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eretzyisrael · 6 months

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This account, first published in JewishNews, is written by an anonymous London-based Guardian employee who has family living on a kibbutz in southern Israel. It offers a look at life in the newspaper’s offices in the days since Hamas’s attack on Israel.

I wake up on October 7 to a text from my brother-in-law: “Thoughts are with your family in Israel. I hope everyone is safe.”

I check the news. Hamas has entered southern Israel. They’re in a kibbutz. My partner’s family is in that kibbutz. His cousin is nine months pregnant. He’s in contact with them; they’re in the safe room. Terrorists are outside.

I check social media. Reports of hostages, maybe three. I check again; perhaps ten.

There has been a massacre at a music festival. I look at the video. Who do I know there? I check social media again; there are videos of hostages. I look at their faces. Do I know them?

We lose contact with family in the kibbutz. I tell myself that the phone lines are down because the IDF are there. I watch Hamas footage as it is coming out. I go on Telegram for the first time in my life and I see a room full of bodies covered in blood. I see children gunned down. I see the bodies of raped women. I see families holding each other as Hamas livestreams atrocities. I look for people I might know.

My partner and I walk 30,000 steps. There’s nothing we can do. Late that evening we hear that his family is safe but their house is gone, neighbors are dead.

I don’t understand. I could have easily been there and part of me thinks I was.

I look at the papers the next day. The newspaper I work for has a tank on the front page: ‘Hundreds die and hostages held as Hamas assault shocks Israel’—victorious terrorists hold a Palestinian flag. The subheading reads ‘Netanyahu declares war as 150 Israelis die. 230 Palestinians killed in air strikes.’

I don’t understand. I know people, Israelis, who were murdered. They did not “die,” as if in some kind of accident. I saw footage of terrorism. It was not an “assault.”

The front page of The Observer, The Guardian’s sister Sunday newspaper, on October 8, the day after the Hamas massacre. (via The Observer)

On Sunday, we get more information about what happened to my partner’s family, about how Hamas set the family’s house on fire when they thought it was empty, how my partner’s cousin screamed for her life when the room filled with smoke, how her husband had to pin her down to stop her cries, how Hamas laughed when they realized the family would need to crawl out of the room, how they refused to leave the burning building. We hear that they somehow survived and walked out through pools of their neighbors’ blood, pieces of dead children littering the street; kids who’d been playing on a Saturday morning.

I’m safe, I’m fine, but I can’t comprehend the color of the sky or the rustle of the trees. I look around at people enjoying their Sunday and I think: Do they not know what is happening? I check the news again and see there are more hostages. I look through the names.

There are still terrorists in Israel.

I listen to the radio, one Israeli interviewee and then one Palestinian. I can hear that the interviewer is struggling as defenders of Hamas justify terrorism. I don’t understand. Is this how they reported the Russian invasion of Ukraine? Did they platform Putin’s people?

I check social media. A friend has posted: “They’ve broken out of jail.” Another has said: “Today is a day of celebration,” and someone else has shared an infographic of “Settler colonialism for beginners.” My old flatmate tells her followers she will be at the demonstration outside the Israeli embassy and she invites people to join her.

On Monday I go to work. How are your family, a colleague asks. When I answer, she squirms. Can’t they just leave, my colleague says. No, they can’t actually.

I look at the morning newsletter for the newspaper I work for. It breaks down the number of dead Palestinian children. It does not mention dead Israeli children.

My group chats are exploding as family and friends work out what has been happening, who is alive. I go back to the news. I type the name of the kibbutz into the wires. Nothing. I read how Hamas invaded “settlements.” They’re not settlements! They’re small, pre-state kibbutzim.

I find out that a friend of a friend was at the music festival and is missing. I’m shaking at work.

I see a colleague who had posted about “decolonization” all over social media over the weekend. They’re laughing with the rest of their team. They’re having a great day. I used to love their podcast, full of hot takes and celeb gossip. Now they’ve evolved into an expert on the Middle East. It doesn’t look like their family is in the middle of it, though.

No one else at work speaks to me about it. I nod my way through conversations about fonts and I stumble home.

I go back the next day. I look at the front page. A photo of Gaza and “violence escalates.” Israelis “dead” but Palestinians “killed.” If they can’t empathize with the Jews now, they never will.

I email the editors. I tell them that my newspaper’s coverage has been upsetting. They tell me that their thoughts are with my family but they stand by the paper’s reporting.

I hear colleagues complaining about the newspaper’s “American readers. They’re always accusing us of antisemitism.” They’re laughing.

I leave work early to go to a vigil outside Downing Street. People quietly weep. Everyone there is Jewish.

I’ve seen on social media that I know people going to a demonstration. Later, I see photos of it: people on lampposts, red flares, Jews hiding inside, the Israeli embassy boxed in. All kinds of people are united in the chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” In Sydney, they are shouting: “Gas the Jews.”

On Tuesday, I find out that my friend’s friend at the music festival is dead. I remember the day I’d spent with him on the beach in Tel Aviv last month. He’d gotten back from South America and was excited to travel again. He had been gentle and sweet. I don’t understand.

On Wednesday, I go to work again, and the next day, and the next day. Finally, the pictures from the kibbutz come out. I look at all of them. I rewatch the footage. I bear witness. No colleague asks me how I am again that week.

I go to synagogue at the weekend and cry with my community. The rabbi holds space for pain. I say Kaddish for the boy at the music festival I will never talk to again.

Back at work I see someone pointing to a photo of the Israeli flag burning in the newspaper. They laugh, “This is my favorite picture.”

I remember telling my family that when I next went to Israel I’d lie to my colleagues and tell them it was Spain. I’d lie because my colleagues had said to me of Israel: “You gotta go while you still can.”

Now another colleague asks me what I think of Netanyahu. Do I hold him responsible? I explain that I have protested against Netanyahu but the only people responsible for October 7 are Hamas. She keeps asking me about the settlements. I tell her they’re bad but she won’t stop. “Don’t you think Bibi has a lot to do with this?” I ask her if she has family in the region. She does not.

I’m on social media again. Friends share infographics from Jewish Voice for Peace and heavy-hitting images from the Gaza Health Ministry. I don’t disagree with what they’re posting but they said nothing when October 7 happened. I start unfollowing decades-old friends.

In the days that follow, my synagogue receives a bomb threat, my local rail station has photos of missing children ripped off, I hear of more friends of friends who have been killed. I hear of others who are now enlisted. I hear that a synagogue president in America has been stabbed to death and synagogues all over the world have been vandalized and destroyed.

The newspaper I work for is covering the bombardment of Gaza and I watch in horror. I think that Israel must defend itself. Yet when I say this, people will tell me I am justifying the murder of children. They will tell me it is a genocide.

As the events of October 7 draw on collective Jewish memory of pogroms and the Holocaust, the newspaper I work for will dispel that myth, publishing a piece entitled “Israel must stop weaponizing the Holocaust.” Am I wrong to connect our grief today with that of our past?

In the weeks that follow, I will apply for other jobs and speak exclusively to Jewish friends and family. I will hide myself away from the streets of London and the waves of social media.

I will not forget the photos and videos I saw on October 7, but I start to think about how this day will be marked; how my children’s children will take part in a new commemoration, where we will remember not the Romans or the Persians or the Nazis but Hamas, and how we survived.

Intergenerational trauma has been retriggered but now is not the time to dwell on our historical violent oppression. Now is the time to rise up, speak out, and defend our right to exist. Now is not the time for colleagues to dismiss Jewish pain or publish inflammatory op-eds that will spark more violence.

I will keep applying for other jobs.

#Israel #The Guardian #Antisemitism #hamas

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burntheedges · 26 days

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Maintenance Request Chapter 16

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 5.8k

chapter summary: it’s time to back to work after your weekend of dates with Joel. but at least he works there, too 😏

a/n: thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕 back to work for these two. I mention San Antonio in this one, so it’s probably obvious I’m imagining this town they’re in as somewhere in Texas, but you can ignore that if you want and imagine it wherever you’d like. also, there’s Russian poetry mentioned in this one because I speak Russian and I’m being self-indulgent, but just in case anyone wonders — I am very much against Putin’s war in Ukraine. Слава Україні!

chapter tags/warnings: flirting, banter, fluff, more poetry (links at the bottom), cursing, food and drink mention, talking about teaching methods, kissing, grinding, groping, pet names (honey, gorgeous, darlin’, baby, cowboy), reader straddles Joel’s lap, texting, Trevor (does he deserve his own warning?), department politics, mention of past bad relationships (reader’s ex, Joel’s ex), mention of absent mother

Chapter 16

Tuesday, October 29 Tenth week of the semester

On Tuesday, you had two whole hours blocked off on your schedule for lunch with Joel. It was miraculous, in comparison to how your schedule normally looked.

You hadn’t seen each other at all on Monday – some kind of emergency in the lab buildings kept him busy all day. And he’d come over for a drink after your date on Sunday, but he hadn’t been able to stay. You’d made out against his truck for longer than either of you had realized and by the time you made it back, it was almost time for him to head home.

(On his way out of your apartment, he’d pinned you against the back of your front door and pressed hot kisses down your neck. “Leavin’ you like this is the last thing I wanna do, honey, I’m sorry.” He’d worried a mark right under your collar bone, and you’d gasped.

“It’s alright, Joel. Tell Sarah I say hi. And Tommy, I guess.” He laughed, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

“Promise me I’ll see you this week?” He pressed more kisses into your neck and shoulder as he said it.

“Of course, Joel. Lunch, every day we can manage it. And coffee.” He looked up and met your smile with his own.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, gorgeous.”)

He hadn’t, of course, because of whatever had happened in the labs yesterday, but you’d be seeing him any minute for lunch in your office. He’d texted that he was on his way about 10 minutes ago, and you were up and pacing between your desk and bookshelf, totally unable to sit still.

Right on time, the knock at your door kicked your heart rate up. You called for whoever it was, hopefully Joel, to come in as you stepped closer. You grinned as you watched him come into view.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he greeted you with a half smile. He closed your door behind him, turning the lock as well. You took the opportunity to walk up and step right into his arms.

Joel’s arms came around you swiftly, and you tucked your face into his neck. “Hi there,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his neck. You felt him breathe in sharply before he gently pushed you backwards, far enough for him to see you.

“Missed you, darlin’.”

You smiled and pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You just saw me on Sunday.”

“Hmm, that's two whole days, honey. One too many, if you ask me.” You laughed. You swayed forward to kiss him again, but kept it short and stepped back reluctantly.

“We should probably eat, huh.” You stayed close, unable to bring yourself to move too far away from him, and his hands came to rest on your hips.

Joel nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. You both looked at each other for a moment before you took a deep breath and turned towards your desk. You’d barely shifted your weight, though, when you felt his hand close around your elbow to spin you back around. You gasped, and fell forward to lean on his chest with your palms. He moved forward to press his mouth close to your ear.

“Hold on there, troublemaker. Are you wearing my shirt?”

You grinned where he couldn’t see you. “I dunno, am I?” You’d decided to wear a sweater today, and it was chilly enough outside for two layers. You’d smirked to yourself this morning when you’d pulled his shirt from your clean laundry, tugging it on and tucking it in where no one would see it (except maybe Joel). You realized it must be peeking out at the neckline, enough for him to notice.

Joel pressed a line of kisses down your neck until he reached the neck of his shirt. “Shit, baby,” he murmured, scraping his teeth lightly towards your collarbone. You tilted your head to the side and whined. “It’s one thing to see you wearin’ it at home, or in bed. But here? You been wearing this all day?” He pulled you forward by your hips again, leaning back on the wall by the door to take your weight. You sighed as your hips came into contact with his.

“Joel–”

“I know, I know,” he kissed you, a short press of his lips against yours. “Just, hmm, let me kiss you for a minute.” And you did. He pulled you into another kiss, but this was nothing like the gentle kisses you’d shared since he walked in the door moments before. Your mouth opened to his and he swept you away with the heat of it. He groaned into the kiss, and you found yourself straddling his leg with his hands firm on your hips. You slid your own up to tangle in his hair.

Joel slid further down the wall and suddenly your positions clicked into place – his thigh was snug between your legs as he braced himself against the floor. One of his hands slid up to hold the back of your neck and you moaned, softly.

“Shhh,” he hushed you softly. “Can’t let anyone hear us.” You nodded and leaned back into the kiss.

You were getting carried away, and you knew it. But mostly you didn’t care – you could feel Joel pressed up against you, all along your body, and it felt so good. It felt like what you’d been wanting since he’d gone home on Sunday night. He was warm and solid, and every part of his body felt amazing against yours. His hands roamed your back and one dipped low to grab your ass, making your breath catch. You realized your hips were thrusting forwards in tiny movements, moving in a steady rhythm against his thigh. You could feel his cock getting hard in his jeans.

You were getting awfully close to actual sex in your office when loud, familiar voices in the hall outside your office door startled you both. You leaned back from Joel with a small gasp as you heard Jilian and Trevor walk past your door.

“... doesn’t look like she’s there right now, Trevor,” Jilian was saying, and you realized he must have come looking for you. You looked up and met Joel’s gaze, eyes wide, suddenly glad you’d had your overhead lights off all morning. He looked as wrecked as you felt, breathing hard, eyes dancing over your face. His hair was an absolute mess.

“Well she has to have office hours sometime,” Trevor grumbled. You rolled your eyes and Joel grinned.

“She does, Trevor, and you know they’re this afternoon. Why do you need to talk to her, anyway? We have lunch with the course committee.” Their voices were starting to move away and you sighed, falling forward to rest your forehead on Joel’s chest. His hands came up to wrap around your back, holding you there.

“Er, no reason,” Trevor sounded shifty, but you put him out of your mind as their voices finally faded. Joel cleared his throat.

“Think we got a little carried away there, darlin’.” You could hear his smile.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “should probably stop, actually eat lunch.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and agreed. “Just, ah, give me a second.” You looked down, noting his predicament. You grinned as you stepped back.

“Don’t worry, Joel, I need a minute, too.” He laughed, shaking his head as he reached down to adjust himself. You bit your lip as you watched.

“Don’t look at me like that, honey, or we’ll end up right back against this wall.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you in an absolutely ridiculous way as he said it, and you felt your shoulders finally relax as you laughed.

You both settled into the comfortable chairs in front of your desk, smiling.

Over lunch, Joel finally explained what had happened the day before, in the labs – apparently there had been some sort of malfunction and hundreds of crickets escaped their cages in the basement of the biology building. He and basically anyone else on campus who had been available had been chasing and catching crickets for hours.

“Never seen that many crickets in my life, never want to again,” he groaned. You laughed at his shudder. “They were everywhere. And almost impossible to catch. Eventually they brought in people with actual equipment, but for a while there we were, scoopin’ ‘em up with gardening gloves on. It was ridiculous. Tess even had some try to crawl up the leg of her pants.” You made a face. “Yeah, she screamed loud. I laughed at the time but also, shit. Can you imagine? Probably would’ve screamed the same way myself. Surprised none of ‘em went down my shirt.”

“No thanks,” you grimaced. He smiled.

“They think they caught ‘em all, but I think they just got tired of lookin’. I bet there’s still some enjoying their freedom down there. There is a tunnel to the chemistry building, after all.” You nodded. That tunnel was old and creepy to begin with, it would be a nightmare with surprise wildlife.

You moved on from the crickets to your plans for the week, and you mentioned going out again, wondering when you might go on another date.

Joel looked down and frowned a bit. “Well, darlin’, I’m going out of town with Sarah this weekend. She has a soccer tournament down in San Antonio, we’ll be staying with family and visiting too. Meant to tell you on Sunday but I got a little, ah, distracted.” You tried to look like this news wasn’t disappointing, because obviously you weren’t going to complain about him spending time with his daughter. He eyed you knowingly and shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, honey, I’m disappointed, too. But next weekend?”

You nodded. “I’m free all weekend, Joel.” He smiled.

“Well, Sarah will be with me on campus again on Friday morning, before we drive down. She wanted me to ask if she can come hang out with you, ‘stead of me.”

“Of course!” You almost interrupted him, you were so quick to respond. “I have class at 9:30, but she can come to that too, if she likes.”

“I’m sure she’d love that, darlin’. And she’s really looking forward to talking to you about your dissertation.”

You smiled, knowing Joel wouldn’t want to hear you talk down about it again. “I’d love that, Joel.”

He smiled back at you and the look in his eye was so soft you almost had to look away from it. “Well, good. So I’ll bring Sarah here on Friday, then maybe I’ll call you over the weekend? Won’t have a ton of privacy, with so many people around, but I’ll make sure to find some at some point.”

You tilted your head and contemplated him. “Privacy, huh? You have plans for that phone call, Joel Miller?”

He grinned at you and winked. “Maybe I do, gorgeous.”

After you finished eating, you scooted your chair closer to his and rested your legs across his lap. He rested his hands on your legs, massaging them gently as you chatted about his upcoming trip, your plans for the weekend, and what was going on in your classes.

“How’s that kid doing, the one you were worried about? Nick? Was he better in class yesterday?

You couldn’t help but smile at him. “Yeah, looked like he actually got some sleep this weekend. I did pull him aside after to encourage him and check in about it. He said he was trying to go to fewer parties, but his roommates were always going out.”

Joel nodded. “That’s tough, to be left out. Especially at that age. Sarah’s better about it than I expected, but she hates it, too.”

“I told him to try to talk to more people from class, form a study group. People he could meet up with in the library or somewhere else to study, so he’d have plans of his own.”

“Good advice.” Joel smiled at you.

“I’ve gathered some good suggestions over the years, from other students, too. Usually around this point in the semester I have them all share ideas with each other about how to study, or for the freshmen I have some upperclassman come in to talk about how they manage their time. Without me in the room.”

“I mean, I already knew it from seeing you in action, but you’re a great teacher, you know.” You smiled and ducked your head, but he reached over to gently nudge you back up to meet his eyes. “It’s true, darlin’.”

You realized, at that moment, that you didn’t need to worry about this being only about sex, even if you were always thinking about it. (It was hard not to – he was basically irresistible.) Joel listened so carefully to all of your stories, and he seemed to remember everything you’d ever told him, even the names of your students. He cared about you and about the details of your life. The realization made you feel warm.

After a while, Joel squeezed both of your calves, and said, ”I have to leave in about 10 minutes, darlin’.” You nodded and started to move your legs. He resisted, looking a bit put out, but relented when he saw the smirk on your face.

You stood and stepped closer to where he sat. “Well, I think I know how we can spend 10 minutes wisely.” He grinned as you settled into the armchair with him, knees on either side of his hips. His arms quickly circled you, tugging you forward until your chest rested against his.

“I like the way you think, baby.”

(He really did seem to like seeing you in his shirt.)

…

you (2:12 PM): just got dangerously close to sex in my office

bestie (2:14 PM): just let it happen (2:14 PM): take the win

you (2:15 PM): look I’m not going to say I wouldn’t have if Trevor hadn’t walked by in the hall

bestie (2:16 PM): WHAT

you (2:16 PM): but can I at least pretend lol

bestie (2:17 PM): what on earth was that prick doing there

you (2:18 PM): no idea. my door was closed and the light was off so he didn’t stop, but he was looking for me

bestie (2:19 PM): 🙄 (2:19 PM): how do you know

you(2:20 PM): he was with Jillian and they talked about it

bestie (2:21 PM): that guy is the worst (2:22 PM): whatever he wanted was probably extremely irritating

you (2:23 PM): always

...

Friday, November 1 Tenth week of the semester

On Friday, Joel and Sarah met you on the quad as you walked to your office.

“Good morning, Millers,” you smiled as you greeted them. Joel leaned to press a quick kiss to your lips. After that, though, Sarah quickly stepped in front of him and claimed the spot next to you on your walk across the quad.

“Do I really get to come to your class?” She looked visibly excited, which was more than you could say for some of your students. In fairness to them, though, 9:30 was early in college. And adulthood in general.

“Yep! Hope you’re ready to discuss some poetry.” Her eyes widened, and she looked back at Joel where he was walking behind you.

“Dad! You didn’t tell me I needed to read anything!” Joel raised his hands defensively, but you laughed and cut in before he could reply.

“Don’t worry, Sarah, they haven’t read it either. We’re reading it in class today. And I won’t make you participate if you don’t want to.”

She looked relieved, and nodded. “Oh, cool. What’s the poem?”

You glanced back at Joel, and noticed he was smiling at the two of you. “It’s my poetry in translation class, so maybe you’re on more even footing. We’re doing Russian poetry today, by Alexander Pushkin and Anna Akhmatova.”

Sarah looked, if possible, even more excited. It was very gratifying.

“That’s so cool! I’ve never read anything like that.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you think so. I’ll let you look at it before we head over, if you’d like.”

She nodded, and you let her go in front of you up the stairs to the door of your building. You felt Joel’s hand rest on your lower back as he stepped up next to you.

“Think I’ll leave you here, darlin’, I’ve got some things to wrap up before we head to San Antonio later.” You leaned closer to him and smiled. “Alright, Joel. I think we’ll have a good time.”

He grinned. “She’s been looking forward to this all week. And I know I’ll hear all about it on the drive, later. I’ll see you around lunch time.” He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, squeezing your arm at the same time, and then turned to head to his office.

You and Sarah had about 15 minutes before you needed to head to class, and you spent it in your office telling her about the lesson plan for the day, and the class in general.

You watched as she flipped through the copy of the syllabus you’d printed for her. “It’s mostly either upper level students taking it for their major or others taking it as an elective, who aren’t English majors. Some of them write poetry, some don’t. It’s a mix.” She nodded. “This is our only day looking at Russian poetry, so it’s new to everyone. Except I know we have a couple of Russian majors in the class, they might have read some of it.”

“Do you get to pick the poems?” She asked, studying the list.

“Yep. I didn’t, my first year, but now I have more control over my classes. That’s pretty normal.”

“This is really cool. Are these, like, your favorites?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Not all of them. I don’t always pick my favorites for a class like this, they’re not always the easiest to study, or they might not make sense for the topic. But Akhmatova is one of my favorite poets, so anything by her is high up on the list.”

“I remembered her name from your dissertation.” Sarah said it so nonchalantly, but you were surprised.

“Oh? I didn’t think I mentioned her that much.”

She shrugged. “It was in the appendix.”

You laughed, stunned. “You read the appendix?”

Sarah finally looked up at you, and raised one eyebrow. The expression was so Joel, it felt like your heart clenched in your chest. “I read the whole thing!” She sounded offended that you doubted her.

“I know! Sorry. It’s just, no one ever reads the appendix. Thank you for reading the whole thing. I don’t even think my advisor did that.” She narrowed her eyes, and huffed.

“Well, they should have.”

You were touched. You grinned at the top of her head as she bent back over your syllabus. “What was your favorite part?”

She tilted her head to the side, thinking. “Probably when you talked about space. Like, inside poems. I never realized that was a thing. Like, that poems could have, what was it? Openness?”

“Expansiveness? Closeness?” you offered, and she nodded.

“After I read that it made sense to me. Like, we can describe feelings with words, and then when we read them we feel it, too. You said a poem could be claustrophobic, or, um, airy. I had never thought about it like that.”

You felt a bit silly for suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion, but you did. It had been a long time since anyone paid this type of attention to your dissertation.

“I-” you cleared your throat. “Thanks. That’s what I hoped I was saying, anyway. Do you like poetry?”

Sarah shrugged again as she tucked the syllabus in her bag. “I do, but I don’t like, read a lot of it. Just what we read for school. I guess I’d probably like other stuff, but I don’t know where to start.”

You stood and walked over to your bookshelves, running your fingers over the books until you found what you wanted. “Give this a try. It’s ok if you don’t like all of it.” You handed her an anthology of contemporary poets that you liked. “But there’s probably something in there that you’ll like. And then you can follow that thread, you know? Read more by that poet, or from that time.”

She took it and nodded. “There’s a lot of flags.” You grinned, nodding as she ran her fingers through the multi-colored flags and notes that were sticking out of the book. “Yeah, I tend to mark up books. Sorry about that. Maybe it’ll make it more interesting.”

“Dad always gets on my case about writing in books, but I have so many thoughts while I read, I can’t help it.” She rolled her eyes, and you laughed.

“Well, I’m on your side.”

“Good!” She smiled, and stood up. “Is it time to go?”

You nodded, and gestured for her to lead the way.

…

Sarah seemed to enjoy the class, if you judged it by the way she talked about it on your walk back.

“Is the class always like that?” She was a little bit bouncy in her walk, like she had a lot of energy to let out.

“They were pretty engaged today, but yeah, we usually have good discussions. Did you like the poems?”

She nodded. “Anna Akhmatova is really cool! Do you have more of hers I could borrow?”

“Sure. A lot of her poetry is online, too, but you can borrow the translation I like best.”

“Thanks for letting me come. It was cool seeing all the different ways the same poem could be translated. I’d never thought about that before.”

You grinned at her. “Thanks for participating. It sounded like your group was having a good discussion.”

“We were! They were really nice, too. Even that guy.”

You snorted. “Yeah, Chase can be a handful. But he’s enthusiastic.” He was one of your more talkative students, you usually had to not call on him at least once per class to give everyone else a chance to talk.

Sarah nodded. “He said he was working on not always talking so much in groups.” You were glad to hear it. “Do Russian people really put jam in their tea?”

“Yes, some do. It’s not bad, actually.” She eyed you skeptically. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“Maybe,” she sounded like she really meant no, and you laughed. You’d reached your office at that point and you opened the door for her to go inside.

“Who’s this?” You almost groaned aloud at the voice that suddenly came from behind you, but you managed to hold it in. You gestured with your eyebrows for Sarah to go inside your office and something about the look on your face must have convinced her. She moved back a few steps, stopping by the desk. You turned in the doorway.

“Hi Trevor. This is my friend’s daughter, she’s visiting campus today while her school is off.” You almost tripped over the word friend, but talking about your love life with Trevor was actually the last thing you wanted to do. Ever.

“Oh. I didn’t know that was allowed.” He sounded like he wanted to tell you it wasn’t, but probably knew it was actually fine. And was just being a dick about it for no reason.

“What, bringing a visitor to campus?” You looked at him skeptically but tried to make your tone at least polite. “Anyway, we’re running late, so I’ll see you later, Trevor.” You weren’t actually, but he didn’t need to know that.

You stepped back and tried to close the door, but he had more to say. He always did.

“Well, maybe you should have gotten it approved.” He looked put out. You were familiar with the expression. It was the face he always made in faculty meetings when his complaints weren’t getting him anywhere.

You sighed. “I’ll talk to Claire. See you later.” And you shut the door. You heard his footsteps as he moved away and rested your forehead against the inside of your door as you sighed.

“Who was that guy?” Sarah sounded baffled.

“That,” you said as you turned to lean against the door, “is Trevor, the British Lit Prick.”

She stared at you and then started giggling. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “That’s his nickname. Don’t tell your dad I told you. Actually, he doesn’t like Trevor either, so maybe it’s fine.” Her giggles intensified. “He’s like that all the time. I don’t know why he’s always bothering me about rules and stuff, especially rules that don’t actually exist. Every time I talk to him he’s complaining about something I did. He’s been like that since I started here a couple of years ago.” You shook your head and shrugged.

“Weird. Why doesn’t dad like him?”

“He’s apparently also a prick to the maintenance guys.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, “that’s the worst. I hate when people are rude about that stuff. Like, ok, your dad’s a fancy doctor or whatever, but I bet he’d end up in the ER if he tried to fix his own sink. Or like, hammer anything.”

You laughed. “Probably. Does that happen a lot?” You wondered if maybe she wouldn’t want to talk about it with you if it did. She shrugged.

“Sometimes. Most people aren’t like that. But I know my dad’s cool, even if he’s also a total dork. Don’t tell him I said he’s cool.” You promised, smiling. “I’m glad he met you. He’s been…” she trailed off and bit her lip. “He’s been happier, lately. I haven’t seen him like this before.”

You were flustered. “Oh– oh?” You took a few steps and fell into your chair behind your desk.

She grinned at you. “Yeah. Like in a movie or something. He’s always smiling. Or forgetting what he’s doing while staring out the window. Yesterday I caught him singing to himself while he folded clothes. Like, who does that?” You could feel the heat in your cheeks and you hid your face in your hands.

“He was singing?” You peeked through your fingers at her.

“Oh yeah. And he’s always checking his phone. And smiling at it.” She raised her eyebrows at you.

“Well, um,” you started and shook your head as you laughed a little at yourself. “Beth, my best friend, she said something similar about me. About my phone. And Ellie,” you nodded towards the picture of her, “she’s my niece. She said I’m ‘pathetic’ about him. So, you know,” you shrugged. “It’s mutual.” You felt like your face was on fire, but you wanted Sarah to know it wasn’t one-sided. You were in deep with Joel and you wanted his daughter to like you. You liked her, both of them, a lot.

Sarah laughed. “Look, I don’t want to hear about it, but I’m glad, ok? I like you, and I just want him to be happy. Not that I think he hasn’t been happy, but. I think there are different kinds of happy. And he’s really happy right now.”

“I am, too. Did he, um,” you hesitated and flattened your hands on your desk. “Did he explain about, the other day–”

She nodded and interrupted. “Yeah, it’s ok. I mean, I was worried that maybe you didn’t like him, which would be dumb.”

You laughed and agreed. “Yeah, it would. But I do. Like him, I mean. Just had a bad past relationship, and sometimes it still, um. Still gets to me.” She nodded like she understood, which surprised you.

“That’s what dad said. I don’t… I figure he hasn’t told you much about my mom. He doesn’t like to talk to other people about it without checking with me first.”

Your eyebrows raised and you started to reassure her. “You don’t have to tell me about it, that’s–”

“No, it’s ok. I want to, just a little bit anyway.” Sarah took a deep breath, and you briefly wished you’d known each other longer. You wanted to give her a hug.

“She left when I was five. She’s been back a few times, but I don’t think she’s coming back anymore. It’s been a while.” She said all of this very matter-of-factly, and you felt the weight of it like a hole in your chest. She was so young. “I used to hope she would, you know? But I got older and I realized how other moms were. And I saw how unhappy dad was whenever she was around.” Sarah wrinkled her nose as she shook her head. “Most of the time I’m happy she’s not here.”

You clasped your hands together to resist the urge to pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry, Sarah. That’s really shitty.”

She snorted. “Yeah, it is. But, um. That’s what I mean, when I say he’s happy in a way I’ve never seen before. He never was with my mom. And he hasn’t really dated anyone else. So this is a big deal, you know?” She looked at you intently with a very serious look on her face. Like she wanted you to get how important this was.

You did. “It’s a big deal for me, too. After my ex. I wouldn’t…” You wondered how to put it. “I wouldn’t have gone out with Joel if I wasn’t serious about it. And I’m really glad I’m getting to know you, too.”

Sarah smiled. “Me too.”

You were both quiet for a minute, and then you suggested, “Want to talk about something else?”

“Yes, oh my god,” she laughed. “I wanted to tell you that but I hate talking about it.”

You smiled at her. “Well, tell me what questions you have, about college.”

You talked about college and her upcoming soccer tournament and her high school classes for a while, until you both jumped when someone knocked on your door.

“Come in,” you called, pretty sure it was Joel on the other side. It was.

“What a sight, my two favorite people in the same place.” He was grinning as he poked his head in the door, and you felt your face heat. Again.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You need more friends.”

“Nah, got all I need right here.”

“I’m telling Uncle Tommy you said he wasn’t your favorite.”

“Go ahead, I’ll tell him to his face.” Joel pulled on one of her curls playfully so that it sprang upward, and she batted his hand away, laughing. “You ready to go, babygirl?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. “Yeah, dad.”

“How was the class?” He glanced between the two of you, smiling.

“It was great!” Sarah told him all about the class, and what you’d read, and the book she was going to borrow. Joel came to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk as she showed it to him. “I’m going to go to the bathroom before we leave, I’ll be right back.”

“To the left, end of the hall!” You called as she stepped out. She nodded.

Joel turned to look at you once she was gone and smiled. “Seems like she had a good time.” You stood and moved around your desk to stand in front of him.

“Yep, she spoke up in class, too.”

He raised his eyebrows, but rather than replying he reached out and rested his hands on your hips and tugged you closer. “I want to hear about it, darlin’, but we got about 2 minutes before she gets back and I need a kiss to tide me over before our trip.” You laughed and let him pull you in.

You didn’t quite sit on his lap, but you did rest your hands on his shoulders and let him guide you down into a quick kiss. Your heart rate picked up, like it always did when he kissed you. His hands moved to circle your waist as yours slid down his chest, with your knees resting against the chair between his legs where he sat.

The kiss wasn’t long, but it was intense. You broke off too soon, worried Sarah would be back any second, and wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug. You tucked your face against his neck.

Joel kissed you at the hinge of your jaw, which you’d realized was one of his favorite spots. “I’m going to miss seeing you this weekend, honey.”

You nodded. “Me too, Joel.”

He pressed a few more kisses down your neck and then buried his face in your shoulder. You both held on tightly for a moment before he slowly moved his hands back to your hips to help you stand. “I’ll call you? Maybe tomorrow?”

You smiled, running your hand through his hair to brush it back from his face. “Whenever you want, cowboy.” He closed his eyes and smiled as you ran your fingers through his hair again.

Footsteps in the hall signaled Sarah’s return, and you stepped back from Joel, though he kept his hand on your hip for a moment. He squeezed once before dropping it to his lap.

“Ready to go?” She asked as she stepped through the door. Joel nodded. “Thanks for letting me hang out with you. Dad’s office is always boring.” She smiled at you as you laughed.

“Anytime, Sarah. I mean it.”

Joel stood to give you another quick hug, a much less intimate version with Sarah standing nearby. “See you later, darlin’.” You leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Have a good trip. And good luck in the tournament, Sarah.”

After they left, you fell back in your chair with a sigh. It was going to be a long weekend.

…

bestie (4:31 PM): I mean that sounds like a good thing to me (4:32 PM): Sarah seems to like you, and we already know you think she’s a cool kid

you (4:33 PM): yeah (4:33 PM):: it was fun to get to know her more but also nerve wracking. you know? I didn’t want to mess it up

bestie (4:34 PM): I mean that’s fair, it’s important. She’s important (4:35 PM): but you know how to talk to teenagers. Plenty of practice with Ellie lol

you (4:36 PM): is Ellie a normal teenager?

bestie (4:37 PM): well (4:37 PM): I plead the fifth 😶 (4:38 PM): also you know I’m coming over tomorrow right (4:39 PM): taking advantage of HCG’s absence to actually hang out with my best friend

you (4:40 PM): 🙄 (4:40 PM): we had lunch together literally yesterday

bestie (4:41 PM): that’s in the past. irrelevant at best

you (4:42 PM): Ellie will be over most of the day. I’m helping her with a class project and then we’re going to a movie

bestie (4:43 PM): sounds like my kind of day

you (4:43 PM): 👯

...

a/n: next week -- the phone call 😏

Poems mentioned in this chapter (not by name):

He loved three things in life... by Anna Akhmatova

He loved three things in life: Evensong, white peacocks And old maps of America. He hated it when children cried, He hated tea with raspberry jam And women’s hysterics. …And I was his wife.

I loved you by Alexander Pushkin

This is maybe my favorite translation (Babette Deutsch) but you can see at this link some of the many ways this poem could be translated:

I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul, No longer should you feel distressed by it. Silently and hopelessly I loved you, At times too jealous and at times too shy. God grant you find another who will love you As tenderly and truthfully as I.

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#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fic #x reader #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM

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destiel-news-channel · 6 months

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[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'Destiel makes Putin trend as many remember the rumors of him stepping down on Destielputinelectionday 11/05/2020' to Cas' 'I love you'. /End ID]

#destiel #supernatural #spn #nov 5th #putin #destiel meme #destiel news channel

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months

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141 Catching F!Reader Pleasuring Herself

Pairing: 141 x F!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Female Masturbation, Sex Toys, Clit Play, Slight P in V

A/N: Requested by @notthatfanfictionwriter. See this post for the reader's reaction to catching the 141 pleasuring themselves. I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Your nostrils flared as you bounced yourself on the dildo suctioned to the bathroom floor. Your fingers were working sloppy circles around your swollen button as you thought about your husband, who was currently deployed. You thought about how his veiny shaft would stroke your walls so much better than any dildo.

“Simon,” you keened as the tip of the sex toy grazed across your g-spot. You cried out in frustration as you raised and lowered your hips desperately, chasing after a high that just wasn’t coming to you. You imagined him taking you raw, and that’s when the cord inside of you finally snapped.

You moaned out his name as your cunt clenched around the shaft of the dildo, your cream creating a ring around your stretched hole. You panted as your body was wracked with waves of pure bliss.

“Enjoyin’ yourself, hun?” Simon’s voice rumbled.

“Jesus!” you screamed as your eyes snapped open. Your husband stood in the threshold of the bathroom: arms crossed and blown pupils staring at your naked bottom half. You couldn’t even get any words out as he stepped over to you, his bulky arms lifting you off of the drenched sex toy. He carried you over to the bed and pulled out his cock, sheathing it inside your wet walls with one thrust.

“I’ll make sure you never want to use that thing again,” he husked.

John “Soap” MacTavish

You rested your forehead against the tiled wall of the shower. Warm water poured down your back as you stuffed your fingers inside your aching cunt. Your boyfriend, Johnny, had to leave for a family emergency right when the two of you were in a heated make-out session. You couldn’t blame him, though you still had the burning ache between your thighs that became too much for you to contain.

“Oh, Johnny-fuck,” you keened as you curled your fingers against the front wall of your pussy. You panted and moaned as your other hand feverishly rubbed against your bundle of nerves. You could feel your fingers starting to wrinkle from how long they’ve been shoved inside your plush walls. You were so wrapped up in your pleasure that you didn’t notice Johnny slipping behind you. You squeaked and froze when a pair of large hands gripped your waist. A familiar chuckle cascaded throughout the shower walls as a set of lips fell across your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop, bonnie? Was enjoyin’ the show you were putin’ on,” Johnny rasped into your ear. You gasped when the tip of his cock prodded against your pussy lips.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll get to that real soon…after you finish yourself off,” he groaned before raking his teeth over your wet skin.

John Price

You sighed and rolled over in your bed. Your husband, John, was snoring loudly next to you. He hasn’t slept well in a few days, so you understood why he clocked out right when nine o’clock hit. What you couldn’t help was the burning ache between your legs. You bit your lip as you peeked behind your shoulder. John’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady. You felt like a teenager for doing this, but you eventually exhaled as you let your hand fall past your pants and panties.

You stifled a whine as you circled your clit, eventually slipping one of your fingers into your hole. You winced when a wet squelch rippled through the room, clasping your other hand over your mouth as you thrusted and curled your digit inside. You gasped when a pair of burly arms wrapped around you and turned you around. You avoided John’s gaze as he pulled you onto his chest.

“If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just woken me up,” he said bluntly with his usual gruff voice. You nodded before burying your face into his shoulder.

“I-I know. I just didn’t want to wake you since you haven’t been sleeping well,” you confessed. John sighed and patted your back.

“Thank you, love. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me out now,” he stated. Your brows furrowed in confusion before you felt something hard poke at your inner thigh.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

You keened as you slid the vibrator along your wet slit. It’s small shockwaves send bolts of pleasure straight into your core.

“Ky,” you moaned your boyfriend’s name as you spread your legs wide across the bed. You ran a hand through your hair as you twirled the tip around your clit, rubbing it tenderly. Kyle had to run down to the police station for a little bit. A little bit turned out to be an hour and, since you were overwhelmed with boredom, you decided to pull out a toy he loved to use on you.

Your thighs trembled as you arched your back, the tip of the toy shallowly breaching your walls. Your hand gripped your hair as you bucked against the vibrator. You whined as you plunged the toy into your wet heat. Feeling it from the inside was an indescribable experience, your mind turning to mush as you were pushed closer to the edge.

“Shit, baby-’m gonna cum,” you groaned.

“Looks like it,” you heard Ky’s voice retort. You gasped and nearly threw the toy across the room. You met Kyle’s dark gaze as vibrations were shaking your walls. You bit your lip as he crawled onto the bed, his hand gripping the toy now as he gave you a sloppy kiss.

“One thing’s for sure, sweetheart-the only way you’ll be cumming tonight is around my cock,” Kyle murmured.

___

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Tags: @notthatfanfictionwriter @mrswhitethornbelikov

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ursawastricked · 1 year

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Little Distractions: Something off

This is the first of many one-shots within the same universe of my fic Distracting, I hope you enjoy, and my inbox is always open for ideas for more little distrations warnings: Nothin much, just silly pranksters being goofy (Sexual tension) word count: 697

You two had been acting strange all morning. He had noticed right away, when you and Jayce were at the lab before him, seeimingly you had been there far before Viktor, and that was not normal. He had been further suspicious now that you and Jayce were avoiding his gaze. Everytime he turned, feeling eyes on him, you would snap your gaze away, jayce would walk away, whistling to himself a fake song..yes Viktor had caught on. You strolled up toward Viktor, hands folded behind your back, and he had only noticed when you took your usual place on his desk, placing down a muffin infront of him, on his notebook. “A little rude..getting crumbs on my notes” He muttered, glancing away from his notes to look at your face. You smiled lightly, tapping the paper with your finger, “You havent eaten all day. Eat the muffin Vik,” You command, your eyes flickering with mischief, a challenge he had no knowlage of. He leaned closer, squinting his eyes at you in hope you would break. But your expression remained, no sign of giving up. “And if I don’t?” he could win this, he could avoid your little plan with a simple side step right? Whatever you did with that muffin, he could avoid it. This was Viktor we were talking about, the genius inventor who clawed his way to piltover, who studied his way to assistant to the head of the council, who was making the tech that was the future of runeterra..he wasn’t going to be tricked. You smirk..maybe he wasn’t so smart. This had not become an easy game, you were smirking and he could already feel his cheeks stinging, he leaned away, looking at the muffin and then you, then the muffin, “Eat the muffin..” You say again, he shakes his head slowly, maybe if he didnt look at you, he could still win this. You humm lightly, turning your body to stand infront of him. He looked at you, equal parts confused, and flustered by how you were looking at him..the heat in his face only got worse as you climbed into his lap. He sputtered out your name, as your weight settled in his lap and he shakily gripped the arms of his chair. You got comfortable, your thighs on either side of his thighs and your chest at eye level with him..this was ridiculous. His face was burning at this point, he tried with every cell in his body to not look at your swelling chest. You pick a piece of the muffin off the top, he hadnt even noticed that you swipped it off his desk. As you lean forward, you place the crumby piece of pastry to his lips, he freezes, staring at you for a brief moment before opening his mouth slowly,, allowing you to push the muffin into his mouth and for a brief moment, you fingertip touched his tongue. His eyes go soft, dazed at the idea that this is happening now, that your so close..his hand loosinign its grip on the chair as he considers holding your hip as it was settled so blissfully against his..then it hit him. He had expected a dull sweet taste, but what hit him was salty..so salty, so salty infact it stung his eyes. “What is this?” he hollered, spitting up the piece of muffin and putin ghis tongue out as the attreocious assault of salt in his mouth. He sputtered, as you began to howl with laugherm, Jayce quickly following in your final break. He grumbled, embaressment replacing what used to be an increasing desire to touch you. He rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back against his chair to stare at the ceiling.. “Is that my wrench?” he asked, now seeing that most of his tools were infact..hanging from the cieling. All of them.. Your laughter only intensified, your head throwing back and sending you falling to the floor, but lucky for you, you were caught by the desk. Viktor sighed deeply..yes, something had been off today..but perhaps it wasnt all bad.

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#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor x fem!reader #viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor x oc #Viktor x gn!reader #viktor x male reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader fic #arcane x you

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selvie-blue · 14 days

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Dirty Laundry

The second that Danny opens the door, he knows he’s down there. His voice wafts in on a thin trail of those fucking Camels he smokes. He freezes for the flash of a second as his hand takes a strong hold of the door, drowning out the skin tone of his knuckles in a white fire, burning tension in his fingers in all the rapid vastness of a momentary flinch. He swings the door forward while shifting his head in a wildly erratic backwards swoop. But, just before the door closes, he hears, “Hey, Danny!”

Just as he’s about to let go of the door, he catches it. His fingers in the space between the frame and the door. Then, he speaks again.

“Oh, Danny Boy!”

Danny knows he hates it when he says his name like that. Especially in the way he says boy. In that deeply Southern way. Plus, he knew it was always a vicious quip about the fact that Danny’s a redhead. That would usually be fine, but in the way he says it, it has this cruelly taunting tone.

“Oh, Daaaannny Boy!”

Danny seethes as his hand digs into the door, nearly making contact with his nails as the fingertips are squeezed up into the naturally white tips. This fucker.

“C’mon, Danny! We should have a little chat, anyway!”

While he’s talking, Danny can hear all of his cronies in the background with the cross chatter and that entertained laughter where you can picture a viciously relished look slicing into someone’s expression.

“Listen, man, I can legally be here for another month! So, why don’t you just come down? Or, ya know, if you don’t, I can make things…”

Danny swings the door open. Suddenly he sees him directly down the stairs. A cigarette pressed between his smiling lips.

“There he is!” He then holds up his cigarette while saying, “I’m putin’ it out, man, okay!? So, your laundry doesn’t smell! Isn’t that nice of me?” he says as he drops it on the concrete floor and stubs it out by smashing it with the back and forth motion of his foot.

“Or you’ll make things what, Cliff!?” Danny asks, holding the basket of clothes by his side as he stares at Cliff with this cold concentration, his eyes almost sneering.

Cliff has his hands to his hips, staring up at Danny with an open-mouthed expression and an inviting smile. While his eyes smoothly drift on the slow blink, he says, “Well we don’t need to worry about that now, do we?” in a tone that drifts on a lazily soft maliciousness. “Now that we’re friends and you’re gonna come down here and we’ll have a civilized talk… right?”

Danny arches his eyebrow and restlessly curves up his lips. “Right.” He then starts walking down the stairs, husking his body from left to right as he still holds the basket at his side. The flannel overshirt he’s got on over his plain, orange T-shirt sways as his shoes make these subtle thuds on the steps separated into wooden slats. Once Danny makes it down the stairs, he stops right in front of Cliff.

“Y’all want some alone time?” one of Cliff’s friends says followed by the others laughing.

“Nahhh,” Cliff says, not breaking eye contact with Danny. “Danny doesn’t mind…. Do you, Danny?”

Danny shrugs his head to the left. “Guess not.”

Cliff then steps to the side and bows while extending his hand to the washer and dryer which still have that white curtain over them from the renovations. “Go on, go ahead and do your laundry.”

Danny walks past Cliff as Danny stays in eye contact with him for a few more seconds before he shifts his gaze to the washer and dryer.

As Danny puts his basket of clothes down, he starts loading the washer with the laundry, Cliff says, “So, listen, man. I know what you think of me.”

“You’re saying it’s wrong? You’re saying you’ve changed, Cliff? Is this the part where you show you can actually be a good person?” Danny still loads the washer, his back to Cliff.

“Well, that word good is pretty complicated. Isn’t it, Danny?”

“It’s pretty simple to me.” He loads the detergent and fabric softener.

“Like, for instance. Was it good for you to go running around telling people about my personal business?”

“Oh, you mean the fact that you were cheating on Gale?” He closes the lid and starts up the washer, then turns to face Cliff, crossing his arms and resting his back against it. “And by ‘spreading your personal business’ are you referring to when the lawyer asked me and I was legally obligated to? The law’s pretty clear on that. You seem to have pretty loose definitions of these terms, Cliff.”

Cliff stares at Danny for a few seconds. Then looks down at the ground and laughs. He looks to all his friends and while shaking his head and pointing his thumb at Danny. “This guy.”

He looks back to Danny. There’s no longer a friendly expression. It’s dropped to a stare attempting intimidation. But Danny’s not giving in.

“Gee, Cliff. Thought you were trying to be a ‘good’ person.”

Cliff nods his head. “I, ugh, I am. And I’m gonna do you a favor, Danny.”

“What’s that?”

“I know that you aired some of my dirty laundry and all. But, I don’t want you to suffer the same fate.”

“Oh, really? How nice of you.”

Cliff curves this sly smile. His friends are now directing their attention on Danny. “I’m gonna help you with getting all of your laundry clean. Because, ugh, you’re lookin’ pretty dirty there, Danny.”

“Yeah, man, you are,” one of his friends chimes in.

“I feel pretty clean,” Danny says. “I’m not the one that has to put his conscience in the spin cycle.”

“Huh, that’s pretty funny, man,” Cliff says. “Like I said, you know I’m here for another month, right? And how that month goes depends on you.”

Danny arches his eyebrow.

“I know that you have this bad-ass confidence, which is fantastic. Really, it is,” Cliff says. “But, can that confidence carry over into moments when you’re not here? After all, you’ve got your own life. Gale may be one of your close friends, but even you can’t be available 24-7. So,” he sarcastically puts his hands up in a prayer position, “do this for me, huh?”

Danny sighs. “What is it you want me to do?” in a way that he just wants to get this over with.

“Well, ugh,” Cliff rubs his hands together while hanging his mouth open, “let’s start with your socks.”

“My socks?”

“Yeah, man. Like I said, you’re a dirty boy. You need to get clean. So why don’t you kick off those shoes and socks and put ‘em in the washer?”

Dany purses his lips. He bends down. His nostrils flare out. His eyes stay in line with Cliff. Severing this cold line of bitter silence as he unties his shoes and kicks them off. He then slides his socks off his feet. Then gets up, slides the curtain up on the washer, opens the lid and raises up his hand holding the socks and then just drops them in as if to say happy? He’s about to close the lid again when Cliff puts his hand up. “Now, now hold on there, Danny.”

Danny can feel quickfire heat thrusting through his entire body, collapsing his nerves into a forest fire. His heart flutters up for a second, as if doing a single jumping jack beneath his ribcage. He doesn’t mean to show it, but a nervous gulp of air manages to toggle his adam's apple. He tries to keep it subtle, but the lighting and lack of shadow all but put a spotlight on it. He passes it off with a genuine disguise of anger.

“You’re still kinda dirty, there,” one of his friends says.

“My point exactly, “ Cliff says, pointing to him, then looks back at Danny. His eyes move downward and starts this invasive stare that sifts back and forth on Danny’s overshirt. “You know, that flannel shirt, I’m sure, is carrying some bacteria or somethin’. There’s a lot of things floating in the air, Danny. All it takes is even a moment. I think you should throw that flannel shirt and that orange shirt in.”

Danny sighs again. He could go up there and punch Cliff right in his smug face. But, he’d rather “play nice”. Even though he doesn’t entirely trust Cliff, he does have a point in being able to use this one remaining month as leverage. So, Danny pulls down on his flannel shirt as it deepens wrinkles in the orange. One at a time, the shirt slides open on his shoulders, leaving the orange shirt left with no covering as it comes falling down his arms. He lets go of the shirt and drops it in the washer. While still coldly looking at Cliff, he inhales deeply, curving his back into it, as he lifts up his head while criss-crossing his hands, taking handfuls of his shirt, his skin is becoming exposed to the open air as it lifts up his chest. The soft muscles in his arms tensing as his nipples residing in the territories of his pectorals crop dusted with a light mist of hair coming out from the orange shadow of his shirt. The lip of the rounded collar caresses his face. It slides up one arm and as he puts his arms down, it escapes down to his other hand and he drops it in. He wants to immediately put his hands to his chest. In fact, his arms and hands feel as if they’re pre-programmed with this motion from his nerves sinking into his flesh and wanting to hide. But he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He just throws his hands up, as if saying, that it?

Cliff has got his arms crossed while curving his body to one side, looking at Danny with superiority while nodding his head in approval of what he’s made Danny do. Like he’s proud of himself. Danny’s not surprised as he’s always gotten some kind of sick pleasure out of hurting or angering people. Same goes for his friends.

“I don’t know, Danny Boy. You still look a little dirty to me.”

Cliff then flashes Danny this knowing smile. What he wants Danny to do next is plainly written all over Cliff’s face. Right down to the devilish glint in his down-turned eyes as he looks at Danny with these selfish daggers.

Danny arches up his eyebrow, again. Which only expands his one eye open as both plainly look at Cliff with a kind of numbness that creates this open barrier of the appearance of steely nerves. Danny’s beefy chest moves to one side, stretching one of his pectorals. He digs his fingers into the button of his jeans until he can slip through the slit. The top of his jeans open up like small, little curtains atop the band of his underwear. The head of that zipper is brought up between his thumb and pinkie and slides it down with this deliberate motion of comfort. Almost as if he’s presenting out of rebellion. Is this what you wanna see?

The now parted open jeans are given no choice but to take modesty away from his last layer of clothing before they are made to let go of his decency as they descend. The front pouch rises up out of the jeans like a blue sunrise. One leg at a time, he steps out of them and then drops them in. This time, he catches himself actually trying to cover his front. But then he sways his arms a few times back and forth, trying to find balance in the surface of a deadened nonchalance to his body being shown like this. He clears his throat, plainly letting go of his visible nervousness as he tucks it back in the fleshed white smoothness of his very exposed skin.

Danny’s mind is projecting forward on Cliff’s still self-satisfied face. Actually imagining a movie camera that’s slowly and menacingly panning in on his expression. His friends cut the silence: “I don’t know, Cliff. Thinkin’ he’s still dirty.”

“Yeah, Cliff. You did say all of his laundry. And he’s still got one little piece of dirty clothing left.”

Danny careens his eyes as he slowly blinks, averting his gaze over to his friends, making his eyes cool and unbothered like they’re demanding territory in the slow crawl of a drive-by. But, inside, he’s trying to stare his friends down, wanting to turn his eye sockets into shotgun barrels. Really wanting to say We don’t need your input. But he remains silent. He looks back over to Cliff, still with that same dead stare. The words, though, are struggling to swim beneath his tongue: Please, Cliff. Leave it at this. You really don’t wanna see my dick swingin’, do you?

Cliff lifts up his head and purses his lips, like he’s thinking about it. Giving it consideration.

One droplet of sweat manages to accumulate at the top left of Danny’s fore-head and gains enough weight to start pacing down the side of his face. No gulps of air. No shaking. No nervously rapid eye movements. Just one drop of sweat running to hide in obliteration so it doesn’t have to stay and witness the humiliation.

“Yuuup,” Cliff says, really dragging out that word. “I think they’re right, Danny.” His friends laugh behind him while Cliff starts expanding the real estate of his smile, proclaiming a perverse pride that’s entertained by even a hint of Danny’s embarrassment. “You gotta get clean, man. Why don’t you let, ugh,” Cliff throws out a singular chuckle, “let little Danny breathe and throw those in the washer?”

His friends start wildly laughing at this. Danny digs his thumbs into the band and, still staring Cliff down, he pushes. His underwear helplessly slinks away from safety, leaving his remaining skin with nowhere to hide. The crevice between his butt cheeks surfaces, first, followed by the triangular depth between his legs, pointing an arrow to the rounded flesh of his cock. Even before his penis is fully exposed, it tumbles from beneath the lip of his underwear until it has to let go of the head. The bulbous shape of the pale redness swings like a ceiling lamp slit open in the middle. He steps out of his underwear and then drops them in. He closes the lid and slides the curtain back down on it. He then takes a few steps over to the dryer, letting his dick swing as its side profile flops upward from the side of his legs. He leans back on the dryer and puts his hands on either side of him, refusing to show weakness in modesty.

“Great job, Danny. Now, let’s continue our chat… with you standing there.. just… like… that.”

Another nervous gulp sneaks past his throat as the realization dawns on him: he’s gonna be standing here for however long this takes to wash and dry, in front of Cliff and his friends, with absolutely no clothes on, his manhood literally swinging in the wind. Just fuckin’ great.

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