel like I’m on another planet.”

Despite everything, Jonathan laughed. He couldn’t string together a response, but he was charmed by her candidness.

The slickness inside her was destabilizing; it was taking everything Jonathan had to stay in control. He felt himself teetering on a precipice, but he knew Emma wasn’t quite there yet.

He stilled momentarily to gather himself, knowing that if he kept going he wasn’t going to be able to last. While buried inside her, he leaned down and spoke into her ear, lips brushing against her skin. “Will you come for me, Emma? Can you do that?”

She arched her back in response, tilting him deeper into her. She turned her head, nose brushing his cheek. Breathily, she said, “I-I want to. Yes.”

He put his hands on her lower back, hugging her close. She was rocking her hips into his every thrust, and he could feel how much he filled her up, how her innermost muscles caressed and squeezed him from all sides.

When Jonathan felt like he couldn’t possibly inch himself closer to the edge, her hands came up to clutch at his chest. With her head thrown back, she took in a sharp breath. Urgently, she said, “Jonathan, I’m gonna-I’m gonna come. Don’t stop. Jonathan-nnngh. Oh!”

Feeling his own release building, he pressed into her insistently, feeling her warm walls surrounding him tightly with each thrust.

The weight of her body resting on his hips, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the uncontrolled sounds coming out of her mouth, her inner thighs squeezing him, it became too much all at once.

Months worth of tension, of sleepless nights and afternoons spent alone in his office, of listening to Emma’s bright laughter and looking at her soft smile burst forth as Jonathan came, hard. As his release rippled through him, he felt the muscles in her core clenching down on him forcefully, with abandon. Her body rolled and arched against him, and the pressure and warmth enveloping every inch of him shattered his inhibition. He groaned at the intensity of the uncontained raw energy that crackled through every nerve ending on his body.

Once all the waves had flowed away and calmed, he pulled out of her. At a loss for words, he just stared at her face as she stared at his.

Finally, after a protracted silence, she said, “That was crazy.”

Jonathan nodded. He felt like crazy was probably an understatement when it came to describing whatever the hell had just happened.

Gently, he grasped both of her hands in his. “Are you ok?”

She grinned at him. “Yeah. Yeah I’m great.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on his chest. “Thanks for being such a good professor. And thanks for…this.”

He nodded, unsure of exactly what to say. He reached behind her to trace small circles on her back with his fingers.

After he felt fully grounded in reality again, he stepped back. The fluorescent lights were harsh, draining his surroundings of color, and the breeze from the air conditioning in his office felt slightly grating against his skin. Gently, he said, “It’s getting late, Emma. You should probably get going.”

He picked up her jeans from where they had landed on the ground, and handed them to her.

Wordlessly, the two of them got dressed, covering up all the parts of themselves that had been so close only a few minutes before.

Once they were both put back together, Emma slung her backpack onto one shoulder and moved towards the door of his office. She hovered there for a second, and then said, “Have a good break, Jonathan. See you next semester?”

He nodded. “See you next semester.”

She smiled softly, one corner of her mouth curving up more than the other. As she gripped the door handle, Jonathan said, “Emma?”

She turned to face him. “Yeah?”

“Get home safe. “

For a second, she just looked at him. Then, quietly, she said, “I will.”

She walked into the dark hallway, and the door fell closed behind her.

Jonathan was alone in his office once more.

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

New Message

To: [email protected] Cc Bcc

Subject: Next Semester

Emma,

Due to personal reasons, I have made the decision to choose a different person to TA for DATA1450 next semester. Please do not take this as an indication of any shortcomings regarding your character or performance. You were an excellent TA and a joy to interact with during lecture and meetings. I am more than happy to be a reference should you need a professional recommendation for other job opportunities on or off campus.

I wish you the best during your final semester. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to email or Slack me, and my office door is always open if you would like to meet in person.

Have a great rest of your break, a happy holiday season, and a happy new year.

Keep in touch,

Jonathan Holbrook, Ph.D

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

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clownwrites · 10 months

Text

Rain/MascReader

He/him R pronouns used/fluff/cliffhanger?/slowburn/ send asks for more hcs about this story's development if you want. I likely won't be finishing it.

You're a loyal painter for Sindel's court, company and family; and have made Rain a muse over the years you've worked for them.

Dinner was dimly lit, you admired each champion from a distance; the sound of your brush smoothing across one of hundreds of canvases you'd primed and had delivered to you from palace storage. Your work was very shortly unnoticed, those who fought too busy trying to maintain their head in the ring of Sindel's home. You'd the pleasure of painting Raiden an earth champion who shared a brief, confused appreciation of your work.

"I don't think I could ever understand the need but it's beautiful." He admitted to you, seeing the ways in which you stilled his movement onto a single canvas.

" You don't have to understand the need," you assured "you just have to enjoy it, that's the best part."

Raiden asks "enjoying the art?"

And you specify "enjoying the results, much like your fighting."

You could've dedicated a canvas to the shape of his smile in that moment, the brief and beautiful understanding of your passion before he walked away.

As of now, however, you're dedicating the canvas to an array of people, washed in a light of blue and gold. Horns decorated in beautiful metals and heads blanketed with stunning robes. You watched carefully how the shadow played on their features from a distance while they sat at dinner, heads bobbing amongst each other as they spoke; struggling to match the colors suddenly on a single person. His robes of purple reacted to the light like camouflage, had it not been for the gold detailing, perhaps you wouldn't have noticed him. How you wished you wouldn't have noticed him, of course. In your eyes, he became plain, you've studied this man and his features from afar for so long, painting them had become second nature.

"Purple bastard" you'd seethe, feeling as though his presence made it easy to see who was centered in your work, his visage was the smoothest and most natural feeling in the dinner piece, at least to your eyes, the details of his robes glowed compared to those around it and it didn't help that the entire painting started with his silhouette.

You always felt rather naked in a room with him, he stared through people, as if they were made of a sheer tulle but something always felt quite strange when he stared in your direction. remembering once, how his deep brown eyes scanned the final details of his portrait, you'd reflected the color of his robes in his skin, and the golden hour of the sun in his eyes. When you first began painting, Rain reminded you the joys of painting the valleys of the kingdom with the shape of his nose; the way his skin sparkled like the sand by sea, and how his hair flowed like a river just under his hood. Despite the obvious effort made in the painting, that you felt would pale the portrait of even the queen, Rain noticed your hands first. How they held the brush, how your nails slightly warped from over working and your fingers just the same.

"You've the hands of a working man" Zefeero wondered out loud "the scars that luxury leaves behind…"

These words shook you, so accustomed to the praise your work received, to hear what might have been concern for your well-being confused you, haunted you and soon, reflected that haunting in the ways you painted and repainted him.

As the brush strokes through the memories of your yearning, you hardly noticed what new attention you'd drawn. Shao, had his dramatics before being dismissed, and so guests were made to entertain themselves amongst each other once again. The very same robes of royal purple that haunted your heart ghosted across marble floors to find their way toward you with a small gathering, curious of your work.

You could feel a familiar set of eyes on your hands again.

—--

It stands on a third floor, an empty attic with glassless windows. A space where many beautiful pieces came to rest as they hung dry, strung up by their handles and dripping onto the window pain.

It was planned to be a guest room, so Sindel once told you, “It was planned to be a sunroom before father died.” Kitana admitted to you, as was proven by the array of once dusty curtains, when you were first introduced to it. It looked past the valleys of the kingdom and straight onto its beaches, every morning your paintings would meet the glare of the sun while they dried. Despite every wet drop that might color the once, very tediously decorated tiles, you were careful to never color the bench. It laid close by a window and when you had once sat on it, you noticed that it pointed towards the very spot of the beach where the king and queen had wed. you wondered how long She might have sat here after her husband died and even longer, if she had ever waited up here while you finished painting his memorial. It's a strange guilt that plagues you every so often but the queen insisted you let your work stay here to dry, until something is chosen and something is gifted. It's connected to the castle, of course, so two guards stay just outside the doors and wait on the work. It's not uncommon to hear a respectful rapping at its wood for you to finish lamenting your pieces but there was a new, echoed sound, just outside its carved surface from where you stood.

Then, the door creaks open “Portrator?” The Umgadi calls “Rain is interested in seeing your work here, may he enter?” The question caught you by surprise, his connection to Sindel made him your superior, so the consideration to ask never once came to you.

“Of course”

Never seen without his staff, the sorcerer stepped into the room, the fabric of his slipper barely making a sound in the tile. He nodded to the Umgadi to close the door and then looked toward you and smiled. You couldn't help but return it

“Curious that you come up here so late.”

“ I had the privilege of seeing your progress but hardly ever your finished pieces, I suppose I remembered to take the opportunity now” Rain explained, “I always hope to meet you before you leave but my work… it often precedes me”

A specific feeling of joy filled your lungs, as if breathing in the cool air at the cusp of autumn, in silvery voice you welcomed him “Then please, take the opportunity”

Zefeero had turned his back toward you, to look upon the pieces surrounding the very walls of the room. Some leaned against each other on the floor, others somewhat unfinished. Sindel would sometimes scrap the work for you when she found herself unsatisfied with the progress “The Queen makes her tastes known” Rain shushed

“A trait I curse sometimes” you admit, much to your chagrin.

As he circled the windows, passing each piece made tonight and many nights before it, his face scrunched so slightly in thought “is all your work like this?”

you look where he had and shrugged “I have more creative freedom when not on commission” you explain “no, not every piece is made from life”

The sorcerer looked toward you with real interest now “I would like to see that, then.”

Confidence washed over your mind like a strong liquor, words slipping off your tongue sooner than you'd thought of them

“Then you must make a date for it”

Zefeeros eyes brightened at your words as you then began to stutter

“In an accommodating sense, you said your work precedes you and my work never leaves my home”

And there it was again, that small talent of observing everything past your words. You'd dedicated more pages in your sketchbook to that unique glare than you had anything else for sometime, deep brown eyes that seem to strip your resolve naked as you waited on him to bolster your approval with his own.

“I will make it a date then”

You wonder if the musical ringing in your ears was caused by blood rushing to your cheeks or some strange godliness adding a theme to the way your heart beat in that very moment, regardless;The sun room began to feel less like a guilty place.

—

As you stayed in your home again, as you always had, waiting on the next commission call to fulfill your social needs and carve through the creative block; You had wondered what paintings to display to your strange friend. You should bare the very veins of your heart and feel less naked under his gaze, you think to show him those pieces you've made from the plights of your life and hide away the rest until your strength could bear the weight of being known in this way, that you'd promised him; “Not everything I create is from life”

You only hope the dust on these most delicate pieces disguise them.

The letter given to you, written by The Sorcerer's own, surely shaking hands, had scrolled the date that warped itself into the curls of your memory. You wonder how long you could be hosting him, planning the meal or snack you make with some care to impress but you knew better and you'd hope that he did too. There was no amount of sparkling light from your stained glass windows that could shine against the gall of a gold and white palace, eternally decorated in hues of pink and glittering blues. To a kingdom, in the ever changing height of fashion and design, your colors shined like the jester, made to entertain. But even comedy tastes change, if not in one person than in another.

Bread dough rolled across the countertop, the labor toned your arms and powdered your chest. A few pastries were broiled to life in the oven and the other ingredients would lay waiting the day of, for the sake of freshness. If nothing, then at least you have meals for yourself to enjoy later. If anything, then you'd get the joy of learning what else Zefeero may like about you and you could ask for nothing more than the privilege of just knowing.

—--

The sorcerer's hands clasped together to conclude a newly insufferable spell, it was something concocted for show over functionality and he would lie of his new interest to impress you with it. his curiosity first simmered the moment you had painted his portrait for the halls. His skin still burned where you held his jaw carefully to pose him in the sunlight and that feeling arose again as he practiced this ‘party-trick’, Zefeero believes what's stomping his progress, remembering how beautifully you remade him; Wordless compliments struck in oil paint.

He felt that if he were smarter, than Rain would know this wasn't a feat exceptionalizing him, he understood that the details of his portrait were not made to inflate what beauty he had or outshine the other portraits beside it. But a strong sense of knowing overcame him when he'd seen the results and that 'knowing' feeling felt a lot like the joys of being adored.

He began idly playing with the water he’d strung into pearls from thin air, they bounced against each other as they danced between the paths of his fingers and as the moment passed he began to imagine those shaking pearls as the nails of your fingers. The light sparkled through a new waving shape of a hand, whose palm pressed against his and wet it cold before it warmed to his skin. The palm breaking into the warped shape of your fingers, how he remembered them, when he watched them work on the paintings that moved Raiden across the pathways where he fought. These fingers slipped between his own, in the shape Rain remembered, when they painted the skyline of his kingdom and the portrait of their deceased king. The skin of his cheeks became warm as he remembered the shape of your eyes and how he remembered them when they scanned his features to create a visage of himself worth looking at and his lips curled at the corners as his heart began to flutter with his imagination.

“Zefeero?” a soft voice came at his door, “Zefeero, are you busy?”

The sorcerer turned his head quickly, the hand he held splashing into his lap shortly before he could stand and he groaned in annoyance at the interruption. “Yes!” he seethed “What is it that you need, Kitana?”

The princess stepped in to see what the ruckus was and then giggled childishly at her cousins stumbling, Rain groaned once more as he tried to pull the water from the lap of his robes “Seriously?” he asks “was the point to annoy me?”

“Oh no!” she defended through veils of giggles “mother wants to see you.”

Rain swatted at his now soaked robes and groaned, "I'll be there in a moment, let her now I'm... Ugh currently indisposed thanks to you."

But the princess does not leave, she instead closes the door behind her as her cousin begins to change. "Do you need something else?"

"I heard You've made friends with the portraitor" Kitana gossiped "you're seeing him for dinner?"

The sorcerer looked back at her offendedly and demanded with his sputtering embarrassment "and who told you that!?" Kitana gleefully shined her teeth in the sourcerer's direction a shrill sound of excitement came out as she bounced over to take her cousins hands "Zefeero!" She cheered "everyone sees how you look at him, I never thought you would go for it!"

Inspite of his embarrassment the sourcerer scoffs, letting go of her hands and turning to his dresser

"I have no idea what this "it" would even be!" A futile argument against his cousins excitement, he knows "and we're having lunch, I asked to see his personal work." Kitana's excitement dampened, she still held a knowing smile on her face "oh of course!" She teased "nothing but professionalism when looking at an artists most personal work"

Her eyes narrowed mischievously "in his personal home-" Rain looked to his wardrobe desperately to quell his embarrassment

"-where he plans to feed and entertain you with his company-"

"oh that is enough!" Zefeero shouted, throwing his wet robes at his sibling "get out! Get out!"

It was easy for the princess to mock him out the door, she shouts back amidst her terrible giggles "Oh paint me like one of your Edinian Maids, Portraitor!"

Kitana slams the door shut behind her to shield herself from the weapons of Rain's wardrobe, leaving the Sorcerer alone with embarrassment stinging his cheeks and the fast beating of his heart.

He only hoped there were no more knowing eyes in the court he would see Sindel in.

#rain/reader #rain x reader #Mk1 #clown writes #i think its cute and had a whole story arc for the reader but i scrapped it for this section alone #hope u guys like it #zefeero/reader #zefeero x reader #mk1 rain

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