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theitgirlnetwork · 7 months ago

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Earn It

Ch. 5: Pretend With Me

Note: Hello! Thank you for all of the support you've all shown this story. Thank you for the notes, reblogs, messages, and comments I love interacting with you all! We've got our first time skip so I hope it's not too confusing. Once again, I'll remind everyone that the characters are meant to be just as complex as those in the movie and so they will do...questionable things. But that's part of the fun...not being them! So I hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Cheating (fr this time y'all :(), explicit sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), small mention of disordered eating, and some strong language.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Present Day (California) :

“They won’t answer any questions about that, don’t bother asking. Make sure there’s at least one close up on the ring and we only film from the angles we discussed, understand me?” Kiely takes a deep breath, brushes her hands down her dress, straightening out the wrinkles at the bottom and noting to herself that she needs to stop by Target today to get a new steamer.

This job is a big opportunity, she can’t afford to fuck it up. Out of all the applicants they decided to give her a chance. She pushes through the dark front doors, fixing a potted flower plant hanging near the doorway before glancing back sternly at the camera crew and closing the door.

Kiely does wish that her trial week wasn’t the same week as this interview.

She presses her finger to her earpiece to turn on the speaker as her heels click across marble floors, her steps are long strides. “Crews’ in place, we need a clear house, just the family. They want this in one take. Let’s go.”

The blonde woman raises a shaky fist to the Grenadil African Blackwood door, knocking softly once before steeling herself and knocking more assertively the second time.

“Yeah?”

Kiely turns the cold golden door knob and stops right at the threshold of the master bedroom, her back rod straight as she addresses the people in front of her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson? They’re ready for you.”

12 Years Earlier:

3:22 p.m.: So, that smoothie that you recommended? It’s fucking disgusting.

Heaven giggles at her phone before flipping it over so she can’t see the front of the screen, sliding down into a split to complete her stretches. She hums in satisfaction to herself as she stretches forward to reach her front foot. It’s peaceful like this.

She loves coming to the studio early. After the bullshit classes she takes to remain eligible for the dance program, she rushes here to just dance. No other dancers, no teacher or choreographer watching. Heaven can just be with the choreography.

She has a habit of getting fixated on a piece and doing it over and over until she masters it. Then, she does it over and over until it’s not fun anymore. It’s her award winning strategy, to actually fall in love with the pieces she dances to.

For some reason, she was struggling to become Juliet. She knows she has the technique for the dance, that much is obvious. But something about this role wasn’t connecting for her. She just feels like she can’t force herself to give the vibe of a 15 year old girl whose parents were absent enough to let her fall in love with a 20 year old loser.

Oh and Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Correction. Peter who is supposed to be Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Heaven stands from her split, grabbing her phone with her to respond to the text waiting for her, not noticing the uncontrollable smile that had formed on her face.

3:30 p.m.: It’s not supposed to taste good, it’s supposed to be good for you, Arthur.

They had been texting back and forth a lot since the birthday party. Not many phone calls, but messages here and there. They range from checking in to arguing about the various media they both consume. It’s like an unspoken agreement they have not to talk about Tashi or Patrick. Anytime they did the jokes would halt and suddenly Heaven would feel a rock in her stomach, unable to text back.

Her phone buzzes again and before she can open the little white envelope on the screen she hears several sets of footsteps behind her. Without turning around she rushes over to put her phone in her duffle bag and heads back to the middle of the room, settling into first position next to Peter and staring tensely forward as they wait for the rest of the cast and the premier maitre de ballet, Madame Fontaine. Along with the older woman is her assistant choreographer, Fallon, the only other person who will acknowledge that Peter can’t fucking dance.

“Afternoon, all.” Madame Fontaine offers the group a brief, tight smile as she stands before them, her flats clicking on the stage. “Romeo, Juliet. We will work on the pair of pas de deux performances after warm-up.”

“Madame.” Heaven nods, turning to go to the bar toward the back of the room. She can feel Peter behind her, looking at her. His cheap ass cologne fills her nostrils as he leans forward to murmur in her ear.

“Think you can actually act like you at least like me today?”

Heaven slips into third position, facing forward as she continues through her warm up, shrugging at his question. “I don’t need to like you, Juliet needs to be in love with Romeo. The dance will show that.”

“Maybe if we spent some time together-”

“I’m in a relationship.” she dismisses.

“Really?” He scoffs. Gripping the bar Peter stretches his leg into the air, watching Heaven do the same, he strains to get his kick as high as hers. “What does your boyfriend do?”

“He’s a professional tennis player. So is my girlfriend.”

Peter’s brows furrow as he watches the woman in front of him wrap up her warm ups, cracking her neck absently as he stares at her. “You…so…”

“Okay.” Heaven huffs, turning to the man, craning her neck and fixing him with a wary look as she stands facing him with her arms crossed. “Yes, I have a boyfriend, his name is Patrick. I also have a girlfriend, her name is Tashi and she is the girl you saw here before. Yes, they are also together, no we’re not looking for a fourth and if we were it would never be you. No, we aren’t open so don’t ask me out again. And Peter, even if I was single, I would literally fucking never fuck someone who can’t do a simple fucking lift.” With that she pushes past him to find Madame Fontaine stopping when she hears him over her shoulder.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so heavy I could lift you easier.”

Heaven doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the insult, instead just pursing her lips and getting into the position for the first pose of the “Love Dance”, the first pas de deux of the piece. As she goes through the movements on the stage no one would be able to tell that Peter had said what he said.

She holds him close and twirls prettily. She leans into him with all of the trust of the world as he butchers his half of the piece, failing in the lift not because of her weight, she tells herself, but because his hand placement is wrong.

Heaven thinks logically, like Tashi would tell her to. Other people have lifted her before. It’s not her.

So she can swallow the lump in her throat until after rehearsal is over.

“Answer.” Heaven bites her lip as she drums her fingers against the steering wheel, her phone is balanced between her cheek and shoulder, vibrating against her ear as it rings. “Tashi, answer.”

Hi, this is Tashi Duncan, leave a message after the beep, thanks.

She shouldn’t have come. Tashi has two matches this week, Pepperdine and then Princeton, she doesn’t need to be distracted. She doesn’t have time to be distracted. That’s not what they do to each other, she knows Tashi needs to focus before a match just like Heaven needs to be distracted before a performance.

But after rehearsal ended, her focus on the beautiful dance, and getting her body to move the way it needed to to tell the story faded. Then all she was left with was the sound of Peter’s voice mixing with her mother’s and the personal trainer she’d hired her when she was only 10. And suddenly she found herself speeding down the road in a silent car, driving 5 hours and 13 minutes to Stanford.

She told herself as she weaved through the cars that she just needed to get away. That this was okay because she was supposed to be heading down the next day anyway. That she was only here to see Tashi.

“Fuck.” The girl huffs, pulling the phone away so hard one of her hoop earrings falls out of her ear, tumbling to the floor as she dials another number. Unlike Tashi, he actually picks up.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi, baby, hi.” She sits up against the leather seat. “Are you, um, busy, or…”

“Uh, no, not-not really.” Patrick’s muffled voice through the phone settles her nerves a little. “What’s up?”

“Nothing I just wanted to talk to you or something-” Heaven hears laughter and the clattering of glass in the background. She can faintly make out the words to Candy Shop playing in whatever bar he was pretending not to be in. “You’re out.”

“Babe, I can talk, are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I hate that ‘mhm’, ‘hm’ shit you guys do just…Heaven, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had, like, the most shitty rehearsal.” Heaven looks out at a couple of students stumbling drunkenly, shaking her head to herself as she sees a t-shirt with distinct letters spelling out “The Duncanator” on it. “The guy playing Romeo, he’s like a fucking idiot and he wants to fuck me-”

“Don’t most people?”

“I’m not-” Heaven huffs out a breath, head dropping forward against the wheel in annoyance. This is who her boyfriend is. He makes jokes about serious things. He doesn’t take anything serious because it never fucking is. But what is she supposed to do? Berate him for trying to make her laugh when she’s upset. Get mad at him for perpetually being in a state of relaxation that she’s almost never in. Heaven doesn’t want to live in the land of not giving a fuck about anything, she isn’t built like that. “H-yeah. That’s funny.” she forces a giggle, scrubbing her hand angrily at the drops that managed to squeeze their way out of her eyes.

“Good, you’re laughing, m’glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yep, thank you, Patrick.”

“No problem, Hev, look I’m out right now but I’ll see you tomorrow right? You’re coming down to Stanford right?”

“Um, yeah.” She says staring out at the school buildings from the parking lot. “I’ll be there.”

After a couple more slurred jokes from her boyfriend who shouldn’t be drinking while on tour and a couple attempted calls to Tashi, Heaven climbs out of the car, deciding to just go to the girl’s building herself.

She was determined not to go crawling to he who shall not be named. No. She would not see Art, because then he would give her that look. That look he does with his stupid monochromatic eyes that puppy dog look he gets when she’s happy, when she’s sad, when she’s anything. Like he’ll just do anything. It’s distracting and it makes her feel weird.

And she’s taken. So, they’ll stick to texting, that’s safe. So, no, she won’t call him. Not to tell him about her shitty day. Not even to ask him where the actual hell Tashi’s building was.

So instead she planned to wander aimlessly until she saw a building that looked familiar.

She walks along the cobblestone roads, squinting to find something that would remind her which direction she was supposed to be going in.

“Heaven?”

The woman freezes at the voice behind her, cursing herself and whatever god that curated this situation as she slowly turns to see Art. “Arthur.”

Her breath catches as she gets a good look at him. He’s even hotter than she remembers, standing tall amongst a group of his teammates. His racket bag slung across his back, the strap tight against his chest that was currently filling out the dorky ass Stanford Men’s Tennis shirt that he was somehow making look like the sexiest outfit ever.

This college tennis shit was really working for him.

But what brings the wide smile to her face that she couldn’t bite back, despite how much the logical part of her brain telling her she needed to, is those damn puppy dog eyes and the bright crooked smile he offers her.

Art takes a step forward, it almost looks like a reflex, but he pauses, smile dropping slightly as he tucks his hands into his tennis shorts, waiting to see what Heaven does.

And she can’t help it. Her legs move on their own, she can swear she didn’t consciously take three quick steps over to Art. And she didn’t take two more big ones when he met her the rest of the way, arms open as he dips low lifting her up and hugs her waist. And she definitely doesn’t wrap her legs around his waist when they meet. “Hi.” he says softly, swinging her back and forth.

“Hi!” she smiles back.

“What are you” he places her down so close to himself that their chests brush, craning his head down to look at her, brushing his thumbs over her hips through her t-shirt before releasing her fully. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, Pepperdine.” She tries to shrug easily, struggling to focus with him this close.

“You’re…uh, you’re a day early.” Art says, biting his lip a little, rocking on his feet.

“I know, I just had a rough day and I came to, um-”

“See Tashi.” He finishes for her, nodding his head. “You had a rough day?” He asks, eyes searching hers as he ignores the calls from his friends behind him, demanding that he introduce them to his hot friend. Art’s lips part as if he’s planning to say something before he snaps it shut, a beat passes before he trusts himself to speak again. “She’s gonna be on the court until late.”

“Fuck, yeah, she’s gonna be pissed, she hates when I throw her off before matches, she has this whole ritual situation, I just really couldn’t be at school right now.” Heaven groans, tossing her head back in frustration.

“You could, you could come with me. I’m gonna go off campus for a little bit, go to Dave & Buster’s with my friends, you should come and blow off some steam, Hev.”

Heaven glances around suddenly conscious that she drove all the way here in a haze like a maniac and despite telling herself she wasn’t here for Art she managed to be here, standing in front of him, notably not with Tashi. And yet, next thing she knew, she was kicking her feet, sitting on Art’s bed while he took a shower, so they could go to Dave & Buster’s.

Art knows that what he’s doing is not…healthy. It’s not good that he’s currently out with his best friend’s girlfriend (though one might still argue that Patrick had two and Art had none.) and he was enjoying the fact that everyone here thought she was his.

It had started with his teammates. They’d seen the movie scene-esque display of Art lifting the girl in the air in excitement upon seeing her and suddenly, murmurs of the fact that Art doesn’t really entertain any of the girls who talk to him on campus seemed to make sense to them. They nudged him as they walked and wiggled their eyebrows as he held the door open for Heaven, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back.

He’d tried correcting them. Originally. Sort’ve.

Well, Matt asked if she was his girl and he’d responded with ‘c’mon man, what does it look like?’

Jesus, maybe there is a reason me and Patrick are friends.

But they were having so much fun, playing games and Heaven had been smiling so much. At him. And he didn’t have to share it. He was fucking happy.

“Let me get you something to eat, on me, Hev, come on.” Art says nudging her as he pulls their game card out of the skee ball machine. “Then we can talk about your shitty day.”

Heaven’s nose scrunches in a way that makes Art want to kiss it, her lips, whatever else she has to offer and she snatches the game card from him and takes a couple of steps back, a smirk on her face as she holds it away from him. “Or…we could play some more games.”

“I’m hungry.” Art cocks his head to the side, reaching for the card and laughing when she snatches it away. “And I want you to come eat with me. Please.”

“One more game.”

“Come on, Art, the lady wants one more game.” One of his teammates, Kyle says smugly, tossing his arm around Heaven as he approaches from behind.

Heaven’s lip curls in dismissal for a moment before her expression morphs into something more sinister. “Yeah,” she says sweetly, “M’just asking for one more.”

“Hev.” Art scoffs, holding his hand out again, embarrassed at how irritated he is by Kyle’s arm over her shoulders.

“How about ping pong? If you win, we’ll go get some food and talk about whatever you want to talk about. And if,” her manicured hand reaches up and pats the one Kyle is dangling off her shoulder. “Kyle wins, I’ll play some games with him.”

Something feels so familiar about this moment. The innocent look on her face was only marred by the challenging raised eyebrow that Heaven couldn’t help but have. The look of expectation. It reminds Art of the day he’d lost to Patrick. The expression of ‘is that all?’ on her face.

This is stupid. He thinks, working his jaw as he stares down at the girl. It’s dumb.

“This is really fucking dumb.” he laughs, bouncing the ping pong ball on the table, rolling his eyes when Heaven shrugs, tilting her head as if to say, ‘go on’. “You’re seriously gonna go with him if I lose?”

“You’re not gonna fucking lose.” she murmurs under her breath. “We’re just having fun.”

“You’re trying to get out of talking about whatever you’re upset about, but m’not gonna forget-”

“Kiss for good luck?”

That has him whipping his head to her. He would be embarrassed if he could think about anything other than the offer she’d placed on the table. Like a dog to a bone immediately all of his focus is drawn down to her lips. “What?”

“You heard me, Arthur.” Heaven grabs his hand holding the paddle and brings it up between their faces, switching it’s position so that he’s holding the handle out to her and brings her glossed lips down to it, kissing it softly. “Kay, good luck!” she chirps, bouncing away from him to watch the game.

“That’s not fair!” Kyle calls from the opposite end of the table.

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle.”

As dumb as Art thinks this stupid little was, he absolutely demolishes Kyle. Like it wasn’t even fun, at least, not for Art’s opponent. The blond played like he was at the fucking US Open and didn’t let the guy get more than one point that he only got because Art briefly looked away, eyes following Heaven as she skirts off to use the bathroom. “I think I won that one, Kyle.”

“Jesus, Donaldson, I wasn’t really going to get to go off with your girl. It’s fuckin’ ping pong at Dave & fuckin’ Buster’s.” His teammate rolls his eyes, tossing the paddle on the table before stalking off.

Art feels the heat rise to his face. All night while he’d been enjoying playing pretend he’d somehow avoided Heaven hearing what the guys were saying. He was quite literally ready to tuck his head to hide from the embarrassment when he felt an arm slide and loop with his.

“Oh, what the fuck ever, he’s a sore loser, you were better, that’s why he’s not fucking ranked like you are.”

He wants to ask her how she knows that. Did Tashi tell her or did she look up the men’s teams rankings on her own. But instead he just guides her over to a table to collect his prize.

“Take the last one.”

“Mm no, can’t have it.” Heaven says, taking a sip of her water.

Art’s jaw clenches as he thinks about how the smallest attempt at a bullshit comeback from some dickhead had her questioning herself when Art thinks she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. “He’s an asshole.”

“I agree.”

“And he’s wrong, Hev.”

“Not completely.” she shrugs, swirling her straw in her glass. “Not statistically…for a ballerina.”

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the red booth seat. “Well, maybe male ballerina’s need to work out more then, I can pick you up just fine.”

“Art.”

“I’ll come be Romeo. Put him out of a job and get to kiss you, that sounds like a pretty good deal.”

Heaven laughs, shifting in her seat, lifting one leg into the chair, wrapping her arms around it and resting her cheek on her knee. “Thank you for letting me talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Art smiles, quietly taking a sip of his own water.

“Now say what you wanted to say.”

“I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Yes you do,” Heaven scoffs, you’ve got that look on your face, you wanna say something just say it, Arthur.”

“I told you I hated that name and you haven’t stopped saying it since.” he snorts.

“It’s your given name.” She exclaims. Her big brown eyes stare up at him from across the table and he can feel his heart racing in his chest. “Okay. Art. You always let me talk to you. Talk to me.”

Art swallows deeply. This is the part where she runs. He gets real and honest about his feelings and she retreats to Tashi’s side or under Patrick’s arm. He knows this isn’t healthy to do to himself. But then he has the shittiest thought that crosses his mind.

This time they’re not here.

He’d won the game today. There was no Patrick to beat in tennis, he wasn’t in a tug-o-war with Tashi. He wasn’t distracted by anything. He should at least try, shouldn’t he?

Like, how long could the situation between the 3 of them last anyway. Here she was again, upset, alone, and where were they. Tashi might have some years on him regarding Heaven but Art knows Patrick. He loves the guy, but he’s not good for them, either of them. This was just some fantasy for him, having two girlfriends, it wasn’t real for him. That’s why he’s here and she’s not. That’s why he was there when Heaven needed him when Patrick was out doing god knows what.

“Why didn’t you call me when you were upset? We text all of the time.”

Heaven breathes out heavily as she nods her head, as if she’d been expecting this conversation. “I called my girlfriend. She was busy.”

“And then?”

“And then I called my boyfriend, Art. Your best friend, Patrick, remember him?” Art scoffs, shaking his head and Heaven sits up fully. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” she persists.

“It’s just, what makes him your boyfriend? Because I just…Patrick Zweig isn’t really the boyfriend type, is all.” He shrugs.

“Maybe he changed for me and Tashi. We tend to have that effect on people.” Heaven jokes.

Art laughs humorously. “I know.”

“Oh.”

“I just want you to be with someone that loves you.” He says in a tired tone. “That’s all I’ve been wanting for you-” He knows he should stop here. That placing seeds of doubt wasn’t the way he should win her. This was fucked up. She’s his friends’ girlfriend. His friend.

“And, you don’t think I have someone like that now?” She asks. That same brow raised as she crossed her arms, staring him down. It's the same bone chilling look she gave Tashi when she’d asked her about her audition dance. He can’t help but wilt a little under the stare, not backing down completely but suddenly questioning his decision to open this line of discussion.

“I…I just want you to be with someone who loves you, Heaven.”

Her face softens and Art can breathe a little easier. Brown eyes wide as she takes him in, shifting in her seat back and forth as if she was really thinking.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Art nods solemnly, hesitating slightly before standing, stepping out of the booth and walking over to Heaven’s side, holding his hand out to her. “I know what I’m about to say is so fucked up, and if you dont want to, I’ll listen. We’ll be friends, but…let me show you. I’ve, jesus this is embarrassing, I’ve been pretending you were mine all night. Pretend with me for tonight. Let me show you. Please.”

They're quiet the whole way back to campus. Heaven held Art’s hand, or maybe she let him hold hers…neither of them were quite sure. And they made their way back. And they both waited. They both were on the edge of their seats to see what happens next. They waited for Heaven to open her mouth, to ask him with indignity to direct her to Tashi’s dorm because, surely, the girl was back from the gym now.

They waited for the wave of guilt to hit Art, for him to remember who she actually belongs to, to remember that she’s only his in his fantasies and send her on her way to wait for Patrick to get here tomorrow. But instead, when his phone vibrates in the cupholder of his car with a text from his best friend, he simply flips it over before Heaven can see.

Once they’re safely inside his dorm Heaven is basically shaking next to him and he pauses, brushing his thumb against the smooth skin of her cheek. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to do anything.”

I’ll just die if we don’t, that’s all. He thinks.

Her eyes are shut tightly but she leans her face into his hand. “I’m scared. Meeting you guys was just supposed to be fun. This feels…” serious. “I’m…I’ve never felt like this for anyone other than her. So I was trying to avoid you.” she whispers, finally opening her eyes to look at him.

His heart almost hurts because he’s causing her stress. Almost. But this was the first time that she’s been clear that she’s feeling what he feels, and he physically cannot stand not kissing her. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, leaning down, brushing her lips with his own. “M’sorry.”

The gap finally closes between the two of them and Art feels like he’s really breathing for the first time. Like, up until this point he’d been holding his breath his whole life, like he had a taste of real air when they’d kissed in that theater and now he was breathing. The only air worth breathing is Heaven’s.

Heaven’s head swims as Art lifts her up, laying her down onto his small bed, placing her gently as if she was fine china. It feels unfair. She didn’t know that something could feel this good. Being with Tashi and Patrick, it’s the first time she’s really felt something. Tashi was the first person Heaven ever loved. But it was so alarming how quickly Art was making all of that feel less all consuming. All she could think about was him. The only time her mine was this clear, this focused, was…when she danced.

Art places kisses along Heaven’s cheek, jaw and neck before making his way to her ear, groaning when he feels her hand in his hair. “Heaven, baby, let me touch you, please.”

He pulls back to look at her to wait. He needed confirmation. He needed to know she was okay with it. That it would make her happy. “Okay.” she looks up at him from his pillow with a soft look, lifting her hand to his cheek and smiles gently as he kisses the palm of her hand.

“Yeah?” He asks desperately as he kisses his way up her arm.

Heaven brings Art’s hand to her lips, mirroring his action and kissing his palm before nodding.

That’s all he needs.

He has to focus hard as he breathes in her sweet, flowery scent as he drags his lips along her torso before he reaches the edge of where her t-shirt meets her pants, nudging the fabric up with his nose to expose the skin of her stomach and kissing his way back down. He feels himself hardening in his own pants and wills himself to calm down so he doesn’t cum before he even gets to really touch her. He reaches his hand down, undoing her buttons on her pants and looks up to the ceiling briefly as he hears her kicking the fabric down her legs, counting backward from 20.

“Kiss me again?” she asks sweetly.

The question barely leaves her lips before he’s racing up to meld their lips back together, humming in relief when he gets to breathe from her again. When he finally lets her get some real air, she takes his dominant hand this time holding it in both of hers. “I love your hands, Art. They’re strong,” she kisses one finger, “and talented,” she kisses the next, “and part of you. Let you play some really good fucking tennis.”

Art’s laugh turns into a moan when she places the two fingers into her warm mouth, staring up at him through her lashes. “Oh fuck, Heaven.”

She pops his fingers out of his mouth and she wraps her arm around his neck to hold his face close as Art slides hand down her body, holding the wet fingers away as he pauses briefly to squeeze her breast, drinking in the sound she makes. He would say he wants that noise as his ringtone, but then other people would hear it. Heaven. That’s what she is. His own personal heaven.

As he pushes his fingers into her his own grunt frustrates him as he tries to memorize the gasp that falls from her plump lips and chases it with his own. He pushes his fingers in and out of her again and again to hear her voice pitch as she chants his name and gasps obscenities. His own moans and whines fall from his lips and his ears and cheeks turn red at how loud he is.

His suitemates have to be used to the sound of him cumming with her name on his lips by now, especially considering his one attempt at not being in love with his best friend’s girlfriend that led him to stumble home from a bar just off campus with a sorority girl who promptly slapped the shit out of him and stormed out of the suite screeching when she’d given him head and he cried Heaven’s name when he came. To be fair, he’d gotten her off first…and apologized immensely.

But this? They weren’t gonna wanna room with him next semester. Fuck them.

He shivers as he feels her tugging his shirt over his head before pulling him back down to her, kissing him deeply again. “I’m gonna cum.” she whimpers, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait, please let me look at you.” Art pleads. Heaven’s head falls back against the pillow as her back arches slightly off of the mattress as she reaches her peak and Art nearly loses it from the sight. Not yet.

“Shit.” Heaven breathes kissing his cheek and neck, running her hands through his blond hair. “Let…let me-”

“One more.” Art blurts, sitting up and looking down at her, smoothing his hand along her body in awe. “Let me have one more, please. Let me taste you, baby. You’re so pretty, Hev. You’re,” he kisses her lower stomach, blue-brown eyes on her as he bites her panties, pulling them down with his teeth. “You’re a goddess. I want…I love you.”

“Art-” she gasps, pushing up onto her elbows to look down at him between her legs.

“One more, Heaven, please.” He pleads one more time, stopping just short of his destination to give her time. If…if she didn’t want it he wouldn’t do it. But he’d die. He would, he’d fucking die.

But all she does is bite the collar of her shirt. And Art could fucking cry at how good she tastes. He kisses her center deeply, licking his way up her slit, sucking on her clit, holding her legs open as she squirms above him. Murmuring against her through his own moans. “I know, baby, I know.” He reaches his hand up tugging the fabric of the shirt to pull it from her mouth to stop her from muffling her cries. “Heaven, beautiful, talk to me, honey, please.”

“I-I’m, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? I wanna make you feel so good.” he whines against her thigh.

“Fuck, Art-” she turns her head to muffle into the pillow, squeaking when he gently tugs her down the bed away from it.

“Please don’t fight it. Cum for me baby, please. One more, Heaven.”

“Fuck.” She gasps.

This time when she cums Art can’t help it. Between her sounds filling his ears, her scent in his nose and her taste on his tongue, he was moaning out her name and cumming in his pants before he could stop it. He breathes heavily and sits on the bed because he’s genuinely worried he’s gonna pass out, the black spots in his vision apparently an after effect of coming harder than he’d ever had. “Fuck, Heaven. Heaven?” He breathes, confused when he can finally see again and the girl is no longer in his bed and his room door is open.

She comes padding back through his door and Art thinks if he wasn’t empty, he could cum again to the sight of her stumbling back on wobbly legs, wearing his shirt, holding a washcloth. “Least I could do since you tried to kill me by making me nut.” She sits next to him and he intakes a breath as she unbuttons his pants, coaxing him out of them and his boxers and taking the warm cloth and cleaning his dick.

“Fuck, baby-” he whines, burying his face in her hair. “Okay-”

“You know you sound like you’re having sex when you play tennis? Or you’re playing tennis when you have sex. Since you played tennis first.” She smiles, smoothing his messy blond hair.

“Fuck tennis, I wanna do that.” He jokes, lifting his head and reaching for a clean pair of boxers from his drawer before climbing into his bed and holding his arms out for her to climb into.

“As a pro? That’s prostitution, handsome.” she smiles, laying herself between his arms and entangling their legs.

“M’not chargin’ you.” he mumbles sleepily, kissing her head.

“Shut up, go to sleep.”

#oc #love #art donaldson #art donaldson challengers #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x oc #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x oc #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #patrick zweig #tashi duncan x oc #tashi duncan x reader #earn it #challengers spoilers #challengers movie #challengers 2024

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tj-dragonblade · 1 month ago

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[Connect 4 FIC] Weekend Arts and Crafts

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1615 Tags: human AU, fluff, arts and crafts, crossover

Notes: For the @sandman-connect4 prompt Weave which is not the final space I needed but shh, I'll work on that next. This is in the Umbrella Boys universe, somewhere post-first-kiss but still early-ish in their relationship, and guest stars Gale from BG3. If you haven't read the rest of the Umbrella Boys, this can be read as stand-alone; all you need to know is that sharing an umbrella is their dating tradition, whether or not it's even raining.

Summary: Hob and Dream go on a date; Dream gets to meet one of Hob's friends

On AO3

"This class is taught by a colleague of yours?"

"Colleague and a friend, yeah." Hob scratches his chin, tilting the phone away so the sound of his nails through his stubble doesn't carry directly into the speaker. "He teaches astronomy here on campus, but he does some artsy classes at the community center. They're having an observer in to evaluate if the program is worth continued funding, and he'd like the class as full as possible to help with appearances." He spins his chair around, leaning back. "Thought it might make a nice date?"

"Will we be doing pottery? Painting?" Dream's voice comes through the phone, cautious but interested.

"Basket weaving, actually."

"Oh?" There's a little more interest, now, if Hob's not mistaken. Excellent. "I have never tried basket weaving, but I believe I might like to."

Silently, unseen, Hob pumps his fist. "Great! It's Saturday at one-thirty; we could meet up for lunch first if you like?"

"That sounds perfect." He can hear the little smile Dream is wearing. "Text me the details later; I know your next class begins shortly so I will not keep you."

"Thanks, dove. Talk to you later?"

"Of course."

Hob thumbs the 'end call' button, grinning happily. They've been properly dating for a little while now but every time he comes up with something new they can do that catches Dream's interest, it always makes him just a little giddy.

It's barely raining when they leave the cafe on Saturday; it's the sort of rain most Londoners wouldn't bother about an umbrella for, but they have a tradition to uphold. Dream tucks up close against Hob's side and Hob's umbrella covers them both as they stroll leisurely along the streets. Dream is uncertain where precisely the community center might be, and has no qualms in letting Hob lead.

"Your friend is a professor of astronomy, you said?"

"Gale? Yep. Been at UCL near as long as I have."

"How did he come to be teaching art and craft courses?"

Hob chuckles. "Ah, that's a question you'll have to ask him, and I'm sure he'll tell you if you do. Loves to share a good story, he does."

"A storyteller also?" Dream is hopeful that he will get on with this Gale; he would like to mesh well with Hob's friends.

"Oh yes. Especially if they're stories about himself."

Dream's optimism deflates a little. Something of it must transfer through his body language where he's pressed to Hob's side, because Hob laughs lightly. "Don't worry, he's not as obnoxious as I make him sound. A character, without a doubt, but a good bloke. I'm sure you'll like him and if you don't, we can always make an early escape."

"I trust your judgment." And he does; every date he's had with Hob so far has been a net positive and he is certain this will be the same.

They arrive at the community center precisely on time and Hob folds the umbrella away, shaking the dampness out of it first. There are several people there already, once they go inside and find the correct room; Dream is pleased to see that there are still open spaces available so he and Hob need not necessarily be squeezed in close to strangers.

"Greetings!" The man who speaks from the front of the room is remarkably attractive, longish hair half-gathered in a partial up-do, well-trimmed beard, warm smile and sparkling eyes, a dangling silver earring; he wears a deep purple button-down open well past his throat and tucked into tight jeans, a brown leather waistcoat unfastened over it. His shirtsleeves are rolled back to expose hairy forearms that are more toned than one might expect of an academic. His entire physique fills out his clothing in a way that suggests he does not spend any more time behind a desk than absolutely necessary, and Dream is already cataloguing every detail, suggestions of possible characters for future stories taking shape in his head.

The man's smile is broad and brilliant as he addresses the room. "I'm delighted to see so many new faces this afternoon! I? Am Professor Dekarios, of UCL—in my day job, at least. But this is not my day job, and you can call me Gale." He finishes his grandiose introduction with a flourish, face animated as he speaks. "Today, I shall be teaching all of you the wonderful and mysterious secrets of The Weave." He gestures broadly with his hands as he says it, enunciating such that the capitalization is unmistakable, and Dream wonders if perhaps his true passion was theatre before either astronomy or basketry.

He keeps wondering as Gale launches into explanation of the materials they'll be using and the basic components and terminology of this particular style of basket weaving. The man has a gift for speaking, animated in his instructional approach and extremely personable. He's dropped at least one cleverly-terrible pun so far and Dream can see, easily, why this man and Hob get on so well. He can imagine, as he follows instructions and sees a basket beginning to take shape beneath his hands, how charismatic Gale must be in the lecture hall with a captive audience.

They are halfway through the scheduled time, he and Hob chatting amiably over their growing baskets (Dream's is growing faster than Hob's), when Gale stops by in his rounds to see their progress.

"Hob, my friend! You made it!" His eyes turn to Dream, bright with interest. "And you have brought a companion!" He sweeps his gaze down Dream's body and back up, quick but unmistakable.

"'Course I made it, and yeah I thought it'd be a fun date." Hob puts the slightest emphasis on 'date' and Dream watches understanding flicker in Gale's face, flirtatious interest turning to ordinary charm in half a second. It's a fascinating shift. "Gale, this is Dream."

"Ahh, this is Dream!" A different sort of interest lights Gale's eyes, and his smile grows somehow warmer. "Hob has told me a great deal about you. It is a pleasure to meet you." Hob is fidgeting a little awkwardly but Gale pays him no heed, clasping Dream's offered hand and half-bowing over it in a courtly fashion. Dream is charmed despite himself.

"Likewise."

Gale smiles, broad and disarming. "And a pleasure to have you here today; thank you for coming! I can see you're already showing great talent with The Weave." He's released Dream's hand, turned his attention to the half-woven creation in front of Dream.

"It's very intuitive," Dream allows, picking up his in-progress basket to continue. "I am enjoying the process, and I believe I might like to do this again. Its almost meditative, and surely more practice will yield finer results."

"Ahh, indeed, for once you have tasted the magic of The Weave, you must return again and again in the attempt to master it."

Gale says this with the gravity and conviction of the wise old magician in a b-grade film, complete with a single wagging finger, and Dream feels his eyebrows lifting in bemusement. "I'm curious; why do you refer to basket weaving in that way?"

Gale chuckles, a little sheepishly. "I like to lend the craft an air of wonder and mysticism," he says, and Dream gets the sense that he's suddenly seeing a more straightforward glimpse of the man. "This is far from the most popular class on offer, after all. It's my hope that I can make the experience both fun and memorable for those who do sign up. Then, perhaps, they will recommend the class to others—or even return themselves."

"Well you're doing a marvelous job, in my opinion," Hob offers. "This is a lot of fun actually, and you've made it entertaining and easy to follow."

Gale glances between Hob's basket-in-progress and Dream's, which looks far closer to being a basket than Hob's does, and lifts an eyebrow with a smirk. "Easier for some of us than for others, perhaps."

"Hey now," Hob objects half-heartedly, while Dream ducks his head to hide his smile. "Some of us have talents that lie in different directions, is all."

"So long as you are enjoying the experience," Gale says with a grin, turning to move along to the next batch of students.

"Very much, yes," Hob replies, and Dream nods assent.

"I'm delighted to have you both here." Gale pats their table approvingly as he departs.

Dream ultimately finishes his basket before Hob, and spends the remainder of the class time assisting Hob with his—once Hob has admitted that the help would be appreciated, of course. When the allotted hours are up, they pack away their finished projects to survive the trip home and bid Gale farewell before heading out into drizzly late-afternoon London, Hob's umbrella keeping the worst of it off them both.

"It was lovely to meet your friend," Dream says, and means it.

Hob chuckles. "I'm glad."

"And to learn that you speak of me at length to your colleagues."

"I. Well." Hob shrugs a little awkwardly. "I do tend to be a bit chatty, and I've had a lot of fun on our dates so naturally you come up in conversation at work. I'm glad you don't mind."

"It's flattering, truly."

Hob shifts his grip on the umbrella. "I hope Gale wasn't too much?"

"Not at all." Dream snuggles closer against Hob's arm. "A character, as you said, but ultimately a charming one. In fact, I am definitely putting him in my next book."

Hob laughs, long and loud, and Dream smiles softly as they stroll on through the misty rain toward the bus stop that will see them home.

= Started: 11/10/24 Drafted: 11/18/24 Posted: 11/21/24

This is where I admit that I have never played BG3 or any DnD and all my knowledge is via friends and dashboard osmosis. But if you know even less than me and the joke didn't land: Gale is a wizard in his own canon and The Weave is the main magical force he manipulates in spell casting. This was the first thing that came to mind for the prompt and it insisted on being written. Hopefully it is at least worth a chuckle.

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling #wip: umbrella boys

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shiftchii · 3 months ago

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MHA DR INTRO !

˗ˏˋ ABOUT ME

first name: Haruka 遙 "far, distant." last name: Kona 小楠 "small, little, tiny." "camphor tree." age: 15 birthday: January 30 gender: AFAB agender pronouns: she/they sexuality: asexual demi-panromantic MBTI: INTP blood type: O-

birth place: Near Shizuoka Prefecture current living place: Musutafu, Japan (the same building as Izuku) ethnicity: Japanese nationality: Japanese occupation: U.A. High School, Class 1-A

personality: Calm and inexpressive, yet caring. Silent nearly all the time. Gets louder when comfortable. Organized and clean. Very curious about everything.

main hobbies, skills & talents: - martial arts, combat - parkour - puzzles - programming and technology - sketching - biology and chemistry - guitar, piano, drums languages spoken: Japanese, English, Russian, Chinese, Italian, Spanish

˗ˏˋ APPEARANCE

height: 150 cm / 4'11" weight: 32 kg / 70.55 lb skin: ghostly pale, cool undertone, visible blue veins, scarred build: slender, bony, petite, fragile appearance. sleeper build eyes: downturned, lifeless with eyebags, right red, left green hair: mid-length, messy, jet black with white chunks piercings: right eyebrow, left ear: tragus, 3x upper Helix, industrial, 2x conch, 3x lobe, right ear: tragus, daith, 3x upper helix, flat, mid helix, conch, low helix, 3x Lobe tattoos: num. 13 on left upper arm voice claims: Rei Ayanami, fem voice num. 10 from code vein extra: vampire teeth

˗ˏˋ HERO

hero name: Haru quirk: blood manipulation I can control my own blood, whether inside or outside my body, manipulating it like waterbending. I can make it as fluid as water or as solid as metal, and I can alter its temperature and state at will. By increasing my blood pressure, I temporarily boost my strength and speed. To use my blood externally, I must first inflict a wound, but I can reabsorb and recycle it. I can only control another person’s blood through physical contact and up to 1 liter, but if I consume their blood, I can control it remotely and in larger amounts, mainly using this for blood clotting. I'll talk about my Quirk in depth in another post ^^

#cw: blood #shifting #reality shift #shifting realities #reality shifting #reality shifter #shifters #shifting community #shiftblr #mha shifting #mha dr #bnha shifting #bnha dr #shifting intro #shiftblr intro #shifting blog #desired reality

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quilloftheages · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story:

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future.

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one.

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big.

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language.

It was then that I saw him for the first time.

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me.

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him.

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her.

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied.

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation.

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question.

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.”

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable.

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle.

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked.

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.”

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing.

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back.

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him.

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip.

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me.

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.”

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness.

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.”

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.”

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to.

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.”

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed.

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything.

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.”

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual.

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye.

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?”

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.”

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue.

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal.

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.”

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.”

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision.

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine.

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there.

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore.

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire.

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable.

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us.

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite.

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions.

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns.

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect.

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle.

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans.

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more.

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise.

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face.

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.”

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern.

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze.

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.”

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said.

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod.

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together.

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours.

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece.

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson.

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy.

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock.

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye.

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough. ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive.

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.”

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down.

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history.

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by.

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.”

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined.

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere.

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script.

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth.

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message.

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable.

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides.

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence.

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal.

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all.

Trust me.

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me.

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me.

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him.

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison.

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore.

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay.

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go.

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments.

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together.

But Paris was also where I began to heal.

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over.

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost.

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me.

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again.

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope.

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on.

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too.

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself.

Everything was getting better – until the war began.

#Hans Landa #inglorious basterds #fanfiction #Hans Landa x OC #creative writing #christoph waltz

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andyzreality · 3 months ago

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⋆ band dr intro !

｡‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ — I come home, [he] lifted up [his] wings I guess that this must be the place...

｡‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ — I will find a city, find myself a city to live in...

december 5, 1974.

i moved to new york city in october with the help of my uncle (whom i had been staying with since i graduated from yale in may). it's a small, kinda dingy place, a bachelor on the lower east side, but with how much i was making, it was about as much as i could afford, and i really don't want to end up having to ask my parents for help, as much as they'd probably chip in. i'm taking a gap year (that might end up being two), to figure myself out and decide if i should try to apply for a graduate program, and in the meantime, i've been working at a record store a few blocks from my apartment. like i said, it's not the greatest salary in the world, far from it, but the place is pretty cool and i like the other guy working here, Danny. his parents own the place. people also come in sometimes to post ads on the corkboard near the entrance.

speaking of which, when i came in this morning, Danny pointed out an ad someone had put up looking for a bass player. he knew i played and was looking to be part of a band. that really is the whole reason i was doing the whole "gap year" thing, after all. i want to make this music thing work. it's been my dream since i was a kid. that, and being an author, of course.

so, i wrote down the number on the ad...

｡*ﾟ about me !

｡‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ — Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down...

name: anders "andy" stephen alden gender: male pronouns: he/him age: 22 dob: 10/31/1952 sexuality: biromantic bisexual

occupation: record/music store employee education: b.a. in english from yale (class of '74) languages: english, german, french hobbies: playing bass and guitar, writing, listening to records, reading, cooking

instruments: bass guitar, bass synth, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, double bass

appearance:

｡*ﾟ relationships !

｡‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ — Strange but not a stranger...

⋆ david — bandmate / (future) significant other

he's the voice of the band, our lead singer. he can be pretty quiet, even a little awkward at times, but he's incredibly intelligent. there's something about him that captivates me.

⋆ tina — bandmate

ah, tina! sweet, smart, creative. she plays guitar and does some of the backup vocals. she was actually reluctant to be part of the band, but chris convinced her.

⋆ chris — bandmate

chris is cool! we get along well enough. he's our drummer and he's also tina's boyfriend. he also has a large record collection that i "borrow" from time to time.

⋆ jerry — bandmate

so, he's not part of the band yet. after the modern lovers broke up earlier this year, he went back to harvard to get his master's. he's cool though, and talented. he can do vocals, play guitar, keyboards, synth.

#; andy writes #; my realities #; band dr #desired reality #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #anti shifters dni #shifting #shifting blog #dr scrapbook #dr intro

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tccicomputercoaching · 2 days ago

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Programming Training Institutes in Ahmedabad

Ahmedabad is turning out to be a hub for aspiring programmers, with numerous training institutes offering courses in various programming languages. Among these, TCCI Computer Coaching Institute has carved a niche as a premier destination for programming enthusiasts. This blog explores why TCCI should be your top choice for programming training in Ahmedabad.

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The process of joining is pretty simple. Contact us today to get more information regarding our programming courses, fee structure, and batch schedules.

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#TCCI - Tririd Computer Coaching Institute #Computer Training Institutes near me in Ahmedabad #IT Training Courses in Ahmedabad #Programming Language Courses in Ahmedabad #computer classes in Iskon-ambli road ahmedabad

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smaptain-smerica · 2 years ago

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Female Reader x Rooster

Time: Post-Top gun: Maverick

Y/n Blackwood - L/n, daughter of Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood. Y/n took a strong interest in planes from a young age. Knowing her father was an esteemed pilot drew her even further into the navy. Quickly, she became one of the best solo pilots and graduating at the top of her class at Top Gun.

Her next mission? Return to Top Gun, Face certain death, romantic interests, and finally, her thought-to-be-dead, father.

This book contains strong language and sexual content that may be sensitive readers under the age of 18

This story was originally posted on Wattpad, follow me on there for faster updates. I have published a non-binary version of this story published there for those who do not identify as female or use she/her pronouns. It will follow the exact same story line. Link to Wattpad Account Link to the Non-Binary version

Master list

Our House

I stood near the doorway as Bradley and Jake stalked confidently into the depths of the bar. This was one of the only times I had seen them get along, seen them willing to work together.

My heart raced with anger and anxiety. I didn't want to have to face my student again, I was angry he thought he could get away with it but being in his presence still brought back that small amount of fear that I felt.

I circled the bar in order to get close enough to hear what the two men were saying. Bradley had hung back to talk to Penny. I assumed he was telling her what happened by the way she glared at my former student.

On the other hand, Jake had made himself comfortable behind the bar, strolling in like he owned the place. His arms collided with the table causing the whole bar top to shake. I watched as Ghost lifted his head to look into the eyes of his teacher.

"Hey there Ghost." Jake said casually as he gripped ghosts beer glass in his hand, sliding it over to himself and taking a drink from it. Ghosts face turned sour with disgust and distaste.

"Lieutenant Commander." Ghost grumbled.

Somehow Jake seemed to lean further into the table, a smirk growing on his face. "Oh man," Jake sucked his teeth. "That sure is a nice shiner you got there. What happened?"

Ghost had seemed to make the connection as to why Jake was choosing to pick on him. He straightened in his seat and squared off his shoulders, glaring daggers into Jakes eyes.

"None of your fucking business." Ghost growled.

Jakes eyebrows widened upward. "Woah! That's no way to talk to your commander." Jake paused, slinking closer to to Ghost over the bar top. "Of course, that's if you were still part of the program. From what I hear, sounds like you're not anymore."

Ghost shot up, the bar stool from underneath him scooting dramatically across the hardwood. Jake straightened his shoulders back and narrowed his gaze. I had never seen Jake look so angry, so intimidating.

Ghost clenched his fists, looking like he was about to connect with Jakes jaw when he suddenly calmed, stretching his fingers back out. "Come on, Jake." Ghosts voice lightened, as though he was trying to convince a friend to make a decision. "I've seen how she is around you. Hell, I thought she was dating to you because of it. She plays around with guys like us' feelings. How was I supposed to know any different?"

I felt my heart tug downward hearing those words. For some reason, I considered whether or not I had done that to Jake, given our conversation we had in the last few weeks. I did have love for Jake but not in that way.

"You we're supposed to know different because your parents should have taught you better." Bradley's voice was now added to the mix. He stood behind Ghost with his arms cross and eyes narrowed. They were nearly the same height, but Bradley had a lot more bulky muscle than Ghost did, making him look bigger than the other male.

"Don't say shit about my family." Ghost growled while trying to size up to Bradley. Ultimately, he failed because Bradley uncrossed his arms and squared away his shoulders. "But you get to say shit about mine?" Bradley nearly growled, I could see the anger growing in him.

Ghost finally looked Bradley up and down, a huff of realization escaping his lips. "So you're the boyfriend, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm the boyfriend."

I smiled a little to myself. I had never heard us use labels before. Truthfully at this age it wasn't as important to me but hearing him say those words made my heart lift. Watching him defend and protect me made me feel safe, seen, and special.

Jake had joined Bradley's side now, that signature Seresin smirk plastered across his face. "You know," he interrupted. "You've managed to disrespect a lady in the last 5 minutes, and the Navy in the last 5 hours." Jake smirked at the confusion on the younger males face then looked behind them towards the bar.

"Do it Penny." Penny was behind the bar, hand on the rope of the bell with a smirk on her face. She swung her arm back and forward, giving it a good and loud ring, which made the bar erupt in cheers.

"What's that, what does that mean?" Ghost asked. "It means you buy a round of drinks for everyone in the bar." Bradley said cooly.

"And we get to kick you out now." Jake countered Bradley's calmness with venom coming from his tone of voice.

I watched them lift ghost up off the ground. My former student thrashed about to try and break loose but ultimately gave up before he was thrown out onto the sand. "Good riddance, dickhead!" Jake shouted before entering back into the bar.

"Don't come back!" Bradley added before turning on heel back into the bar. The room cheered as they made their way back over to me. The crowd at the bar had no idea the context behind it, they just enjoyed seeing someone get kicked out, but it was nice to hear the cheering. Whether it was for me or not.

I hugged Bradley first. A tight and grateful hug that hopefully expressed the appreciation I was feeling towards him. "Thank you." I whispered in his ear. He responded by giving me a tight squeeze.

"Of course, sweetheart."

When I separated from my hug from Bradley, Jakes hands clasped my shoulders and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "We've got your back, Wolf."

I smiled at Jake gratefully and gave his hand that was resting on my shoulder a pat.

"Come on, let's get drunk." Bradley encouraged me, pushing me towards the bar for a night of drinking and karaoke.

To tell the truth, I had significantly more to drink than Bradley had. His arm was looped around me and supporting my weight. Was it a bluff so he could half carry me into the house? Partially.

He shut and locked the front door behind us, hardly having time to turn around before I had pulled him into a loving kiss. I missed him so much while he was gone, it was almost scary.

Our kissing walked us into the bedroom where I was pushed down onto the soft mattress and he slowly crawled on top of me. The kissing was soft and sweet, the slight tang of beer lingered on his lips.

"I was thinking," Bradley mumbled in between kisses.

"That's dangerous." I quipped back.

"Hey now," Bradley warned as he propped up on his elbows to look down at me. He brushed strands of my hair away from me face and smiled as he did so. The world around me started to spin with every slow blink that I took. I was going to regret the hangover tomorrow.

"Why don't we go look at a couple houses tomorrow?" Bradley suggested.

"But I already live here!" My drunken mind protested.

"This is my house, sweetheart. I thought you wanted your own house." Bradley chuckled gently as he kept stroking my head.

"Why can't it be our house?" This was a thought I was considering for a while now. Truthfully I thought I would hate living with another person. And at first I did, but that time I spent away from Bradley made me realize that with him, it's better. Every day will always be better with him.

"You want to live with me?" He asked quietly, almost astonished I was asking.

"What have I been doing here? I tried to offer you rent but you refused!" I shouted playfully, which caused us to Break out into laughter.

When our eyes met after, I saw my entire future. Waking up and going to sleep looking at those brown eyes with flecks of green. I sometimes wondered if our kid would have those eyes. I don't know if it was the liquid courage or my own that led me to what I said next.

"I think I want to marry you."

Bradley just sat there completely still, not saying anything. I felt my heart begin to beat with anxiety. Was that the wrong thing to say? Did he not think the same?

But then he smiled. A slow, crawling smile that turned into a wide and bright one. "Really?" He asked in a voice that was hardly a whisper.

I nodded as an answer. Bradley's hands traveled to each side of my face, the look of joy never leaving his face as his eyes moved over every inch of my face. "I've known from the moment I met you I wanted to marry you."

My emotions got the better of me as I brought my head up to kiss Bradley. His hands held my head as he reciprocated the kiss with just as much passion. The kissing went on for only a few more moments before he pulled away and looked back down at me.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you too." I responded with as much eagerness and enthusiasm as him.

"Come on let's get to bed." Bradley patted the comforter before propping himself up on his arms. I quickly grabbed the collar of his shirt and brought his body back down on top of mine.

"Can we do something else first?" I asked, a mischievous smirk on my face.

A smirk of his own crept across his face, shifting his mustache. He sat up above me and practically tore off his shirt.

"Alright, sex, then bed."

Next Chapter in Progress

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