#♕║ v; We Built This City

[architectofhope]

Reeve hovered over his mug, sipping idly as he watched the screen, paying little mind to the accidental brushes and grazings of her arm against his own — the couch was a small one, closer to a loveseat, and nearness had become a certain thing for those who chose to sit on it together. That is, until she rearranged herself so that her shoulder ​pressed​ his own in a way that was warm, nearer than it had to be, unavoidable; ​comforting​. He became suddenly cognizant of himself and making an effort not to bump or disturb her sewing.

The tea was exactly as he liked it — a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of cream for the milk-teas, or a dollop of honey on it’s own for the herbals. He’d shown her how to use the steep-timer he’d created to suit the various types, an hourglass with slowly trickling colors of sand that seemed so real and yet never mixed, marking the passage of time leading up to five minutes. She’d marveled over it for hours and he hadn’t the heart to tell her it was a sophisticated hologram that responded to tipping and orientation; he would let her mull that one over until she figured it out on her own.

“Really? His ​brother?” ​He asked her with mock incredulity, brows furrowing on his forehead as he cast his gaze down at the woman tucked against his shoulder. “What a heinous crime of passion — I mean it’s not as though they can ​be​ together after something like that,” he reasoned with a piteous shake of his head and another sip of his tea.

It was silly, certainly, speculating over the trivial, imagining the dramatic, instilling meaning where there was none, but he was finding he enjoyed it ​immensely​ because it was with ​her​. She made it fun, interesting, amusing in ways he would have found shallow and pointless at any other time. It was not the content, but the excuse it afforded him to be like ​this​. Close, comfortable, casual if only for a moment. From time to time he found his attention snagged by her needle, pulling him into her handwork like thread through fabric, intrigued by her careful methods, softer than his tinkering, but no less painstaking and detailed. From there it was easy enough to get lost admiring ​her,​ her concentrated expression, the little hitches of breath if she poked her finger with the needle tip, the way she nibbled the ends of the embroidery thread when she pulled them apart. He hadn’t realized he’d been likewise lost until she spoke again, snapping him out of his quiet reverie.

“That’s right, I’d almost forgotten about him,” he breathed deeply, stretching his legs out and popping his neck, leaning forward and setting his mug on the coffee table in favor of another crisp that he popped in his mouth. “He was in a bit of a bind last we saw him, wasn’t he? That cop went missing and they’re being implicated,” he sat back, sinking into the cushions beside her with a bit more laze to his stature. The tea was taking its toll in melting him from the inside out.

architectofhope·:

  When Reeve had first gotten to know the young woman he hadn’t anticipated that they would ever be as close as they were — not that he hadn’t hoped, in some small way. She was a kindred spirit, despite them both being very different people, and having her near made him feel somehow… content. Was it irresponsible? Definitely. Shinra’s interest in her was far too serious for her to ever set foot on the upper plate without some sort of chaperone that worked in her favor. He supposed it was because of this that he justified her tendency to gravitate toward his place of residence; he could, at the very least, make sure she had somewhere safe to be during her visits, and that she made it back home to the ground floor below when she was ready.

  Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and their visits were stretching longer and longer over time to the point that sometimes he would leave her with some of his books or her embroidery projects while he focused on work for a bit, finding the hours passing far more pleasantly when there was the incentive of good company and thoughtful conversation at the end of it. After one particular conversation during which he’d let slip how long it had been since he’d wasted time watching meaningless television Aerith had insisted they sit together and watch the most meaningless waste of time she could think of — soap operas. It had become a weekly Sunday ritual ever since.

  “Yeah, but he woke up when his fiance kissed his brother in the hospital room,” he reminded her with a casualness to his tone unbefitting of such a ridiculous trope, slipping a crisp into his mouth before leaning forward and picking up the warm mug from the coaster, lifting it to her in cheers with a small appreciative smile. He settled himself back into the corner of his couch, propped on his elbow as he cast his breath over the rim of the mug, steam scattering in curls and wisps, tickling his mustache and lapping at his cheeks as he watched the woman on screen break down in the most dramatic fit of hysterics he’d seen since… well… since Scarlet hadn’t gotten her budget approved for the newest line of hollow-point exploding shrapnel ammo.

  “Think the wedding’s off?” he wondered aloud, mostly uselessly, curling the small throw pillow he’d displaced with his body against his midsection; once rather plain and utilitarian, it had been modified by a certain needle-wielding flower girl with some tasteful embroidered blossoms. He hadn’t objected, and had in fact given her a few more to deck out similarly for his mother. 

      fingers worked to stretch the canvas over the back of the frame before she locked it into place, twisting at the screw while eyeing the screen. reeve’s words rang a bell of familiarity to them ——ah, yes. she recalled the over-dramatic woman kissing her lover’s brother while the former was in a coma before them. the ensuing fallout had been the bulk of the previous episode, the one that had aired the sunday before. a soft chuckle left her nose with a stream of air as aerith turned her eyes to the pattern, to the needle as it began making its way here and there in the signature cross stitch until she moved to the next assigned slot. flowers, but who was surprised? it was a more intricate pattern, but she found these challenges relaxing.

      it took only a moment for her to get comfortable, to relax into her spot as she worked, her shoulder brushing against reeve’s when she moved her hands slightly. if someone had explained to her but a month or so ago that she’d be so close to a shinra higher-up she would have laughed aloud ——but here she was, looking forward to her time with reeve tuesti at every opportunity. it made her feel normal. not some special project overlooked by shinra, not someone babysat by the turks when they were assigned to check in on her. no, he never called to question her lineage, her connection to his company ——he spoke to her as if she were never anything more than a woman and for that she was beyond grateful. 

      “ i think it’ll be a fake out, ” aerith mused, briefly glimpsing at reeve before the television set. she’d become more invested in the dramas than she’d like to admit, but keeping them all straight was proving to be a challenge. the storylines all seemed to meld together from show to show, and the particular station liked to marathon a schedule this particular week’s end. “ make us think they’re not going to get married, have the wedding and when the season ends have something dramatic happen right before they say their vows. my gil’s on the brother shooting the groom. ”

      she paused for a moment, leaning forward to grasp her tea and taking another few sips before setting it back down on the designated coaster. coming here was such a normal occurrence she knew how reeve took his tea without asking, by now. she hadn’t needed to ask if it was right o fine, instead taking his unremarked consumption as a cue that he was satisfied with the preparation. when she sank back into her seat she was a bit closer, leaning against him just-so as her fingers mindlessly moved about the pattern. “ i wonder how the mafioso is doing? the one whose trying to raise money for his sick daughter. we haven’t seen him in a few episodes. ”

[architectofhope]

A bouncing shock of brown curls emerges from behind his desk; “Ok so; Problem solved.” Sofía flips her hair back to its proper place. “Well no, not solved. Diagnosed. S o m e o n e has essentially pulled out every cable and just―” Shrugs. Flaps her arms―”Jammed them all back wherever.”

  Reeve peered over the edge of his desk with a concerned knit of his brows, watching her fiddle with the cords in the back. Someone had been in his office, messing with his workstation? That was a concerning thought for several reasons, none of which he would divulge or think too deeply on at the moment until he’d learned more. 

  “Any idea idea why someone would do such a thing? I mean, it’s no specific cable, right, you said it was all of them?” he puzzled, wondering what reason someone would have for jumbling them haphazardly like this, unless they’d attempted to pull his CPU and been caught in the process. 

  “Perhaps I should contact security — have them pull surveillance footage,” he pondered, scratching absently at the scruff of his beard. 

[architectofhope]

"Sir, you are the BEST!" Rita squealed. "I can't believe you got that project approved - if you weren't my boss, I'd hug you!" (@urbdev-assistant for fluster meme)

Fluster My Muse | status: open

 He’d just hung up with the president — a phone call Rita had patched through to him and apparently stuck around eagerly to hear the end of. Reeve’s expression cycled from skeptical to hopeful, finally landing on elated as he fumbled for words that didn’t sound overeager.

 “Yes sir, absolutely. We will get started right away, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 He hung up the phone and found Rita gazing at him expectantly, clapping his hands down on the desk with a heavy exhalation of relief, a quick nod confirming what she’d wanted to hear, he himself unable to contain the smile that ran away with his lips.

 “We did it,” he began, but her exuberant exclamation took him by surprise, dark lashes fluttering over hazel eyes as he watched her wriggle with evident reservations about throwing those arms around him. He would not have admonished her if she had — it was a hard-fought victory— but even still she had a point; it would be a bit frowned-upon for him to embrace her so wantonly.

“Ah,” he chuckled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll consider it done, then. Thank you for all your hard work. I couldn’t have done it without you, Miss Spencer.”

[architectofhope]

discrete

NSFW Prompt List | status: open

discrete. my muse reacting to yours touching them under a table.

  The holiday party had not been, to his pleasant surprise, all that bad. The President hadn’t dallied long at the gala, and in his absence the entire room seemed to let out a breath of relief. People trickled out bit by bit, but stragglers from various departments began to drift from their respective tables to mingle with one another, sitting at other tables and enjoying snippets of conversation between coworkers who were in sore need of letting their hair down every once in a while, so to speak. The Commissioner perhaps most of all. 

  He sat at the table with Mayor Domino and his granddaughter Rita, Reeve’s own assistant, as well as a few other Urb Dev members and a scattering of others — half the PR team and the head of Food Services among them. So when Quistis drifted away from Public Safety —Heidegger’s inebriated booming laughter and Palmer’s incessant wriggling that shook any table he sat at a clear enough reason for anyone to stray— Reeve welcomed her with a tug of the seat beside him, gesturing with a sociable smile for the woman to join them.

  The table had been absorbed in a bit of light-hearted banter between the one of the PR representatives and the head of Food Services, each of them taking one side or another in the matter in what would be known in months to follow as the Great Potato Salad Debate. Reeve mostly kept himself out of it, but made his support of the person that fed him well-known with a rare display of genuine amusement plastered across his face.

  He lifted the flute of seemingly bottomless champagne to his lips to take a drink when he felt a delicate palm spreading along his thigh under the table. His gaze drifted to the source of the touch, thinking it at first to be a mistake before following that arm up to the poster-child of ShinRa Public Safety herself — an elegant strawberry-blonde woman with a penchant for speaking her mind, even in the face of one of the most violent men Reeve had ever known. It was clear by the way she did not even venture a glance in his direction that she knew exactly what she was doing and took the breathless bewilderment on his face as no reason to cease.

  The drag of nails along the inner thigh of his slacks caused him to inhale deeply, taking a quick glance around the table to make sure none had noticed, finding them all mercifully absorbed in the debate at hand. He rested the champagne flute on one knee as his hand dipped beneath the table to arrest her wandering touch, withdrawing it from between his legs and rolling it within his grasp so that he clutched it gently in his fingers, palm to palm.

  It may have seemed like a knee-jerk rejection at first, but after several moments the pads of work-worn fingers began to trace small patterns against her skin, along her knuckles, thumb brushing feather-light sweeps against her own. That he did not brush her hand away, that he held to it, twined his long fingers between hers, he hoped was enough to express what he had no ability to say in that moment: not a no, but not here.

[architectofhope]

fraxcxccl‌:

——Security threat, the Boss had said. Gotta babysit the Director, he’d said ( only not in those words ) For at least 48 hours until they have a firmer grasp of the situation.     Please, Boss; grasp faster. Ashe wasn’t fond of being a live-in bodyguard. It was exhausting. It was awkward. A professional she was, yes, but she didn’t have to like it.     Whatever.         4am, Ashe had conceded defeat. Boys-in-blue ( BiB’s as she’d fondly dubbed them ) manned the entrance to the building with explicit instructions to rouse her should anything suspicious occur. A tired Turk was a poor Turk ( despite their insistence that sleep was for the weak ) A bored Turk was a menace.     Sleep was the only option.         Until roused by the unmistakable soundtrack of a rattling  kitchen. Reeve’s up. Ashe remained where she was; prostrate on her back, hands folded over stomach.     ( heh, scared, Tuesti? )         Why was he approaching, though? A hazel eye cracked open; for her??     How did one explain to a superior that something so sweet in the morning turned her stomach… at least he’d left the coffee black.     “Good morning, Director,” she chimed at his back, ‘waking’ like an automaton at the press of a button. Unsettling… “Did you sleep well?”

MY MUSE IS SLEEPING LATE. PLEASE HAVE YOUR MUSE WAKE THEM UP – HOWEVER THEY SEE FIT.

  It hadn’t occurred to him as a young twenty-something fresh out of college with bright eyes and high hopes that his greatest innovation would lead to this — death threats and body guards. But by now he was used to it: a notification on his phone, Shin-Ra systems on high alert, and suits showing up on his doorstep within the hour. Such was the life of the man behind the infamous mako reactors.

  The chime of her voice was unexpected, true. Most of the Turks woke to varying degrees of ease and mood, Rude having been the most pleasant thus far and Elena the least — Tseng wasn’t in the habit of sleeping in his home, and would often wake Reeve with coffee instead of the other way around. Still, he was glad Ashe fell somewhere on the pleasant spectrum, at least so far; there was nothing quite like an unexpected surly house guest.

  He nodded his greeting to the boys-in-blue on his doorstep, plucked the paper from between the one on the left’s feet, and shut the door behind with a flip of the lock. 

  “Just fine, thank you,” he offered a small, personable smile, tearing open the plastic seal of the bag around his paper and sliding the sleeve off to be discarded in the kitchen trash bin. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee so I left it as-is. There’s cream in the fridge, sugar-” he pointed to the jar tucked back on the counter top. 

  He leaned his hip into the edge of the small island, unfurling the paper to an all-too familiar headline: Bomb Threat Shakes Midgar Officials. He huffed quietly into his own coffee with a small shake of his head. 

[architectofhope]

silence. our muses having to keep down during sex, due to whatever reason. (@urbdev-assistant)

NSFW Prompt List | status: open

  The soft hum of the vacuum cleaner in the adjacent room served as a near constant reminder that they were not alone on floor 63. It was a Tuesday night, as Reeve had somehow forgotten despite having shared many sociable interactions with the nice sanitation crew that came through every week and kept their work space nice and dirt-free. The ding of the elevator and the squeak of creaky mop buckets was a startling moment that had his heart leaping into his throat and the both of them scrambling at first to tug together shirts and smooth down clothes. 

  Lifting a finger to his lips he motioned for her to be quiet, gesturing for her to stay put on her perch on the desk as he slipped out from behind it and made for the door to his office, stepping out and closing it behind him. He was gone for several short minutes before returning, the crack in the door he slipped through narrow enough to keep the singular office occupant obscured from sight. He’d thanked Odin he’d drawn the privacy blinds over the windows he shared with the rest of the office earlier that day during a meeting with the Mayor. 

  He returned to her, the panic of the moment not quite entirely absent from his features, yet there was something glittering in those hues of brown and green. Something boyish and self-satisfied. “I told them to skip my office this week,” he informed her quietly, taking a seat in the leather desk chair and rolling himself toward her with the light scuff of polished shoes against the marbled floor. 

  Hands slid up along the length of her legs to her hips, pulling her down off her perch on his desk to straddle his lap, the act in and of itself causing skirt to ride up on her hips, aided by the scrape of short fingernails that left light red marks on her bare rear, her underwear tucked safely into his back pocket some time earlier. 

  “Think you can keep quiet, Miss Spencer?” he whispered against her neck, fingers picking up where mouth had been so rudely interrupted, gliding along the slick warmth between her legs, the growing impatience in the shift of his hips beneath her promising so much more. 

@urbdev-assistant

[architectofhope]

husky + silence tyyyyyyy

NSFW Prompt List | status: open

husky. my muse reacting to your whispering in their air from behind. silence. our muses having to keep down during sex, due to whatever reason.

  “You’re going to have to be more quiet than that, Aerith,” he chuckled softly in her ear from over her shoulder, barely above a whisper, reaching passed her to grab a pillow from up by the headboard of her bed and drag it down closer to them for her to muffle and bite as was needed. “I’d rather not get any more funny looks from Elmyra than I already do.”

  Moonlight sifted in through her window, spilling like a waterfall down the slope of his back from base of his spine to sharp angles of shoulders bent over her, both of them supported on knees and little else. Her body fit beneath his, tucked like petals of layered blossoms, one within the other, smaller, more delicate, held fast with a strong palm — sometimes two— grasping hip bones. One hand drifted up, gently pulling the long, soft plait of hair over one of her shoulders as he tucked his face into the crook of her neck and pressed heated kisses to her skin. The other remained steadfast, tugging those hips back against his own with steady rhythm, careful not to let those hips stray far lest they fill the air with sounds far too suggestive for the sort of discretion they sought.

  Still, even with the care being taken not to arouse suspicion, he was taking great care to arouse, now and then tugging those hips back against a deep thrust or two, testing her — challenging her— to swallow those sweet sounds down into the pit of her stomach or release them into the muffled void of her pillow, just loud enough to pick out the whimpers through the stillness of the night. 

[architectofhope]

SPOTS TO KISS + 15? Or # (from Jessie pls :]c )

SPOTS TO KISS MEME | STATUS: OPEN

15. a kiss on the jawline.

  He sat on the small couch in the living room, laptop propped on his leg, one crossed over the other, scrolling through a news feed with one hand while sipping his coffee with the other. He hadn’t heard her approach from behind him, but the telltale tickle of her hair against his neck as she bent down to kiss the scruff of his jaw was enough to alert him. A half smile creased his lips, glancing back over his shoulder at her with a notable fondness in those hazel eyes.

“Morning — I had an omelet earlier but I saved some egg mixture in the fridge. Would you like me to make you one? There should be some coffee left in the pot,” he informed her with a nod toward the kitchenette.

[architectofhope]

gyahahahaha​:

Initially, Heidegger’s expression is one of conceited humour, he rolls his eyes at Reeve’s accusation, a grin teasing lips and parting the fangs beneath them. It’s only when the director continues his taunting and asks his next question that the expression changes. 

‘Have you ever been fucked?’ 

The question pours petrol on a flame, eyes wider now, lips tightening. His body betrays his expression when his cock twitches between his legs - the idea of being fucked (more specifically by Reeve) arousing pleasure unknown to the general.

Had he been fucked before? Truth be told - he had. But Heidegger is a man who uses his size and his strength and most of his past partners had been happy to submit to his demands. If he’s honest - it’s been a while, but the thought thrills him none-the-less. Fucking another is the ultimate display of power and to submit himself to Reeve? Well, the thought inspires taboo and taboo inspires sexuality. 

“…I-” he isn’t sure of how to answer, the burn of his skin no longer cooled by the air conditioner. “Are you joking?” His guard raises once against, a tactic always applied (even if it never seemed to work). “Uncuff me and get on the bed like a good boy, yeah?” A laugh interrupts denial but the swelling between his legs has yet to cease. Truth be told, with his hands restrained and his body beneath Reeve - he is entirely his. “Dominance doesn’t suit you-” and yet the general’s tone is a purr, his eyes unmoving from the other and the gentle rock of his hips silent suggestion for what he really wants. 

  A hum, low, knowing warmed his throat, hanging in the air between them as he gazed down at the floundering SOLDIER beneath him. Those little defiant throes did naught more than raise a single dark brow on his forehead, sitting patiently and letting him go through the motions of denial, all the while that body of his sang such sweet, delicious tunes to the contrary. Reeve rose slowly onto his knees, lifting off the other’s hips and tugging up the length of the towel so that he might make a show of eyeing the dead-giveaway stretched along the general’s pelvis. 

  “I think we both know that’s not the case,” he caught Heidegger’s gaze, leaning slowly up over the man once more, a hand, callused from years of work beyond a simple desk-job sliding down between their bodies as Reeve hovered over those lips, hues of earthen greens and browns taking in one wary feature at a time before dipping to whisper in his ear.

  “And I’m not your good boy,” his palm slid over the hard length of him, the heat of Magnar’s sex searing his skin as he wrapped fingers around him and gave a suggestive tug. “I’m a very intelligent,” he pressed his lips to the shell of the other’s ear, “and exacting man,” the tip of his tongue curling against the lobe before teeth pinched at it gently and let go. “And one of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with that,” he purred lowly. “So why not today?”

  His grip left the other’s erection and dashed up between them to arrest the man by the jaw, tilting his head back and gazing down into his face. “Answer my question, Magnar. Have you ever been fucked?” 

[architectofhope]

 SPOTS TO KISS MEME | STATUS: OPEN

@thememcry​ asked: 36. a kiss along the curve of the spine. (: 46. a kiss on the ‘v’. (YOU MADE ME DO THIS) 23. a kiss on the space between collarbones. (you reblogged it, you asked for another, i take no responsibility)

  Lazy Sundays spent watching soap operas on the couch with one another had extended to late (and considerably less lazy) Saturday nights that would find them turning off alarm clocks and hiding under blankets from the languid stretch of sunlight over the plush, king-sized bed.

  This was one such morning, Reeve still sound asleep in his usual way: stomach-down with his pillow shoved up against the headboard, blankets and sheets twisted in limbs though not nearly as fitfully as they would have been in the past. He had not been aware of her waking before him and climbing out of bed, at least not until she’d climbed back in in, pressing soft lips to a bare patch of skin at the base of his spine between the dimples of his back, the warmth of her breath tickling awareness into his sleep-addled mind.

  She would feel his muscles twitch drawing in a deep breath as if resurfacing from a deep dive, head lifting off the mattress to glance back over his shoulder at her curiously before a wide, sleepy smile painted his face. He rolled over onto his back, lips parting to bid her his usual raspy greeting when lips planted again — this time in that spot just below his navel where a very different kind of heat would pool. He huffed quietly, a ticklish anticipation causing him to squirm ever so slightly as he reached down and brushed a hand along her cheek and back through her hair, giving her a soft tug to bring her up his body.

 “Good morning to you too,” he murmured low as she placed kisses up his body on her way, lingering on his collarbone where that telltale flush began to crawl up his neck. He pulled her a little more urgently now, capturing mischievous lips with a hungry claim. He always did enjoy a good breakfast in bed.

[architectofhope]

( @urbdev-assistant​ continued from x )

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but judging by a quick glance to his watch he’d unintentionally dozed for the better part of an hour, leaving him a bit bleary-eyed and disoriented when she’d come in to find him asleep on the couch in his office, one leg hanging off the edge with an arm draped over his face to block out the pin-lights in the ceiling.

  “Deadlines,” he croaked softly, sitting up and tugging his tie back into place, though it still fit a bit loosely around his neck; he couldn’t be bothered to formalize it, the damage had already been done. “I was stuck in Directors meetings all day, I hardly had time to get anything done.”

  Part of this was true, part of it not — he’d met his deadline several hours ago, around the time he’d bid farewell to his team as they filed out of his office. It was the bits of under-the-table Slums business that had kept him long passed his usual hours utilizing access to tools and information he did not have readily at his disposal at home. 

  “What are you doing here? I thought you left hours ago,” he tossed the ball back in her court, eager to get the topic off himself. 

[architectofhope]

a flash of a grin. a work call, she knew some would come and be important enough to peel his attention. from the gardens of her home he paced out of earshot, tossing apologetic glances every so often her way. -one more minute- they said, and she smiled sweetly. but for the catch of his glance, the shift of fingers toward the hem of her sundress to lift just-so, quickly, to offer a peek of delicate lace unbidden to mossy eyes - *the wicked lady*. take your time, reeve. (fluster him, you say?)

Fluster My Muse | status: open

  He’d dedicated the day to her willingly — eagerly— helping her plot the spaces for her new flower beds and with them the sprinkler system he’d near perfected to help cut back on the workload of watering said beds every day. His team knew not to bother him on sacred weekends unless it was urgent, and so when the phone in his pocket rang he felt obliged to check it, excusing himself for a moment with a quick kiss to her cheek as he stepped away along a scaffolded path and skimmed the answer button.

 It had been important it turned out, a delivery of materials to the jobsite in sector 5 overturned on the highway. Reeve agitated the nape of his neck as he paced back and forth, nodding and ‘mhmm’ing with a periodic question or two. An order to do this, or call this person, send this email. It was a pain, but he was grateful no one was seriously hurt — including the driver. They would send another truck out of town to pick up the load and carry on, a bit off schedule but what could be done?

 He glanced up to Aerith during a lull in information, giving her a quick wink, but her idea of returned flirtation was enough to push the reset button on Reeve’s multitasking ability, that coy little peek of lace driving him to complete and utter distraction.

 ‘Sir…? Hello, Sir?’

 He snapped back to the matter at hand, quickly addressing his subordinate with a grimace and an embarrassed clap of his free hand over his eyes, pivoting on his heels away from the temptations of one positively impish Cetra who was no doubt extremely pleased with herself.

[architectofhope]

She sees Reeve on his way to who she assumes is Heidegger and stops him, placing a hand in front of his chest to cease his movement. "Give it about 20 before you go in there. He's in a mood. I was the one who put him in one. I apologize." All because she needed to report issues with the troops' new weapons experiencing malfunctions. She's not looking forward to corresponding with Scarlet about it. Thankfully as the face of SPSD's current advertising campaign, she's (somewhat) untouchable.

 Reeve had, indeed, been on his way to pay a visit to his fellow executive director, blueprints in hand for the expansion of the barracks, when a certain strawberry blonde put herself squarely in his path and halted him with a cleanly manicured hand on his chest.

 Her frankness caused dark brows to lift before glancing over her shoulder toward the door, hearing a gruff, booming voice addressing some pour soul over his telecom. Reeve gave her a look that bordered on pity and amusement, maybe a little bit admiration. 

“You really did a number on him, Miss Trepe, you’ll have to tell me your secrets some time,” he leaned in conspiratorially, handing her the folder in his hands.

“Well, in that case can I bother you to get these to him once he’s cooled off a bit? He should be expecting them. I’ve got copies if he does anything rash,” he scratched lightly at his temple with a forefinger, casting a glance back toward the General’s office door.

[architectofhope]

"Sir," Rita looks at him sternly. "You mother called again, she is quite upset you haven't called her back yet." Rita eyes narrow at him. (@urbdev-assistant for fluster meme)

Fluster My Muse | status: open

 Oh hell.  He knew he’d been forgetting something. And as if forgetting to call his own mother wasn’t bad enough, Rita was fixing him with that look — the collective burning of a thousand women’s hearts who found a streak of disappointment in the short-comings of a silly, distracted man.

 “My apologies, Miss Spencer. I will call her immediately,” as if to assuage his assistant he set aside his work and pulled out the phone from his pocket, showing it to her. “Will you please have catering put together a delivery of chocolate strawberries for her as an apology — and a half-dozen for yourself for the trouble.”

 He dialed the number he knew by heart, letting Rita hear the dial tone before holding it to his ear with a wary sense of anticipation. Nothing like a shunned mother to make a man feel five-years-old again.

[architectofhope]

Reeve’s plans and proposals were good. All of them. Some needed a little updates, some Rufus wanted done in a different way. But overall there wasn’t much to criticize. Reeve was a pleasant surprise in the board of the Directors. Rufus had expected that none of them were useful beyond their respective fields, but Reeve… laying down the last document he had been handed, Rufus just barely nodded. A smile playing around the corner of his mouth.

“You will present these plans to the public and to our investors. Right after I spoke. And you will present Heidegger’s and Scarlet’s, too. They will just sit back, while you make their work sound more appealing… you might be the only one who can do that.”

@rufusofshinra​ 

Reeve stood by as Rufus read his proposals, attentive, hands clasped behind his back as if by habit of being symbolically tied while maintaining the air of a man with a broad, proud chest. The nod came at last, then the unsettling hint of a smile on the young President’s lips that caused fingers to curl into his palm tightly where nails would dig shallow crescents of anticipation.

 Rufus’ response went beyond the unexpected into strange and potentially dangerous territory, stealing any bit of excitement the director might have felt for having his proposal approved and replacing it with slight dread.

“Heidegger and S—…” he trailed off, taking a step forward as his hands came unbound with an inclination of his head. “I couldn’t, sir. I may not see eye to eye often with my fellow Directors, but they’ve worked hard for their proposals — they would take it as a slight.” But he was protesting too much, he feared, sobering himself quickly before bowing his head with due deference. “I appreciate your approval of my team’s efforts. Perhaps there is some other way…”

[architectofhope]

For the 'fluster my muse' - Heidegger grabbing Reeve's thigh and working his way up under the table while they sit beside one another at a board meeting and it's nearing the end of the meeting, he's doing it with deadly seriousness and every so often the general keeps shooting him a look like 'let's do this.'

Fluster My Muse | status: open

 It was not often that he sat next to the Director of Public Safety at board meetings, the history of animosity between the two putting distance between them like petulant children, but Reeve had been summarily displaced by Hojo who had insisted he had matters to discuss with the woman most often on the other side of him. So, Reeve had taken up an empty chair across the table next to Heidegger, careful not to cast him any unusually friendly looks — doing his best to ignore the man entirely, if we were being honest. It seemed the best way to avoid suspicion.

 But in spite of his best efforts, Heidegger had different designs entirely, that broad palm closing firm against his leg beneath the table, causing it to jerk hard enough to jostle his seat which in turn prompted a pause in discussion as all eyes turned to Reeve.

 “Leg cramp,” he explained with a sheepish duck of his head, Scarlet scoffing with a roll of her eyes at having being interrupted by something so asinine before continuing with her explanation. Reeve cast Heidegger a quick sidelong glance, meeting the man’s eyes just in time to notice the lusty glimmer in them, a sight that had Reeve exhaling a hot huff of a breath against the backs of his knuckles folded like woven armor before his mouth.

 The hand did not stop, however, in spite of the tense air around the commissioner, palm finally seeking that spot against Reeve’s inner thigh that had the male clamping those legs together hard. Stop? Don’t stop? It was impossible to tell his intention without drawing further attention to himself, eyes clamping shut as he felt the telltale signs of a flush beginning to crawl up from his chest along his neck.

 “Quinine,” a nasaly voice spat at him across the table. Eyes flashed open to find Hojo staring at him with mild annoyance. Seeing Reeve’s bewildered expression he repeated again with an impatient hiss of admonishment. “Quinine — for your leg. Take it next time.”

 Reeve swallowed the hot welling of embarrassment from his throat, nodding with an affectation of appreciation. Odin, they’d made it two weeks on Goblin Island and the General was choosing now to be the death of him? What had he done to deserve this?