#too bad none of the clients will get any coffee
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Life Lessons || CL16
Summary: After an embarrassing secret is shared Charles accepts some help to learn a few things about female pleasure.
Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fem rec oral, sex ed
WC: 2.9k
Charles - The Lazy Lover - Leclerc. That was what the wag gossip pages all shared in their stories and Charles’ cheeks grew red with embarrassment as he read the latest caption. The supposed ‘inside source’ had recounted the disappointment his past girlfriends had found in Charles’ bedroom activities. They cited him as ‘vanilla’ and ‘a missionary man’, but none of those hurt more than the sentence that described his oral capabilities as ‘nonexistent’.
He didn’t think he was bad in bed, and he wouldn’t have called himself selfish, but he couldn’t help asking some of his exes for the truth. Each of them denied sharing the information to the gossip pages, but they all replied with the same consensus.
Charles chased his own pleasure and they didn’t feel comfortable telling him what they needed to reach their own high too. He felt guilty, wondering how many of the relationships would have ended differently or not ended at all if he had paid more attention - to their sex life as well as the rest. He certainly hadn’t been the most attentive in any aspect of his last relationship with Alexandra.
“Don’t laugh,” Pierre started the conversation seriously, something that immediately caused concern for Charles. “I know someone who knows someone that can help you. She’s a private tutor, of sorts.”
“Do you know how fucked I would be if news broke I went to a hooker?”
“She’s not a hooker,” Pierre assured him as he wrote an address down on a napkin and slid it across the table. “It's already taken care of, 8pm tomorrow.”
Charles looked at the address and sighed. “This is in Paris.”
“Of course, City of Love, my friend.” Pierre finished his coffee and rose from the table, pushing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Charles mumbled, still uncertain about the whole idea of having a stranger teach him how to be a better lover. “I guess.”
Later that afternoon, Charles received an email with a rather detailed questionnaire about his experiences in the bedroom as well as a small dining and drinks menu to select from. He figured he couldn’t be any more embarrassed than he already was and took his time to honestly answer the questions.
—
Charles debated turning around at least three times as he climbed the stairs in a modern apartment building. He had caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower from the stairwell window and paused as the lights danced along the metal, wondering if he was in the right place. He was still in half a mind that Pierre had sent him to a brothel, but this didn’t fit the stereotype he had in his head of a Parisian whorehouse. He definitely imagined more Moulin Rouge lighting and seedy alleys.
He reached the 3rd floor and found only one door on the landing, his finger barely able to aim for the doorbell with its shaking. He didn’t know what to expect when the handle started to turn, but it certainly wasn’t a bright welcoming smile and the delicious smell of fresh baking.
“Hi, you must be Charles,” you greeted your newest client. “Come in, please.”
You could tell he was nervous as he hesitantly stepped inside and his eyes scanned your home, taking in the artwork on the walls and the candlelit table with two place settings. You tried to ease his mind with a quick introduction about who you were while you poured him a glass of wine.
“Help yourself,” you said as you took a seat and waved a hand to the fresh bread and cheeses he had selected from the menu. He took a breath and sat down opposite you, the candlelight catching the sharp jawline and angular features of his handsome face. “So, Charles, what is your goal? What do you want to get out of this?”
“I, uh, to be able to please a woman?”
“You don’t sound sure,” you teased as you watched him spread an olive tapenade over the fresh toasted bread.
“No, no, I am,” he said a little more forcefully before sighing. “I didn’t realise I was…bad…in bed, until recently.”
“Well, rest assured, we will change that. But first, tell me a bit more about yourself, there’s only so much I can learn from the questionnaire.”
—
Charles began to relax the more he shared. He knew he was protected by the NDA you had sent with the rest of the paperwork and the anonymity that came with baring his ugly truths to a stranger helped to ease the discomfort of what he was doing. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing but your encouraging smile kept his words flowing, like he was finally doing something right.
He hadn’t realised how quickly time had passed until the grandfather clock in the entrance chimed the hour and he saw he had eaten his fill of the meal he chose.
His overnight bag still waited on the hall table, the list of what to bring had been ticked off and double checked. His calendar had been cleared for the weekend and his phone turned off. Everything he needed to remember could be jotted down in the small journal that sat beside his used cutlery.
“So, um, what happens next?” he asked as his eyes darted to the bedroom door.
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Charles. Come,” you rose from the table and grabbed his bag, taking it to your bedroom as he trailed behind. His feet rushed before slowing down as he caught his own eagerness and frowned to himself. It was common. There was a blurred line between of uncertainty on whether they were here to get laid or here to learn.
You placed his bag beside the large desk that covered one wall of your room and pointed to the computer chair where he took a seat. “Every woman is different and there isn’t a universal button to make us come. But, by understanding the physiological functions and anatomy, I will teach you the tools to find the right spots to make her fall apart.”
“A-anatomy?” he stammered.
You took a step back and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor and bare your nakedness. His eyes widened and he swallowed deeply as he drank in your body. A soft breath fell from his parted lips when you climbed onto the desk and spread your legs either side of him. “I could show you a textbook, but I find this much more effective.”
His throat bobbed as he tried to keep eye contact and the act brought a little laugh from your chest, forcing him to look at your breasts bouncing with it. “You can look, in fact that is exactly what this first lesson is about. Look, Charles.”
His eyes closed but when they opened he was staring at your core, his chest inflating with his deep breath. “Do I just start?” he asked hesitantly, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“Just look for now,” you said with a smile as you reached down your body. “Everyone has erogenous zones, places that feel good when stimulated, and these can be found all over your body, men and women. Thumbs, wrists, behind the knees, inner thighs, neck. Simply kissing and sucking these spots can feel just as good as foreplay.”
“Really?” he eyes widened in surprise and his eyes scanned all the places you had mentioned.
“Really, and I want you to find mine.” You bared your throat and relaxed back on your elbows. “You’ll watch for the physical reactions to confirm it. Deep breathing, moans, eyes closing, jaw slack, forehead pinched - they are some of the outward signs of pleasure.”
“Are you okay with this?” he asked as he found your bent knee the closest point to his lips and his tentative touch warmed your skin.
“I am, and I am pleased that you asked for consent.”
He smiled proudly at the praise before he lifted your leg and kissed the back of your knee, his eyes watching your face as he dragged his tongue along the tendon and crease. Your head fell back and he grinned. “There.”
“One,” you confirmed with a nod before he moved up to your thigh, trying the same thing with a kiss and a lap of his tongue. A giggle bubbled up and you squirmed away. “That’s just ticklish.”
“So not that one?” he double checked, and you shook your head. “Okay…”
The man was thorough and he made sure to find which ones were good for you and which ones weren’t. He paid attention to the signs and more than once he paused to jot down a note in the journal you had provided.
“You’re a good student,” you praised.
“I have a good teacher.”
You smiled at the compliment. “Would you like to explore lesson two tonight or rest? We have all weekend.”
His eyes gave away his answer before his lips did and you climbed off the desk. “Let’s start with the basics then. The first thing you want to do is make yourself comfortable. Craning your neck from where you lie between her legs isn’t comfortable and won’t encourage you to stay there if things take a little longer,” you explained as you moved into the bed and tossed him a pillow. “So, pop one of these under the small of her back.”
He looked at the pillow and shuffled forward. “Now?”
“Mhmm,” you hummed, lifting your hips up so he could lay it in place. “Two things happen here, one, it lifts her hips higher for better access which your neck will be thankful for, and two, it tilts her pelvis down and makes it much easier to work her g spot.”
“I thought that was a myth.”
“Why don’t you find out?” you dared. “Did you clip your nails before you came?”
He looked at the short nails and wiggled his fingers with a nod. He had followed every instruction in the email.
“Good, the last thing you want is to accidentally cut a partner with a sharp nail. Now the technique most people find effective is palm up, one or two fingers, gently work your way inside - it’s all about timing, take it slow and build to begin. Once your fingers are inside, curl your fingers up and you’ll feel the tissue is softer, almost spongy. Massaging pressure over that stimulated the g-spot, and if you are good at multitasking you can then add pressure from the outside too. Just place a hand low on her abdomen, slightly above the pelvic bone - don’t press too hard though as it will push on her bladder. First though, you’d probably want to start with warming her up with some cunilingus, eating pussy.”
Charles hopped off the bed and grabbed the journal, quickly jotting down the instructions with quiet eagerness.
“You can practice if you feel comfortable,” you invited when he put the pen and page down.
“Uh, yeah, please,” he stammered as he knelt on the bed and shuffled closer.
You reached into the bedside drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube. “I don’t need this,” you said and he smirked as he saw the other outward sign you had explained - arousal - it already lubricated your slit with the thought of what Charles was going to do to you. “But you should always keep a bottle at home. All women are different, some are drier than others no matter how aroused they get. Or, it’s handy for other areas of play like anal, or even a sensual massage.”
You put the bottle back and settled among the pillows. “Use me, explore, feel the different textures and I’ll guide you if you need it. Remember to look and listen to the signs of pleasure.”
Charles nodded and settled between your legs, getting up close and personal with your pussy. His indecision held him frozen as he wondered where to begin so you offered some guidance. “Finding the clit is a good starting point and then exploring around it to find the sensitive spots. Lick, suck, kiss, try it all.”
Encouraged, he laid a tentative kiss on your slit, his eyes rolled up to watch for your reactions. Seeing nothing, he took aim and tried again, his lip brushing over your clit and a soft sigh reached his ears. More confident, his tongue flicked out and caught your clit making you jolt.
“Was that good or bad?” he asked with a frown.
“Both, that spot is very sensitive - think of the slit at the tip of your cock. When it’s primed and ready that feels amazing but straight off the bat it is a little shocking to the system. You’re in the right area though, so keep exploring.”
This time he circled his tongue around and your moan was louder. You could practically feel his smile on your skin.
“That feels good,” you hummed as warmth spread through your body and he reached up on his own initiative, massaging your breasts. “Oh, you’re a natural now.”
Inspired, he explored further, his tongue lashing along your slit, dipping into your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a gasp so he delved deeper, fucking you with his tongue as a familiar tightening grew in your core.
“Now would be the perfect time to try to find the g-spot,” you murmured as you fought the urge to succumb to the pleasure, but the lesson wasn’t over.
His rhythm faltered with a fresh wave of nervousness and he pulled back with shiny swollen lips to drag his fingertips through the mess he had made. The slick digits started gently, dipping inside your cunt a little deeper each time until it met the resistance of his palm.
“Feel around for the different textures and then curl your fingers a little.”
He did as instructed and his lips parted in surprise as he felt the spot. “Oh, wow, I’ve never noticed that…”
Your laugh made your pussy clench and he chuckled as your walls tightened around his fingers. “I like that feeling,” he commented with a flirty smirk.
“I thought you would,” you said with a wink. “I also do lessons on male stimulation if you’re ever interested.”
“Like…gay?” he asked quietly, a frown starting to form on his brows yet it wasn’t a look of distaste.
You were intimately aware that he still had two fingers curled in your cunt but it was good that he felt comfortable enough to hold a conversation at the same time. “It’s about learning the male anatomy, like what we did here. Whether that knowledge is used for self pleasure or with a partner, male or female, that is up to them.”
He contemplated the idea for a moment before he remembered what he was doing and began to work his wrist, curling his fingers in sync so they dragged over that delicious spot. He watched your sordid reaction with fascination before he grew bolder, his tongue finding your puffy clit.
“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned loudly as your pussy tightened in anticipation. He had read your body perfectly and flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit but this time you were primed and ready. Your orgasm began with a tingle through your hair, leading to a fine tremor that danced down your spine, it raced down your legs and curled your toes. “Oh, Charles!”
He moaned against your clit as his wrist snapped forwards and back, the wet sounds of your body filling the room as his fingers fucked you through the explosion. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around the digits and stars spotted your vision. Your head fell back into the pillows with a cry and liquid gushed over his fingers with the release.
Disoriented and overstimulated, you reached between your legs and placed your hand over his. “Please, too much,” you whispered with a hoarse voice and rough aftershocks snapping at your thighs. “That was so fucking good, Charles. I, I just need a minute.”
You threw an arm over your head, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you waited for your heart rate to calm again. A small laugh bounced from your chest as you came down from the high and you finally had the strength to prop yourself back up on your elbows.
“That was perfect, Charles, you are a very quick learner.”
He was busy staring at his hand, your release coating his palm and running down his wrist. “So that’s what an orgasm feels like?” His brows pinched as he realised he had never felt that before.
“It’s what this one felt like. They can be different based on what areas are stimulated, the intensity, intimacy, lots of factors.” You could see he was still disappointed in himself for his previous ignorance and you sat up slowly, crossing your legs as you faced him. “Just because a woman doesn’t orgasm it doesn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the experience. Does a blow job feel good before you cum?”
He shrugged, still a little unconvinced. “Yeah.”
“See, forgive yourself and move on, now you know what to do for next time.” You carefully climbed off the bed on unsteady legs and offered your hand. “Last lesson of the night, aftercare.”
He stood up and froze, looking down at his pants. “Sorry, I kind of, uh, um…”
“Why are you sorry?” you laughed, drawing his attention away from the damp patch on his trousers. “You are meant to enjoy pleasuring your partner. Never apologise for that, Charles.”
#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc smut#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 smut
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Hello, have a smut Matt X wife reader request. You are part of Nelson and Murdock and have your own office, there you have dirty thoughts, but this does not go unnoticed by Matt who really has to pull himself together not to storm into your office
Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls
Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, Reader is thirsting hard, Foggy is an innocent bystander. Potential reference to switch!Matt and switch!Reader if you squint, Matt has a cock, Reader has a pussy; oral, p-in-v, bondage, and pegging/bottom!Matt fantasies. Part 2 potential if it's wanted. No use of Y/N. 2,761 words.
The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.
You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.
Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.
“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could.
“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.
“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.
Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.
You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.
Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up.
At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.
You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.
Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.
You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him.
An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.
With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.
“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.
“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.
You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.
“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”
God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.
Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”
“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.
You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about.
“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.
You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were.
Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.
“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.
“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.
“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.
Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.
You were too, but for a totally different reason.
Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.
Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.
You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.
Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.
You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time.
Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.
It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.
Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.
Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.
The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.
“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.
“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.
“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”
Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.
While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.
“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”
“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.
#Matt Murdock#Matt Murdock x Reader#Matt Murdock Smut#Matt Murdock x Reader Smut#my writing#mine#request
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1 | in which Tim Drake tries to propose to the PA
Part 1 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist
Bruce tried not to flinch as he sat down on his swiveling chair. He had twisted his ankle from pursuing Penguin's goons the previous night but had to cover it up for work. Sure, he was used to hiding injuries and slipping into his CEO persona, but that didn't mean his muscles weren't sore and beat-up.
Just in time, his PA entered the office, carrying a stack of folders and a hot mug of coffee. "Here are the partnership offers I filtered from the initial pile." She placed the papers atop his desk. "I've also noticed that there is a defect in the new prototype of the research department that they are yet to attend to."
Bruce frowned. "But isn't the demo and meeting for it scheduled today?"
"Yes, that's why I've convinced the head supervisor to push it back to next week after they deal with the defect," Marinette reported. "I've also postponed the investors meeting to tomorrow since there was a delay in the materials."
She lowered her voice as if relaying a secret. "I noticed you have difficulty walking today, Mr. Wayne. With your modified schedule, all your work can be done here at your desk. If there's other legwork to do, I'll take care of it."
Somehow, in perfect timing, Marinette always managed to accommodate the times when he was injured. Bruce didn't know if he was getting bad at hiding it because of his old age or if the girl's intuition was just crazy sharp. Maybe it was both. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Marinette. I appreciate it."
She opened up the first folder in front of him and transferred the mug to an electric warmer. "Another skiing accident?"
"Not as bad this time. Just a twisted ankle."
Next, she lowered the blinds just to allow just a peek of the sunlight and prepared a snack tray on a circular table beside his desk. Bruce never communicated the particulars about his preferences and he wasn't actually picky about his office space (unlike his son-slash-co-CEO). But this PA of his, just somehow knows. Like Alfred-levels of expertise. It creeped him out a little if he were to be honest.
She clasped her hands behind her back. "Anything else, Mr. Wayne?"
"None at the moment, thank you."
She raised an eyebrow.
. . . Which drew out a sigh from him. "Fine. Can you maybe help limit Tim's caffeine intake today? He had too many cups last night and he didn't listen when I told him to take the time off today."
"Of course, I'll do that right away." She nodded in satisfaction.
When she left, Bruce pulled up a tab on his computer to search for the legal documents, wondering if there was etiquette about an employer legally adopting their employee.
***
Marinette entered the office of Tim Drake after receiving a greeting from Tam at her desk beside the door. The young PA kept her hands behind her back as she approached the boy who was glued to his computer screen. Upon closer look, she could see the heaviness under his eyes, accentuated by the dark circles on his pale skin.
"I looked into your request of acquiring a commission piece from M.D.C.," Marinette told him.
There was only a slight shift in his exhausted expression—a downturn of the mouth—before his scratchy voice replied. "I thought they don't accept commissions anymore."
"Yes, but I re-visited our correspondence and apparently they still make pieces for selected clients." She took a deep breath. "And I got you an in."
The clicking of the mouse suddenly paused, followed by the widening of Tim's red-rimmed eyes. He practically crawled out of his seat to kneel before Marinette to take her hand in his. "Please marry me."
Marinette gently pulled away. "Sorry, Mr. Drake, my contract with Mr. Wayne prohibits me from marrying or getting into a relationship with any of his children."
"Why?!" Tim cried out.
"Perhaps he precisely predicted this kind of situation." She smiled apologetically. "And by my guess, I think he wants to adopt me first and not marry into the Wayne family."
Not that she actually wanted to be the newest addition to her boss' family.
With a pout, Tim retreated back to his chair while muttering about Bruce's adoption addiction. But in a second, he brightened up once more as he seemingly remembered the new opportunity he gained with M.D.C. "I have to compile my requests for the clothes!" He furiously tapped at his keyboard.
Marinette's heart went out for Tam. It looked like Tim wasn't getting proper work done that day again.
"I will forward the list to M.D.C. as soon as it's ready," she assured.
And while the co-CEO was immersed in researching designs in his half-conscious state, Marinette brought out the mug from behind her back and exchanged the coffee on his desk with decaf: a custom brew which was guaranteed to help him sleep for the afternoon.
In triumph, she exchanged thumbs-ups with Tam through the glass window of the office.
***
Marinette kept a watchful eye on Bruce's office to keep anyone from entering and disturbing the boss. But when she peeked into the room to deliver more files to him, she saw Bruce facing the open window and talking softly with Superman himself, who was at the other side of the glass.
Fortunately, neither of them seemed to notice her. She closed the door slowly and leaned her back against it, wondering if she should be guarding the door with her life. At the strike of bad luck, one of the company executives was heading straight towards the direction of the office.
He shot her a look as she blocked the way. Head to toe. "Mr. White," she greeted slowly.
"I have some papers Mr. Wayne must sign urgently." He narrowed his eyes.
"Sorry." She forced out a smile. "Mr. Wayne is a little . . . preoccupied at the moment. Why don't I take those papers off your hands and I'll have him sign them later?"
The executive clutched the stack tightly as if it were some precious treasure. "No, I need to have them signed now. If you can let me in, I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't mind a short interruption."
He stepped to the side but she moved in his way just as swiftly. Marinette sighed inwardly. This is beyond my paycheck. And judging by how White went here on his own, it must be some fund-farming project proposal Mr. Wayne would never agree to.
"Get out of my way!" He cried out. "Who do you think you are?!"
"I apologize, but Mr. Wayne is meeting an important guest. Under no circumstances must he be disturbed," she told him firmly. "I'm certain the papers can wait. He's not going anywhere."
"Listen here," Mr. White spat out. "I have more authority over you. You will do as I say right now!"
"Mr. White—"
"I will tell Mr. Wayne how incompetent you are! Rude to company executives! How dare you speak to me like this?!" Marinette stared with disinterest as his neck turned red and his forehead threatened to pop a vessel.
"What is going on here?"
Marinette felt the door open behind her to reveal Bruce, looking at White with clear exasperation. What she didn't expect was a bespectacled man emerging from behind her boss clad in business clothes.
"Mr. Wayne!" The executive squeaked. "I need you to sign these—"
"Did you not hear my PA?" Bruce punished him with a cold look. "I was receiving a guest. And you had the nerve to cause a commotion right outside my office."
"But—"
"Leave. Now."
Mr. White scurried away, tail between his legs, as other passing employees whispered to each other. Marinette stepped aside to give way to the two men.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time, Clark. I'll get back to you soon."
Superman—Clark—responded with a nod and a gentle smile before excusing himself out of the area. Marinette watched his back whilst he left. If anyone looked more attentively, they'd notice that the button-up and slacks Clark was wearing was too tight for his size, pointing to the fact that they were Bruce's and not his.
"Marinette, if you can keep quiet about . . ." Bruce trailed off, face twisting as he tried to pick his words carefully. She, of course, would know that no guest had entered his office despite Clark Kent exiting it only a few moments ago.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. I won't tell anyone about your affair with Mr. Kent," she promised before walking back to her desk.
"Thank you . . . Wait, my what?"
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Saw the previous Matt Murdock post and I can’t help but think of him as college professor dynamic???!
LIKE HOW WOULD HE BE?
❝criminal law professor!matt murdock❞
cw: law school professor matt being everyone's wet dream, brief mention of alcohol, brief suggestive content.
words: 1.3k.
AHHHHHHH criminal law professor!matt who never set out to teach but got invited to a lecture held by an old lawyer friend of his and built up such good rapport with the students that when one of them came up to him after class and told him they'd sign up for any class he'd teach, the cogs started turning
only teaches one class a semester, probably one class a year
one of those professors that almost everybody wants to get in with but is prone to several dropouts after the first two weeks because of his teaching style
he's very casual most of the time but very much hands-on and will not let up on you for a second if he thinks it's a teaching moment
he's relentless. he is not an easy A but you will come out of his class better than you went in
his favorite part of the job is getting into ethical debates with the students
likes to do a lot of mock trials and very regularly stick his students with cases that test their moral judgment
it's not to make them feel bad or play at having the higher moral ground if they make a "wrong" decision, but more so to force them to consider what they're willing to compromise on to win a case
and whether winning cases is the best thing for them or for their client
he's the type of professor who will gladly stay an hour or two after class just chatting it up with students over cases he's done in the past or answering questions about practicing law professionally
he grades hard but he always offers ample feedback to make his students do better next time
has a saying that he'll never turn down a coffee from a student trying to butter him up
and immediately follows up with "it won't make me change your grade but it will help me remember your name"
this motherfucker definitely likes to sit on the edge of his desk while teaching, too
undoes his tie a bit when he gets passionate about a topic, rolls up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, has to stop himself from pacing the room without his walking stick when he feels particularly excited about a discussion
does not care about late work like at all
as long as you get it to him before the end of the semester, you'll be fine
you'll be panicking, emailing him about how you're so sorry but your laptop got stolen on your way home and that you'll have to rewrite your entire paper from scratch in the school lab tonight so it'll be a day late and you'll get a response back in 4 minutes that just says "No problem, stay safe - Sent from my iPhone"
and... your laptop is mysteriously returned a few days later. apparently whoever stole it had a serious change of heart. you also got a 98 on your paper
(he may not be swayed to change your grade with coffee but he is a bit of a softie when it comes to stuff like this)
he's also just the hottest professor on campus. do I even have to say it at this point
comes to class everyday in a nice button-up, very form-fitting trousers (none of his students have ever seen him in a pair of jeans nor will they), glasses perched on the tip of his nose, a leather messenger bag at his side that is mysteriously well-stocked with first aid supplies, and a loose red tie around his throat
do you see the vision
cancels class often because of daredevil business and treats these as days to work on papers
tries not to cut class short because of daredevil business
it actually makes him a bit sad when he has to, and so he makes it an open invitation that if students catch him out in the wild or walking around campus, they can bother him as much as they want
his TA is a little (a lot) exasperated with him but he makes up for it by buying them food. it has actually put a dent in his budget at this point but their appeasement makes it worth it
he has an office on campus but he very rarely uses it for office hours, you can pretty much find him anywhere BUT his office
he likes to meet in coffee shops or lecture halls or parks on campus because he feels like it's less daunting for students to just sit and talk out in the open
he's very popular on valentine's day
students and faculty alike will shower him with chocolates and mini bottles of wine and roses and proposals to go out for drinks sometime and he always accepts the gifts graciously
and then passes them onto his TA, karen, or foggy
although he'd be lying if he said he didn't keep some of the wine for himself
he has a strict rule against dating within the university, he'd just rather it not be awkward
now,,, a one night stand with a fellow professor maybe? no strings attached? he's not opposed to that
let's just say that tie and office are getting put to good use-
if you're a student and want a piece though, you're gonna have to wait until you've gotten your degree, sorry
he happens to like his one class a semester/year and he'd very much not like to deal with the legal repercussions of getting caught with a student. repercussions of which he is well-versed in
but alright. I mentioned that he sometimes has to cancel class because of daredevil business and so I MUST tackle the big question: does anyone suspect him
yes and no
it starts out simple. sometimes he shows up to lectures with cuts and bruises, some bandaged but fresh, and swears that it's nothing to worry about. you might catch him wearing the rare sweater on those days, even
when he gets questioned about it, he sort of spins some half-baked lie about boxing being his part-time hobby
and then people start noticing that he's never around when there's a daredevil sighting
now, he doesn't always cancel class for daredevil business. sometimes it's because he's got a client to take care of!
but he also loves to invite his students to sit in on the less serious cases so. what gives
one student starts a rumor and then it kind of becomes a joke in class that professor murdock is secretly daredevil
most of them don't take it seriously because how could their sweet, chill, blind professor murdock be a crime-fighting vigilante? it just wouldn't make sense!
and you know what this bitch does? he feeds into it
student: yeah, professor murdock is daredevil. that's a good one
matt: what do you mean?
student: oh, it's just a joke! we know you couldn't be daredevil
matt: but I am
student: hahaha that's funny
matt: no, I really am daredevil. haven't you noticed? same build, never in the same place at the same time, devilishly handsome
student: uh-huh, sure thing professor
matt: is it cause I'm blind? that's pretty insensitive, don't you think? you don't think blind people just read braille all day and get walked across the street, do you? is that what you think?
student: well I mean no but like... I mean.... uh....
matt: nahhh I'm just fucking with you. I am daredevil, though
student: hahaha for sure man, definitely
matt:
he does fly too close to the sun one day though when one of his students tries to debate him in class about it for shits and giggles and accidentally comes up with such a compelling argument for why he could definitely be daredevil that he sort of just nervously laughs and stops making jokes about it for the next four weeks
also keeps a flask in his desk drawer to pour into his mug after a rough night on patrol. but if anyone asks, no the fuck he didn't. mind your business. you have a C in his class
taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes
#I saw this ask and immediately got to work#please send me more matt stuff I actually really enjoy writing for him#matt murdock headcanon#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock au#matt murdock#daredevil headcanons#daredevil fluff#daredevil au#daredevil#marvel#mjwrites
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Baby
Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!reader
Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, smut, implied smut, insecure reader
Summary: You have a great surprise for Matt on Father's day
Other characters: Wilson Fisk, Karen Page
WC: 1.6K
AN: I felt like this Matt fluff was needed after writing so much angst 😭😭
(Reblogs, comment and likes are appreciated)
Three weeks ago.
You remember waking up feeling sick. Matt had already left for work, he had an important meeting with a new client that morning. You were feeling nauseous, and dizzy. Quickly running to the bathroom you threw up.
Last night wasn't any different, you had cooked a special dinner for you and Matt after he won a big case with the help of Foggy. None of the ingredients were bad. After that you both had dessert, which was cake that led the two of you wrapped around each other's body naked in the bedroom.
Bedroom. Love making. Immediately the dots connected. About 2 weeks ago, Matt made love to you. It wasn't a rough fuck as usual, not that you didn't enjoy that. But that day was different, you had been feeling quite insecure about your body. Everyone has their days but for you it was the worst. And Matt made sure to prove to you with not only words but with actions as well, how much he loved your body.
He treated you like a goddess. Matt was on his knees worshiping your body. Your body was like an altar, where he would beg to make you feel euphoria. Matt felt like being with you feels like a prayer, like a plea for hope to a higher power. Best done with his head bowed, eyes closed, and knees bent. You are a verse that Matt has memorized. You are his psalm, except without distinction between sacred and sacrilegious. And though this looks like prayer, his devotion isn't sure which heavenly being it belongs to. Maybe you? You would find out as he speaks of completion, Matt's mouth full of your bittersweet.
Matt wanted to feel your heartbeat while you felt his. He needed to make you cry out of pleasure. Make you feel what you have never felt. The desire of needing to hear you scream his name out loud became too much for Matt. God, how he loved when you had begged him not to stop. Drops of beauty from the shyness of your lips: luminescence of the halo that Matt saw. Flows of nectar of desire with your heartbeat: incandescence of the flower that he kisses. Pour honey of longing on your breasts: lustful essence of the body he holds.
Matt had came inside of you without any protection. You were pregnant. A small human being was starting to grow inside your womb. In a matter of seconds, a million thoughts ran through your head. What if Matt didn't want this? What if Matt abandoned you? It was getting overwhelming and it was like you forgot how to breathe. After a walk to try to calm your nerves, you needed to tell Matt and you had the greatest idea on how to do that.
Now.
It was finally Father's Day, and you couldn't wait to surprise Matt with your pregnancy news. You had been planning this for weeks, ever since the positive line appeared on your pregnancy test. You had looked for the perfect gift, something that would both catch Matt off guard and deliver the news in an endearing way.
Finally, you settled on a small, wrapped box, with a note attached that simply said, "For the best father in the world", in braille. You decide to make breakfast that morning. The smell of coffee and pancakes filled up Matt's nostrils and woke him up. Smiling, he walked up to you while you were setting up the table. Matt wrapped his arms around you as he gave you a kiss on your cheek.
"Good morning sweetheart".
You turned around and put your arms around Matt's neck and kissed him. "Good morning Matty. Take a seat, I'll get the toppings for us to eat and after I have a surprise for you".
Matt raised his eyebrows. You were never good at hiding things from Matt, but somehow you managed to keep this a secret. "A surprise? And you can't give a small hint sweetheart". Matt said as he kissed your neck trying to make you fall for his trap.
Fucking asshole, you almost fell right into his trap. You regained your poster and pulled away. "Don't think that's gonna get me to tell you what it is Murdock. You may be my hot boyfriend but I won't give in that easily". As you walked to get the toppings for the pancakes you gave Matt a smack on his ass.
"I seriously don't know why you love my ass so much". Matt chuckled as he sat down.
"It's not fair god gave you a bigger ass than what I have hun". You replied back as you sat down next to Matt. The two of you sat down and ate, talking about what you both had planned for the day.
You got more and more excited about the gift. After finishing eating, you and Matt cleaned the table, got the dishes done.
"Okay sit at the couch while I get the surprise".
"Yes ma'am". You couldn't help but smile as you got the one thing you knew that could change your life with Matt. Either for the better or the worse.
As you sat down, you handed Matt the box. "There's a small tag on the top".
Matt ran his fingers over the tag and his heart swelled with love to know that you took your time to get in braille for him. But he was confused at first. "For the best father in the world"?
"Uh sweetheart, are you sure this is the correct gift"? Matt chuckled as he thought maybe this gift was for your dad instead.
"Yes, just open the box".
Matt opened the box and he spotted the positive pregnancy test sitting inside. His face instantly went from confusion to shock, and then finally to joy.
"You're pregnant?" Matt asked, his voice filled with emotion as he felt the test in his hand.
You smiled softly, your heart swelling with love for this man. "Yes," you whispered, leaning in to hug him. "We're having a baby."
Matt held you tightly, feeling all the emotions that had been swirling inside of him finally come to the surface. He was going to be a father, something he never thought he could be, and he was going to start a family with someone he truly loved.
But despite the joy, Matt couldn't shake the fear that came with the news. He was a vigilante, fighting to keep the streets of Hell's Kitchen clean and safe, and he couldn't help but fear what his nightly activities could mean for his child.
You were so happy to know Matt wasn't running off or was upset. He was happy but the moment you saw his expressions change your heart broke, was he starting to realize that he didn't want this?
"I'm scared," Matt admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what being a father means, and I'm afraid of what could happen to our child."
You left out a relieved sigh as your overthinking was wrong. You could see the fear on his face, and you knew you had to reassure him. "We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his hand. "And we'll protect our family no matter what."
Matt smiled at you, feeling a sense of peace come over him. He knew that he could trust you, that you could face anything together, and he was ready to start their journey as parents. You sat on the couch, holding hands and smiling at each other, both lost in your own thoughts.
You had been looking forward to this moment for so long, ever since you first met Matt. You had known from the moment you laid eyes on him that he was special, that he was someone you wanted to share your life with. And now, you were going to start a family, something you never thought possible.
Matt was lost in thought as well, trying to imagine what life would be like with a child. He had always been focused on work, on being Daredevil, but now he realized that there was so much more to life than just fighting crime. He had always been motivated by the need to protect others, to keep them safe, but now he had someone he needed to protect more than anyone else: his own child.
The two of you stayed like that for a long time, until suddenly the silence was broken by a knock on the door. It was Karen, come to tell Matt that Fisk was making another move, and they needed to act quickly.
For Matt, the fear that had been lingering in the back of his mind suddenly came to the surface. He knew that he couldn't let anything happen to his child, no matter what it meant for him or for his life as Daredevil. He had a responsibility, a duty to his family, and he knew that he had to protect them no matter what.
Once again you could see the fear on his face, and you knew that you had to be there for him, to support him and to help him understand that he didn't have to face this alone. "We'll face this together," you whispered, taking his hand in yours.
For both of you, the moment felt like a turning point, a moment that would forever change their lives. You two had always been partners, always been a team, and now you were starting a family, ready to face whatever the future held hand in hand. And in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty, you found comfort in each other's presence, knowing that you were not alone, that you would always have each other.
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The English Client — Four
— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader
— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.
— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol
— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k
I
Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.
He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.
She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.
The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.
He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.
The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.
Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.
He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.
He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.
It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.
They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.
And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.
But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.
Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.
He looked at the catalogue again.
Torchia, A.
Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies
A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949
The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce
He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.
It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.
But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.
II
With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.
His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.
Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.
He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.
Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.
He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.
Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…
It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.
III
The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.
He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.
Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.
“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.
He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.
He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.
He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.
“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.
“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.
The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.
He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…
No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.
“Finite incantatem.”
Nothing happened.
“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.
The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.
“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”
And that was when it struck him.
The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.
He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.
“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”
Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.
Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.
“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”
#Tom Riddle#Tom Riddle x reader#Tom Riddle x OC#Tom Riddle fanfiction#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#sswallow;fanfics#sswallow;made a thing#fanfic;englishclient
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Summary: A night at the tattoo studio turns out to be more interesting than you thought while meeting the owner, Harry Styles.
Pairing: tattoo artist!Harry Styles x Princess!reader
Warnings: angst (especially about reader's life/expectations), mention of a tattoo gun
Words: 2.5k
A/N: The first chapter is here! Tell me what you think! Also considering updating every Sunday from now on :)
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Ask | Read the Prologue
You remembered the brief period in your life when you had lived with your parents in a normal house and not a palace. The walls had not been there for hundreds of years and there was no obligation to keep them as clean and unharmed as possible. You had your own room, still bigger than most kids would ever have, and all you did was put pictures up on the walls, plaster them with posters and even attach some of your favourite wristbands to the wall. They were your small creative space for that time and you had been crying the day you moved out again.
Being inside the tattoo studio reminded you of that time again. While the room was kept in a darker tone, the waiting area consisting of a small black table, a dark armchair and a couch for two people, the walls spoke a different language. Red stripes decorated the wall behind the couch, but its opposite counterpart had many pictures of people with impressive tattoos on them. Different artworks were displayed as well, making you question how anyone could ever be talented enough to produce something like this. You remembered taking art classes every now and then as a child, but it had no future anyway – you were made for other things.
Another small table on your left was filled with disposable cups and a coffee machine as well as sugar and some gummy bears. You assumed it was there for the clients.
The owner walked over to the armchair and sat down in it, resting his tattooed arms on the sides. You were able to make out a mermaid tattoo as well as a heart and anchor. Your curiosity was urging you on to get a closer look at the tattoos, but you knew it would probably be uncalled for. Not many people around you were tattooed. While there was no rule banning tattoos for the royal family, none of your family members had any. Since the staff was mostly dressed in suits most of the time, you never knew if any of them were sporting tattoos.
So your natural curiosity probably came from your distance to tattoos in general.
“I have never talked to a princess before.”
You fumbled with your sleeves nervously at his words. Of course, he hadn’t. A part of you had even wished for him to not recognise you, but how could he live in the UK and not know your face?
“I have never talked to a tattoo artist before.”
A low laugh came from the man. His green eyes stayed focused on you as he crossed his legs and seemed to get more comfortable in the chair. His dark curls looked as if he had run his hands through them too often. You could now make out the motive on his shirt – it seemed to be the name of a band you didn’t recognise.
You were wondering if you had already embarrassed yourself with your words, but the man didn’t seem to show any signs of that.
“Are you not going to sit down?”
Sitting down meant you would have to stay. But wasn’t that what you were here for? The rain outside didn’t seem to stop and there was no way you would get home safely without being sick the next day.
If anyone at the Palace knew about where you were, without security, they would call you naive. Following a stranger just because the weather was bad? Sounded like a death sentence.
You hesitantly walked over to the couch and sat down on it, placing your handbag next to you. Your dress was already wet in some places and you could still feel the chill in your bones. It was warm in here, but not warm enough yet. You pressed your legs together, trying to warm up again.
“You’re cold,” the stranger pointed out and pushed himself out of the chair. Your eyes followed him as he disappeared in another room, coming back with a light blanket. “I turned up the heating, but that’s gonna take a bit, so you can have this until then.”
He handed you the blanket which you quickly wrapped yourself up in. Why was he so kind to you? You had just been standing outside of his studio and hoped the rain wouldn’t kill you.
“Thank you..?”
You didn’t even know his name and no sign outside gave you a hint for that.
“Harry.”
“Harry what?”
“Styles. But why would that matter?” He looked amused for a second, a smirk on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.
“Because I can’t just call you by your first name,” you defended yourself. Rule number one: Never call someone by their first name (even when they were offering that to you) and always remember their title!
You were just pretty sure you didn’t have to expect a title in this case. It still didn’t change the rule for you.
“Why can’t you?” His voice was still amused, the smirk persisting. He raised his eyebrows at you as if he was curiously waiting for an answer. It made you nervous. Why did he have to ask? Why did he have to make you so unsure about it? Was it not normal to insist on last names even if the person introduced themselves with their first one?
“I just… I never do that.”
“Maybe you should now. I’m just Harry.”
‘Just Harry’ sat back down in his chair, but the amused expression never left his face. He seemed to enjoy this exchange and his gaze never left you.
You gave him a small nod, still not too sure about all of this. What if you were bothering him? He surely had better things to do at this time.
Maybe you should have introduced yourself by now. You didn’t want to come across as rude, but since he had immediately identified you as the Princess, you totally forgot that a more personal introduction should have happened.
“I’m Y/N.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Do you want me to use your title or is that not necessary when I saved you from the rain?” Harry’s lips moved up into a smile again and he supported his head with his hand as he looked at you. His green eyes seemed to look right through you as if he could sense the unease inside you. You weren’t used to non-formal meetings like this. Questions like this would never have to be answered usually.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” you shrugged and gave him a hesitant smile. No one was here to correct you, so you might as well use the chance to be treated like a normal human being. “I would actually appreciate it if you just called me Y/N,” you added, pulling the blanket tighter around you.
Warmth was slowly filling your body again and it didn’t feel like you were going to freeze to death anymore.
“Got that.” Harry gave you a reassuring nod as well. “Do you want anything to drink? Is someone going to come pick you up?”
You looked down at your hands as soon as the last question left his lips. He was right to ask that, of course, but the problem was, no one was going to come pick you up. If you called your driver now, he would fall out of bed and would then have to explain to everyone how you somehow got out of the palace. And you were sure you would kick off a crisis in the palace within seconds.
“No, I don’t think so,” you chuckled nervously. Harry furrowed his brows, his expression puzzled. “So you’re going to walk home when the rain stopped?” He asked instead.
“I guess.”
That was your only choice. You would just have to hope that no one would recognise you and would start a mob on the streets. Then you had to convince the first guards you would see that they had just missed you leaving the palace this morning. The thought alone was already making you nervous. Your fingers grabbed the blanket tightly as if holding onto it would give you some sort of balance again.
There was a long silence in the room, only filled by the rain outside and the occasional sound of thunder in the distance.
Harry eventually got up from his chair and walked over to the back room again. You bent forward a bit to catch a glimpse at what he was doing, but he soon disappeared fully. Did you already make him dislike you? Was that what most people thought of you? You had seen some of the articles the press wrote about you and your family…
Then you could hear the sound of mugs against each other, then hot water was being prepared. “How do you like your tea?” His voice sounded over to you and you placed the blanket aside to get up and walk over to him.
The room in the back seemed to be a small office. You hadn’t noticed the two black doors on both sides before, but the door to the office was wide open. There was a computer on the desk as well as a bunch of drawings. They ranged from snakes to roses and more complex designs like a mermaid. Harry was leaning against another table on the other side of the room which was filled with empty food packages and a kettle. Two mugs with tea bags in them were already placed next to it.
“I usually have it with some milk and a whole lot of sugar,” you answered. “I can put it in myself, don’t worry.”
“Good.”
When the water was ready, Harry filled both of your mugs, before handing one to you. He walked over to a small fridge underneath the first desk you had seen. He took out a carton of milk, handing it to you. There was a small cross tattooed on his hand. Maybe you could take a closer look at all the other tattoos at some point. All of it seemed so intriguing to you.
You placed your mug down again and filled it with milk. By the time you closed it again, Harry had placed some sugar next to you.
When you were done preparing your tea, Harry poured some milk into his own mug and then put it back into the fridge.
Your eyes started to wander through the room more. “Is this where you work?”
That was probably a dumb question. Of course, he was working here. You still felt so out of place, so overwhelmed by the fact you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, that stupid things like this just slipped past your lips so easily.
“This is where the organisation happens. I guess you’ve never been in a tattoo studio before?” He asked, but his tone didn’t hint at any amusement. He seemed to take you seriously nonetheless.
“I haven’t, no,” you admitted and turned back around to Harry. He had a small smile on his lips while he took a sip from the mug. “Want me to show you around, princess?” He asked, his eyes shining with excitement.
Pride was filling his voice and you could tell that this studio, this job, seemed to mean a lot to him. You also appreciated the fact that he was even willing to show you around. He could have just let you wait out the rain in the waiting room and be done with it.
“I would love that,” you agreed, nodding your head. Both of your hands wrapped around the mug as you followed Harry out of the office again. “We’re not a big studio, you know? I have two rooms for the clients. I have two other people working here with me.”
He pushed open the black door on the left, opening up the view to a room with even more drawings on the walls and a client chair in the middle. A small stool was next to it, with wheels underneath it.
Your eyes moved to the tattoo gun next. “Wow,” you whispered, following Harry into the room. You kept your hands around the mug tightly, not wanting to spill anything or even touch something you weren’t supposed to.
All those drawings were so impressive. There was another desk filled with them, but an iPad was on it as well. You assumed this was where Harry was designing some tattoos.
“And you draw all of this?” You asked curiously, pointing to all the different designs around you. This was impressive to you. More than that. It was fascinating to say the least. You had seen portraits of your family members almost looking like pictures, but this was even more intriguing somehow. A few of the designs instantly clicked with you and you found yourself wondering what they would look like on your own skin.
“I do. Well, I guess some of them are from my friend. She usually works in the other room. But the ones you saw in the office are all mine,” he explained, pointing in the direction of the room you were previously in.
You sat the mug down on the desk absentmindedly.
“This is honestly so cool. I’ve never been in a place like this before and this job… I wish I could do that,” you admitted, walking over to the chair to run your hand across it. For a moment, you felt like it was calling to you, to be a bit more rebellious tonight, to come home with a tattoo your parents surely wouldn’t approve of.
It was tempting. You had always felt the need to break out of your cage, to do anything that would resemble a bit of freedom to you.
Harry’s eyes were watching you, a shimmer of something you couldn’t quite place in them. He stepped a bit closer, pointing to the chair. “Sit down, if you want.”
You didn’t hesitate again and sat down in the chair, feeling the comfortable leather beneath you. You looked down at the insides of your arms, trying to imagine the black ink there.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about.” Harry moved a bit closer, his eyes fixated on your arms as well. His eyes darkened and his voice grew lower. You could hear the clock ticking loudly and for a moment, you held your breath as you stared at your blank skin.
How did the wish to go to a party turn into this?
“I’m thinking about a cage on my arms.”
“Are you a trapped bird, princess?” He asked, eyebrows raising with curiosity. You looked at him again, straight into the green of his eyes. It reminded you of the grass outside, the freedom of running through a field.
You weren’t supposed to answer this question. You weren’t supposed to be here.
You weren’t supposed to look at Harry and feel the goosebumps spread over your body. The man was attractive, confident and free. The latter was something you could never be.
You gave him a small nod and Harry pushed his stool back a bit, fumbling in the pockets of his sweatpants. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placing one between his pink lips.
“Sing me a song then, caged bird. I will be listening all night.”
-
taglist: @tenaciousperfectionunknown @kimmi-kat @victoria-styles @thatgirlthatreadswattpad
#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#fine line#love on tour#harry styles imagine#harry styles x you#harry styles headcanons#harry styles one shot#harry styles fics#harry styles angst#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing#harry styles concept#harry styles au#harry styles oneshot#one direction#one direction imagine#one direction fanfic#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction headcanons
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PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)
21: ONE DAY
summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.
w/c: 3.1k
a/n: drew and addie are back again after two years! hope you guys are ready for a rollercoaster.
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‘...and believe it or not, Patty marches out of her office straight to Wes and the guy, and tells him that the company has zero tolerance for homophobia or any similar behaviour. She then proceeds to tell him to fuck off, all in very polite business talk, and the guy says something about her regretting it but she’s just staring at him.’
‘Did he do anything?’
Addie shakes her head. ‘There’s nothing he could’ve done. When Patty McLellan decides she doesn’t want you around, you’re done. She’s got enough clients on the waiting list that she doesn’t need to worry about rejecting one.’ She stirs the drink in her hand and takes a sip. ‘Anyway, Wes thanks her, and she just goes away, and nobody really knew what to say.’
‘She sounds like a good boss,’ Drew says. His presses the paper cup to his lips and grimaces, huffing at the temperature.
‘She’s a terrible boss,’ Addie corrects. ‘She doesn’t tolerate homophobia, sure, but it’s not like there’s much she does tolerate.’ She thinks about the terms of her NDA—a 40-page contract outlining precisely what they are and aren’t allowed to disclose and to whom—but this should be okay. ‘One time, Marea was running late with a document they needed in court, which didn’t end up impacting Patty’s case whatsoever, but she still almost got Marea fired. I’m just lucky she’s not my supervisor anymore.’
Drew shrugs. ‘She still stuck up for Wes. Some people would choose the client.’
She shoots him a look. He doesn’t know enough about Patty’s talent at making a person’s life a living hell. In a way, though, he is right – and Addie doesn’t like that she has to give consideration to a person like Patty.
Besides, he’s got that knowing smile on his face, and Addie can’t really disagree with that.
When Drew texted her earlier in the day, all but demanding her to spend some time with him before they both leave Atlanta for the holidays, she kind of figured it was a ploy to get her out of the house. She’s fairly convinced Marianne’s had a hand in encouraging him because she was very insistent on Addie taking the whole morning to herself, too, including doing her hair routine and wearing it natural, even with the incoming weather. Not like it matters much – she’s missed hanging out with Drew and really, she needed to leave the flat for something other than work, groceries, or class.
Even if the first thing he said to her when she walked into Waystone was that ‘this is the last step before an intervention.’
He got her the coffee as a thanks for making the time to see him and Addie joked it was the right time. There’s a forecast of heavy snowfall due to hit Atlanta later this evening, meaning she’d be stuck in her flat for a little while longer, because doing anything while it’s freezing and snowing outside is not an option.
‘This is why you need to do the bad thing,’ he said to her as they braced for the cold outside the coffee shop. ‘Be a bad intern and a bad student and take some time off for your own sake.’
Now, they’re a few blocks away from Waystone, and the sky is looking greyer by the minute. They’re just outside the park with the ruined fountain, as they’ve made a habit of doing, and Drew is telling her stories about his own badass bosses, none of whom would’ve lasted a day in the corporate world, but Addie keeps that to herself. It’s a far cry from the first time they went on a walk to this place – aside from replacing summer dresses and short sleeves with jackets and scarves, Addie still holds onto the coffee like a lifeline, but this time it is because of the cold rather than the nerves from being around Drew.
Drew, who pauses mid-sentence to ask if she’s listening.
‘Sorry,’ she says, finding herself smiling at a cute toddler waddling by while a woman behind him pushes the empty stroller. ‘I’m just thinking about how glad I am that you dragged me out.’
‘Ah, well. Can’t have my friend drowning herself in things she actually needs to do, right?’
She squints at him. He’s still smiling, but there is something behind those eyes. Addie crosses her arms on her chest. ‘Did Marianne put you up to this?’
Drew shrugs. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe.’
The grin breaks through. ‘She might’ve texted asking if I was in town, but the rest was all me.’ He pauses and gives her a nudge. ‘Feels like we haven’t talked in ages.’
‘I know, I’m—’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I am sorry, though.’ She swirls the coffee inside her cup, feeling just how little she has left, and how quickly it’s getting cold. ‘Sometimes I ghost people for a few weeks when things get a little tough. It’s kind of my bad habit. I didn’t mean to.’
He nudges her again, calling her name until she looks at him. ‘You don’t need to worry about that with me. I get it. You’ve got your priorities straight.’
‘It’s not an excuse to ignore you.’
‘No, but it happens. I’m sure things will be easier once you’re not overworking yourself every moment of the day.’
All Addie can say is thanks. She rests against the back of the bench, finishing her coffee.
Part of her wants to talk about this habit of hers with Drew, explain herself, let him know how much she hates that she forgets to respond to texts or have meaningful conversations or even check up on her friends, but she doesn’t. It’s not something she really wants to talk about. Just talking won’t solve anything.
Addie promises herself she’s going to do better. Even if Drew doesn’t say it, she knows he’s not happy about her disappearing on him like that. Hell, she wouldn’t be either, if she were in his shoes, which is what hurt the most.
There’s another nudge. Drew’s looking at her, fully focused. ‘Is it the internship? Your degree? Something else?’
Addie sighs. ‘All of it.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Distract me.’
So he does.
They spend the next fifteen minutes on the bench, as she listens to Drew talk about deciding that maybe it’s time he got back into theatre. He hasn’t spoken about it much before and it’s something fresh, something new – something easy to focus on. She likes the way he starts to talk more with his hands when he talks about acting, too. Even if some days, she forgets that this hobby of his is, in fact, his career.
Drew’s biggest issue is, it turns out, that the plays he wants to do are either already in production, or they’re not going to be in production for another few months. One of the guys who was in Drew’s first-ever production in Atlanta, all those years ago, is writing his own play. It seems that the idea has captivated Drew, even if Addie catches less than half of what it is about, but the play is nowhere near finished and won’t be for a while.
‘It’s hard to picture you on stage,’ Addie tells him.
‘Because you’ve only ever seen me on TV.’
‘Eh,’ she says, ‘I can’t picture you on TV either, anymore. It would be weird.’
He laughs. ‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, come on. You know that’s not how I meant it.’
‘It’s fine,’ he says, smiling. ‘Hopefully you’ll see me on stage one day, and you’ll probably prefer that to the small screen.’
‘I’m looking forward to it.’
Addie feels herself smiling as she thinks about it – about Drew on a stage, performing his heart out, and her getting to see him in his element. She’d be proud, she knows that, and she’d be delighted to experience just how good her friend is at doing what he does best. Something about that makes her heart swell.
Drew looks away, and leans back, too, and she knows he’s finished talking.
The silence is nice. It’s not really silence – there’s the noise of kids ushering their parents to go home to change before the snow falls, and parents telling kids they need to get inside before the snow falls. It’s chaotic and lively and Addie realises she needed this little reminder of the rest of the world.
Even the feeling of the impending doom feels like it’s staying at an arm’s length. In the background of her mind, the thoughts keep running and she’s worried about extending her six-month internship contract to a year-long one, as most interns have it; about finding a job after she’s done with her degree; about the college assignments she needs to be looking into; about her sister sending out her own college applications… All of this is going on as their flat is one ticking little time bomb, with Marianne going through hell and back with Tom on what feels like a daily basis, while Tom’s words about Holden and Addie are still in the back of her mind.
She wants to thank Drew for getting her mind out of the gutter, even if for just a little while. Instead, she nudges Drew with her shoulder, the brush barely tangible through layers of fabric, and says: ‘One day, I’ll have a Master’s degree and a big girl job, and you will be performing the best play of your life.’
He nods at her, smiling right back. ‘One day.’
She doesn’t open up, not about the things that really matter—because those are the hardest to talk about—but she tells him about Marianne and Tom. Drew listens intently as she talks about their decision to go to Tom’s family for Christmas, and he gets a little line in the middle of his forehead at the news. He looks a lot like he’s filming a commercial for the stores that sell skiing equipment, with one of his arms resting on the back of the bench, the other in his lap, and his legs outstretched with leather boots fully on show.
She likes that he listens. He doesn’t judge, unlike her, and he seems to think that there is some point to Marianne meeting Tom’s parents – it has been well over a year since they started dating, and maybe the rough patch can be fixed with a change of scenery, or something to shake things up.
Addie isn’t too sure. ‘I’m glad you agree with Marianne, though. I’d rather be wrong than right, at least about just.’
‘Just about this,’ teases Drew, and she huffs at him. ‘Nobody likes being wrong.’
‘Right,’ she says. The clouds are gathering above them and he notes that there could be snow soon, and she hears excitement in his voice. ‘How’ve you been? Aside from looking into doing plays again, obviously.’
Drew sighs, tapping his fingers on his thigh. ‘Busy. Austin and I have just been doing tapes, feels like, but not much luck so far. I heard back from one thing and I’ve got an audition in LA before I go home for the holidays, but that’s all.’
‘That’s great! What is it for?’
‘A movie.’
Addie lets out a wolf whistle. ‘Anything you can share?’
He grimaces and she already knows the answer, but she pushes forward, and he relents, even if just a little bit. ‘It’s got some big names attached to it, which isn’t a guarantee that they’ll stay attached, but it’d be a nice one to do.’
‘Is it big one?’
‘Could be.’
‘Nice,’ she says, and means it. ‘You deserve a big one.’
She taps his thigh and he chuckles, just a little. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking about, looking at her with a sheepish smile on his face, but she knows what she is thinking about – Drew on the red carpet, cameras flashing, and knowing that her friend has made it.
It’s a nice thought to have.
In front of them, leaves begin to rustle; Addie watches them move, bit by bit, until they’ve picked up enough speed to go into the air, swirling around. Some of them land on her hair and she plucks them out with Drew’s help, laughing as they do so.
Drew looks up. ‘We should probably get moving. The weather’s starting to change.’
’You’ve got some weather detector on you?’ Addie looks up, too, but the clouds look all the same to her.
‘No.’ He stands up smiling. ‘I just know Atlanta.’
Despite the weather, they take the scenic route to her flat. She’s watching kids run around with parents yelling at them to slow down, to watch for the cars, to just wait a minute – all while they’re looking up at the sky waiting for it to come down. Drew notices it, too, and tells her a story from when he was a kid, sledding down a hill with his sisters.
‘We need to go sledding someday,’ he says. ‘I think you’d love it.’
‘I’m more of a skier myself.’
‘Really?’
Addie laughs. ‘No. I haven’t been skiing even once.’
‘You should give it a try,’ Drew says. ‘It’s fun.’
‘I’ll leave that in your hands, then.’
They walk past one of the buildings not too far from where Grubson Law is located, and Addie knows the area like the back of her hand, even if Drew’s the one in charge. She waits to see if they’ll walk past her favourite building and they do – and she tells him to stop, just for a minute, while she fishes her phone out of her pocket.
She brings it up, opens the camera, and does her best to capture exactly what she’s seeing. It takes some fiddling with the settings, the lighting, the angles, but she gets there in the end.
‘Think I got a good one,’ she says, and lets Drew lean over her shoulder to look at the phone.
In the picture, Drew is shown from the back, midway through a step. He’s looking to his left, where the building is made of glass that reflects at this time of the day, and the looming clouds are captured in the reflection over the park where Addie sometimes takes her break with Nadia. She’s lowered the saturation enough that the background isn’t in the focus, but Drew’s face is sharp – the gloom of the sky makes him appear deep in thought, rather than just waiting for her to do her thing. There’s something surreal about the photo, about the colours, and Addie feels pride bubbling in her chest as that was the very thing she saw in the moment. It’s only through sheer luck that in real life, in the reflection of the window as he looked at her, he looked a little bit like a dream – and on the photo, he looks every bit like the dream she saw.
She sees him smile, and figures he’s probably thinking the same thing, except he says: ‘It looks like an ad for the jacket you’d find in GQ.’
Addie chuckles and forwards the photo to him. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Good, because it was one.’ He opens the photo on his phone and looks at it again. ‘You’ve really got a knack for this photography thing, you know.’
Their walk finally starts taking them towards Addie’s flat. They’re in the neighbourhood, now, and Addie is filled with a sense of calm. These are the streets she knows, the windows that always have the same plants and candles on the windowsills, the balconies with the same chairs outside – even if the chairs are now adorned with thick blankets, preparing for the winter.
It feels like coming home.
‘Thanks for this,’ she says, giving Drew a little nudge. ‘I needed it more than I realised.’
‘That’s what friends are for, right?’
‘Right.’
‘For making you do bad things.’
Addie squints at him. ‘You’re making it sound like you made me commit a crime.’
‘I made you relax for a day,’ he says as they turn into her street. ‘Isn’t that a crime for a workaholic?’
She bumps him in the shoulder and he yelps, but they’re laughing before the charade is over. He tells her he’s glad to see him and she assures him it works both ways. They try to figure out when they’ll see each other next, only to be thrown away by the busyness of their very-adult schedules, and it’s all left up in the air.
But there’s a promise of a next time, as there always is.
He walks her to her building and she thinks about inviting him in, but knows that somewhere in there is a Marianne in hiding, frantically rummaging through her belongings to find the right clothes to take to England for Christmas. She doesn’t think Drew needs to be exposed to that.
This is exactly what she says to him, and it makes him laugh. ‘That’s fine. I need to get going, anyway. Got stuff to do.’
‘Plays to look into,’ she says.
Drew winks at her. ‘You don’t know half the stuff I’m up to, Addison.’
‘Cheeky,’ she says, then opens her door. ‘I’ll see you around.’
He’s still there when the door closes. Addie makes her way up to her flat and rightfully so, it looks like something exploded. A trail of Marianne’s belongings leads from her room to the bathroom, and some wet stuff looks like they’ve been dragged out of the washing machine. She can hear Marianne being on the phone to someone in her room and for once, as much as she loves the girl, she’s glad there’s someone else for her to expel her stress to.
The flat’s nice and cosy, and the clouds look brighter now. Addie walks closer to the window in the living room – only to realise it’s not the clouds that look white.
She looks down, to see if it’s starting to catch, and catches Drew looking at her, instead. He grins and spreads his arms, sticking his tongue out to catch a snowflake. Addie laughs and his grin widens, and he twirls around, just like the kids they’d seen earlier, waiting for the snow.
He looks happy. And he looks at her, too, and a part of her wishes she was down there, with him. She considers it for a moment—
She resists, though, and watches him give her a two-finger salute instead. Maybe one day, she won’t have this much work to do, and she’ll be able to enjoy the snow like he does, with him.
Addie goes back to her work a fair bit more motivated than before, and later that night, dreams of fields of white, and a reflection of a boy smiling at her.
◇
22: BETWEEN THE LINES
most people on the taglist have left/changed their urls, so lmk if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!
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Cafe HC (part 1)
Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Capitano, Childe, Chongyun, Cyno×reader| fluff | sfw
tw: none
summary: types of people in a cafe
a/n: I'm gonna make these into a few parts
_______________________________________
Aether
• he's definitely the barista
• he's rushing to take orders and make drinks the whole timee
• my man needs a holiday, he deserves a break
• the back bone of the whole cafe tbh, he's the reason they're still there
• lumine secretly visits him
• leave him your number, there's a high chance he'll forget abt it, but maybe when his shift is over it'll pop up in his mind and put a smile on his face
Albedo
• the one who sits alone in the quiet corner in the cafe with a cup of coffee and a table full of paper
• he probably attempts to work but ends up observing and sketching random people in the cafe
• he'd be great to share a table with tbh
• like he'd scramble to clean the table of his stuff for you to put yours
• 10/10 table mate, he might just give you his sketch of you, w his number at the back
• works
Alhaitham
• the one guy in the cafe who's sitting there, eyes glued to his laptop the whole time
• he looks hot and he knows it
• I feel like he's an americano type of guy
• his typing sounds are probably so soothing, imagine sitting next to him and hearing that click clack click clack
• he'll notice if you stare, and just before he leaves he'll hand you a piece of tissue w his number on it, not saying anything, only a smirk on his face
• owns the cafe
Ayato
• probably meeting up w a client or someone important to do business
• he's drinking milk tea, specifically the one with a creamy foam floating at the top, and a finishing touch of burnt sugar (it's my fav)
• after his client has left he'll walk around the cafe asking for feedbacks
• when he came to you, the conversation went from the food to the environment of the restaurant, and before you knew it you're talking and laughing together
• he asks you to visit more often bc profit
• he's there w qiqi
Baizhu
• she looks at the menu and tells him, before he places the order bc qiqi is shy
• they're honestly so cute tgt, she doesn't voice it out but she's very content with the sweets she ordered
• he wipes her mouth clean w a napkin after
• qiqi probably asked you for help bc she got lost on the way to the washroom, or baizhu asked for your help to bring her into the female one, either way he's thankful for your help
• he offers to take you to dinner to show his appreciation
• he's so unlucky
Bennett
• he didn't make a reservation and came at the busiest hour, he had no choice but to share a table w you
• on the way to get his coffee he spilt some on his hand and burnt himself
• his coffee was knocked over and got on you, staining your attire
• honestly he feels so embarrassed, he keeps apologizing and swears to get you a new one, you rly don't mind, but he's not listening to a word you're saying
• you guys exchange numbers bc he REFUSES to let you go without any sort of compensation
• the one scary guy in the cafe
Capitano
• he's having tea, the rly nice fragrant floral ones
• it's probably packed and so you've no choice but to share a table w him
• it's honestly not too bad, he's quiet and minds his own business
• you eventually find the courage to initiate a convo and find him to be very nice
• you guys don't exchange numbers until you meet each other a few more times in the same cafe
• he came with his siblings
Childe
• they sat next to your table, and one of the boy who you soon found out to be Teucer, accidentally knocks over your food and it's all over the floor
• childe came apologizing immediately, and after checking for any wounds, he proposes to compensate you with another plate of the food
• you're like, halfway through your meal anyways, so you decline
• mr persistent 3.0
• you end up joining them on their shopping spree and exchanged numbers bc the kids likes you
• he's a regular
Chongyun
• comes in with xingqiu and xiangling
• they probably came right after classes or tuition ended, or probably, kumon
• they have a load of papers and books splayed out all over the table
• they start singing the periodic table song randomly
• you chim in
• you're one of them now
• cashier
Cyno
• has the most serious face ever, but cracks the lamest jokes
• pls laugh, otherwise he'll spend 10 minutes explaining in great detail the premise of his joke
• somehow still gets the work done
• he's very efficient at his job not even kidding
• is working part time while studying
• when you find out you guys go to the same uni you exchange numbers
• he now writes jokes onto your cups
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin fluff#genshin impact fluff#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#genshin headcannons#genshin impact headcanons#fluff#imagine#headcannons#genshin albedo#genshin alhaitham#genshin aether#genshin ayato#genshin baizhu#genshin bennett#genshin capitano#genshin childe#genshin tartagalia#genshin ajax#genshin chongyun#genshin cyno#aether#albedo#al haitham#baizhu#capitano#childe#chongyun
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Leverage Log: The White Rabbit Job
Well, with a name like that I'm expecting a return of Parker's Alice Allias. That or a bunch of drugs. (or at a stretch, "magic show 2")
---
Clients name is Lidell. So yeah its an alice in wonderland thing and not a magician thing (though it might still be a Matrix thing). Client doesnt want the mark shamed or retired, he wants the mark to get therapy.
---
*checks watch* well would you look at the time, its "drug a person" O'clock.
"unless you take a stimulant before they dose you". The writers do know that like, most things are stimulants? Like coffee, cola, red bull, I get he probably means "unless you take a specific antidote in advance because you know they're about to drug you" but that line is badly written.
---
Ok so what Hardison says about his plans (warehouse, digital projectors") sounds like they're literally planning on making a simulated reality in some warehouse for this guy.
Like, we're talking full on Truman Show level shenanigans.
It feels like this episode will be a bit of a stretch. And the plot hasnt even hit any snags yet
Nate is putting this con in Sophie's hands. (she's the only one who's ran this con before).
---
Oh thank god they're just having parker pretend to get hit by a car. ("parker you're up" sounded like "switch his meds" for a moment)
Client has been fired, Mark is selling the place to a Mr. Carroll.
---
Ok so he set up the matrix in a warehouse (red patch, blue patch)
did you have to call the operation "Hamlet"? You know the Scottish Play is cursed.
---
I get the cinematography is trying to make it feel dreamlike, but the wobbly swoop is actually making me a bit dizzy.
---
Yeah we're definitly over-doing the "Hardison=technogod" thing. Not a fan. Definitly entered the "our heroes kit is badass" zone.
---
So yeah, there is definitly something in the R&D wing. Something that turned a good boss into an anxious mess.
Something happened, (people died) and he blames himself. Thinks he is not competent enough to be entrusted with the company and he's selling it to keep the people safe from his own inadequacy.
---
I agree with Hardison, his techpowers are stretched to the limit and he'd doing a lot of work.
Oh so the guilt isnt a work accident, but a family member who he died, because (he believes) he was too busy working to answer a call.
genuinely feel bad for the mark.
---
And his assistant gives him an energy suplement (drugs about to start failing)
---
Elliot for once in his life, doesnt even bother to disarm a gun pointed at him. He's just like "what are you even doing".
I like that Elliots definition of a stall is a perpetual "disarm them, give them their weapon back"-loop
---
Oh no, Mark is headed to the roof... SHIT.
Congratulations, this is the worst a con on this show has ever gone sideways.
Parker knows when to blow a con, sometimes truth works better. (she's gotten a lot better at Sophie-ing)
---
I side with Nate, if the con is about not breaking their mark then him trying to jump off a roof to wake up is a failed con.
Also this is the worst thing they ever done to a mark. And it was to the one mark who deserved none of it.
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BLCD Review: STAR★NYAKS
Title: Takane no Hana wa, Chirasaretai (高嶺の花は、散らされたい)
Author/Artist: Sakyo Aya
Release Date: 2021/02/26
Cast:
Tadokoro Hinata x Terashima Takuma
Ishiya Haruki
Tada Keita
Watai Kanato
Fushimi Haruka
Watanuki Kaho
Shimano Hana
Nanase Ayaka
Miyake Marie
Nagatsuma Juri
Synopsis: Yukishita Hana, the kind Alpha working at Starnyaks Coffee. Renjaku, the arrogant Alpha who is a regular at said cafe, whose flower studio is located nearby.
At least that’s what the clients perceive, but Yukishita is actually an Omega with a crush on Renjaku. He couldn’t hide his gender anymore when his first heat came unexpectedly…at age 26!
Review Proper
IT’S 2003, FOLKS!!!
Can I just stress that “nyak” means something similar to “ew” in the Filipino language? It’s just so funny to me. They omitted the k in the BLCD, but I will never let it go. It’s STAR★NYAKS to me until the day I die, Sakyo Aya. Also, idk if my memory serves me right, but this, surprisingly, is the healthiest Sakyo Aya pair to date? They’re not exactly that dumb for each other, and I loved how Hana was only in it for the underwear the first few chaps, while Renjaku-san wasn’t overly possessive, unlike most of the Kuroneko Kareshi tops. Hana also wasn’t an annoying tsundere! Hallelujah! Nakamura Shungiku character development when? Renjaku-san turning domestic was such a shocker to me too! The very first time I’ve ever wanted a Sakyo Aya top since Ei.
Anyway, enough about the plot. This review’s highlight is, of course, the VAs ‘cause this was undoubtedly ROBBED in last year’s awards.
I will never get tired of saying this, but
MY RINTAROU-KUN IS BACCCCKKKKK!!!
I wasn’t too keen at first, as his voice was a little too high for Hana, but he quickly grew on me. You really gotta give it to Shinshokan when it comes to casting. 👏👏👏 Hearing Takuma in a Sakyo Aya was just such a blast to the past, man. I couldn’t ask for more. If y’all wanna hear what old school pron sounds like in a modern setting, look no further. I’m sorry, SatoTaku and Sonna ni Iu, but this is Takuma’s best performance of 2021, and it’s with none other than rookie TADOKORO HINATA!
YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! IT’S BEEN NINE YEARS SINCE WE’VE EVER HAD SOMEONE OF THIS RANGE DEBUT AS A BL SEIYUU!!! The last was Hamano Daiki in 2014, and he’s not even that active outside Yarichin nowadays. 😩 And, I know that I have a bad habit of looking for a rookie’s soundalike senpai, BUT TADOKORO DOESN’T HAVE ANY!!! HE A RARE BREED! A GIFT FROM THE GODS!!! He’s like a deeper TsudaKen with a clear diction like OnoYuu with a side of Suwabe suave~ YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN??? But that’s just diction and range! HE REALLY DOESN’T SOUND LIKE ANYONE I’VE EVER HEARD BEFORE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA
JUST LISTEN TO THE TRAILER:
youtube
I’m just so proud. I’ve been supporting him since his first official supporting role in Memento Scarlet and have always expressed my wish to see him in a lead role in every review since and here we are now.
And how was his performance in his debut role, you might ask? Fucking perfect ✨ It can’t get any better than that. He really saw that wig and snatched it! Listen, Takuma’s a Gen 2 veteran who has his own rhythm that can swallow you whole if you’re not too careful. Nakajiki fell victim to that back in Hidoku Shinaide, and he was a top there, so it was going to be harder on Tadokoro here ‘cause bottoming was Takuma’s forte! He not only stood his ground, but he owned that Takuma ass so well. 😭 Granted, Tadokoro has some experience in the anime industry, but he’s honestly done better than the recent Takeuchi Ryouta, Matsuda Kenichirou, and Hamada Kenji comebacks when they’re supposed to be more experienced. UGH. SO MUCH POTENTIAL WITH THIS ONE. I DON’T GET WHY HE DIDN’T GET AN AWARD!!! HE WAS ROBBED ISTG!!! He doesn’t have anything lined up for 2022 yet, but I’m gonna eye his profile like a hawk and have a fund ready just for him. He’d do great in a Haji! If they only adapted their works
We have stellar plot execution, AMAZING VOICE WORK AND CHEMISTRY, and overall faithful following of the manga. I read PCB’s scans before this was licensed by SuBLime, and I’m not sure if they used the magazine or tanko raws, but there was a bit of a jumble with the sequencing of the events in the BLCD. I’m leaning towards the former, though, so I highly suggest getting a copy of the SuBLime version if you plan to have a read-along. If you’re a fan of this series, I implore you to listen to this. It’s one of the best adaptations of 2021. Don’t listen to chil-chil. AND TO EVERY TADOKORO, VETERAN, AND WHALE TRASH OUT THERE, GET THIS. GET THIS!!!
#blcd reviews#blcd 2021 reviews#takane no hana wa chirasaretai#shinshokan#tadokoro hinata#terashima takuma#ishiya haruki#tada keita#watai kanato
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The Maghrebi Among the Slums
As the smell of that harsh Rwandan coffee
covers the land of my (and your) ancestors nation.
Speaking in that odd tongue,
at times Arabic, others Italian,
I watched my mother watch Al Jazeera,
and my father tsked as they spoke of
the bombardment of Benghazi.
Shall I run and hide?
When they bring out the couscous,
and reveal myself when the sfenj comes back?
The ultimate dream achieved as I walk
to the school full of brown bodies,
and a disgrace caused when I come back
with questions of what it means to be in God's skin.
Will our moral arc point towards righteousness,
as our prayer rugs point towards Mecca?
The skin of thousands of martyrs flayed across
our pocket Baghdads, adorned with palm trees of hope!
Hours spent as a child running my fingers across
the braids of that mat as the Friday Khutbah runs on,
and he speaks of a Jabal Akhdar at the end of every sidewalk.
When the Messenger of Light comes,
I swear none will even realize.
Rather, he will be invited onto our mats,
served our tea and told stories of before this prime minister
and that khalifah. Carried by the elbow,
through the slums where merchants will sell anything, for any price.
Should I point out to him where Madame Amelie lives,
and her husband who always dreamed of European life?
(He fasts when he can, and hits the wall of his kids when he remembers)
I will lead you and every other story I was taught by heart,
to the alleyway where I remembered Saif ben Salah
being shot and left for a week until his mother found him,
threw him over her breast, and drank the blood from his wound.
I will lead you towards there, and the Buraq will be waiting.
Surrounded by the memories of Saif ben Salah and Madame Amelie who went to Iftar with a bruised cheek and Halima who
was raped in a pool of the blood of her kin and Abdirahman
who had nothing bad happen to him but stopped being
a kid at the creek acting out the deaths of the Italians far too early
Where will the Buraq take you, you ask?
Indeed, it will fly you over all of Tripoli,
take you to Florence (though you must look away when
we come across David), cry above Casablanca,
and we will ask you of what you think of the far blown
Maghrebi boy dreams of white thighed, blonde haired,
and blue eyed girls in Paris, Cannes, Naples, Lisbon,
and Amsterdam - those dreams that exploded onto
the trash behind a poor Monsieur's grocery.
The mother of the boy who died in the Gulf War,
(not war, rather sickness. She never found out what it was.
No syntax to hold the sick; there were flies above him,
and he was vomiting while the other men fought
she did not get to see him in the coffin.)
she will offer you some Brazilian coffee,
but you have a place to be within Venice.
Please, remember to pray for her.
An entire world of luxury and the finest
Oriental silk will be placed in front of you,
with the prostitutes of Alexandria beckoning
towards you with their hands colored with grief
from the last client who cried in her shoulder.
This universe will be hands-up at your mercy,
on the back of your Buraq we have given to you,
and before you can choose where to land,
we will drop you into the slum
as a child
covered in cowshit
in the hands of a
midwife who will never be known.
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Monday blues sinks in, Friday distractions
Monday blues, Friday distractions
“I know you are tired, but come this way”, is how every Monday greets us.
After the mini vacation over the weekend with angelic Saturday and Sunday, the Monday blues sink in. It is associated with a set of negative emotions that many people go through at the first working day of the week. Disinterest, stress, lack of concentration and energy, laziness and extra cups of coffee to keep eyes wide open, kind of sums up the entire Monday.
“One bad fruit spoils the bunch”, is how the vibe at office is affected as well and the work productivity declines in totality. Lost in thoughts and no real participation in work, week starts moving ahead slow. Up comes Tuesday to be Monday #2 and then Wednesday that breaks the Monday shell. Every day seems to have more than 24 hours and the week stretches on with the upcoming weekend being that one bright spot on the horizon which pushes you on. At last you get into the groove, and work hard through Thursday, putting in the extra effort to greet Friday, making sure no one will call you on when you are having fun. Today you can dress down, and say hello to a day of distraction; a day to tie thing down, plan for the weekend, for the fun time with angelic Saturday and Sunday!
Thank God it’s Friday – time to get thinking about the weekend getaway with your buddies, daydreaming about the gig you are going to attend and the sandy beaches that await your arrival. The pre-outing and pre-party plan deciding day! The day the office does not follow a dress code and clients are busy doing their own nothing thing, too. A week is seven days but days become longer with Monday being the longest and Friday becoming the shortest, defying logic. It is a paradox of our work-life balance that the balance is always tilted in favor of the work days and never the other way around to favour the holidays. It is so difficult to take a break, and when you do get a break it is always sweet but short, too short for wo/mankind, alway
One may search on the Internet various quotes to be motivated on Fridays and find ways to cut down the blues, but if a large number of employees tend to do the same always, having fluctuating performance, it becomes necessary to take care of such employees who may turn to be a burden for the organization. Organizations come up with different activities to keep employees active but none know how many are taking those activities positively. The actual behavior, attitude and perception of a person is very difficult to judge, especially, of a person with many mood swings. It is a must that organizations give an assessment that determines the behavior and traits of employees; one of the many such provided by our company, PMaps which will help to understand more about your people working in the organization.
But I still wonder why there are Mondays! There could be just a blank day that could be used to wash away the blues. In any case, Thank God For Friday! Not because I can daydream but so that I could return on Monday to begin my work with a fresh start.
-Rashi
(For more articles please visit PMaps blog page)
#hiring#employee#online test#candidate#job fitment#job interview#recruitment#business#psychometric assessment#skill test
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