Architect of Hope

♦️ Indie ♦️ ♦️ Semi-selective ♦️ ♦️ Reeve Tuesti from Final Fantasy VII ♦️ ♦️Penned by HMR ♦️ ♦️ Sideblog to controlthroughfear ♦️

[brilcrist]

Lemme give u all:

FF7Rebirth countdown - Shinra's edition~

Reeve, sir. Lookin good!!!😭🙌

[architectofhope]

dogof-war​:

Heidegger’s body shivers with excitement, nerves twitch neath words and teasing. The general can only gently writhe against the binds as Reeve gets closer - every hair stands on end, his thighs trembling with a gentle quiver as the other’s breath begins to warm them. In his fantasy and in his desire, Heidegger pulls his head back - his breaths hitch as eyes close and lips part. 

Thinking about that night back in HQ brings forth further feelings of arousal, as if the heat of Reeve between his legs isn’t enough of a turn on. His cock throbs, an ache that begs for attention and is quickly given such by the lash of the other’s tongue. Magnar’s lips pull apart in an audible but soft moan, he’s never been one to make too much noise in the bedroom, but there’s no denying the way that Reeve has caught him hook, line and sinker. 

“Reeve-” he can’t keep the man’s name on his lips for too long, heavy breaths confessing his own self-control (or rather lack of) in gentle coos. “Oh Reeve, please-” 

it hardly takes Reeve’s hand or tongue to aid in the throb of Heidegger’s member against his abs, with every gentle touch comes a jerk, the head of his cock damp with anticipation-

his head pulls down, eyes opening to drift toward the sight of his lover’s tease. His thighs twitch a little harder this time, his arms flexing with the pull of the binds. If he could pull fingers through Reeve’s hair and press his cock between those lips, he absolutely would. 

Restraints bring him further pleasure, heat burning atop his skin as teeth clench into his bottom lip; this torture is so entirely satisfying, his ungoverned body worshipping every touch of the other. 

“Keep going-”

  There was something so uncharacteristic, almost jarring about hearing Heidegger beg like that, the soft plead of his voice a mix of pleasurable torture as cuffs rattled and muscles flexed with his own anticipatory restlessness. Reeve felt nearly certain the man would rut himself to completion there on top of the blankets out of sheer frustration even if that tongue had never deigned to caress, but tempting as it was Reeve had other plans.

  He would not punish the quiet urging this time with its hopeful, libidinous tones and it’s polite requests prior. Also, he had no intention of stopping, so it was mostly rhetorical in nature. That mouth would tempt and toy, barely there and all consuming by fits and starts until Heidegger was gasping with uncertainty about which it would be. A glistening thread would snap from the tip of his tongue tethered to the engorged flesh of the man’s cock as mouth climbed that dark trail of hair to his navel, lapping a light flick just below it as he watched his partner’s expressions with vested interest. 

  “How is it, even with you tied up like this, I still wind up with you in my mouth, hmm?” he teased the man with a small curl of a smile, fingers wrapping around his girth and giving him a few measured strokes from base to tip as mouth toyed with inner thigh, hip bones, the stacks of muscles cut against his rib-cage, defined by years of training and service. 

  “I could finish you like this. Spend you on my hand. Let you lay here undone while I get some uninterrupted work done for a change,” he lifted a brow, hand continuing its pace as he leaned into his other elbow. “Would you like that?”

[architectofhope]

dogof-war​:

Heidegger nods in thanks at the extra help, any old bits would do well to keep the fire ablaze. It’d be something that they’d have to keep going for the next few weeks and Odin knows, it would quickly become Heidegger’s passion project. Something to focus on between the cold nights and the naked man beside him. 

He could pour time and effort into the flame, all of it eventually for nothing as the fire would fade…not that such a harsh reality hadn’t been relevant before. Heidegger would get over it. 

The general shifts a look from the flame to Reeve, his expression unmoving at the revelation. It would hardly come as a surprise that Reeve couldn’t hunt - Heidegger always knew he was soft. A part of him demands he scoff and make a jibe but something holds him back - perhaps it’s because he’d always held a penchant for animals. A respect for them that he’d not hold toward another man. Animals demanded more kind, their ways so simple that it brings about some peace in the general. When he was young, he’d been berated whilst in the army for not enjoying the hunt. As always, he had sucked it up and got on with it.

He’d do the same now.

“I understand.” He responds sharply, eyes shaking off of Reeve to face the trees in the short distance. Standing to his feet, Heidegger takes a breath before he retrieves his knife from the small satchel given to each of them at the very beginning. He turns to Reeve, a slight grin - though he hardly looks happy. “Mind coming out to spot with me?” 

Maybe he could teach the other a thing or two about hunting - Heidegger wouldn’t mind the bonding time, even if the subject matter is utterly ghastly. 

  I understand. Words of praise may have eluded him, softer tones, the first hints of teamwork passing by without ceremony, and yet... those two words struck him as something foreign, something unusual between them. Heidegger had made so little effort to understand him in the years they’d known one another — in fact, some days it seemed the exact opposite, as if he looked for reasons to disagree or find fault in his fellow executive’s words. Reeve found himself staring at the other, stricken momentarily speechless, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Where was the jab? The harsh criticism? The systematic piecing apart of his character (or lack thereof)? And on top of that the other was asking him for assistance? Not telling or commanding it of him?

  “Sure,” he stammered with the sudden recollection of his words, dark lashes fluttering, pushing himself off the log and brushing off his backside thoughtlessly as one might dust a pair of nice slacks; a habit he’d drop in days to come, no doubt, when dirt became a welcome shield against the elements. “But we probably shouldn’t stray too far — wouldn’t want the fire dying on us,” he gestured to it. “Or worse, the whole jungle going up in flame,” he muttered, adjusting his pack in front of him modestly.

Our contestants have mustered shelter and heat, but how will they fare with food and clean water? The posh executive life no doubt leaves these two unaccustomed to the pangs of hunger — will their conflicting skill-sets prove useful in their time of need, or a burden when it comes to one of the most important factors of surviving in the harsh wilderness: finding sustenance? Stay tuned to find out after a message from our sponsor!

[architectofhope]

makeupandmateria​:

Her request being denied, Scarlet rolled her eyes and satisfied her craving as best she could by twirling the cigarette between her fingers.

“Of course. You’re a genius, Tuesti - a genius, and that’s why you don’t get it. You’ve got your scholarship, you’ve got your research, and soon you’ll have your second, third, or maybe even fourth degree, along with a cushy career-track job to boot. That’s how it’s supposed to play out - but as you’ve noted, Shinra has what they want from you. You’re an investment that’s already yielded sufficient dividends to merit dumping the minute you look to be a liability. As long as you remain a graduate student, you’re a valuable asset to the company; but as far as a certain Director of Urban Planning is concerned, the moment you graduate - plot twist! - you are very much a liability. Shinra isn’t a monolithic entity composed of one mind; it’s a corporation that employs tens of thousands of bodies, most of whom value their jobs and will do anything to protect them - even if it means cutting down the very talent upon which the future stands.”

Scarlet began to approach Reeve, stepping closer with each sentence.

“Do you know how I know this, Tuesti? I know this, because after six years of attempting to transfer from Public Outreach to Advanced Weapons Development, within six months I was offered the ‘opportunity’ by Director Allen to carry out the capstone project of a lifetime. Make no mistake about it: mine might lay hidden under layers of foundation and cosmetics, unvalidated by prestigious scholarships and academic honors - but I too possess genius. The scaffolding that now dominates the Junon skyline? That is the cradle for my brainchild - the Sister Ray; and on the blueprints for that gun are printed my signature in the capacity of chief engineer. Precisely seven-hundred and fifteen days from now - this Director Allen has decreed - the Sister Ray’s inauguration as peace-keeper par excellence will be televised around the world, and one of two things will happen.”

A rhetorical pause, during which up went a hand and two fingers, her opposite still fiddling with her cigarette.

“Either it will fire a shot halfway around the globe into the waters of Wutai, or it will backfire and - by my calculations - take out half of Junon with it; and as far as I can tell, there is precisely one factor that will determine its, my, and this city’s fate: your experimental Mako reactor design.”

Scarlet lowered her hand and tilted her head aside just so.

“That is why I am here. You may have the world within the ivory tower figured out, but of the world above the plate, you know nothing; and if you hope to have a career beyond these hallowed halls, you are going to need someone on your side capable of turning that plate upside down. Seven-hundred and fifteen days from now, there will be a reckoning - and I fully intend to come out on top. You can join me above the plate, or you can watch as bureaucratic incompetence sees everything beneath burn. If I have to explain the rewards and consequences of that, Tuesti, I am afraid we are both beyond hope.” @architectofhope​

  So his assessment had been correct — the project that loomed over his daily commute day in and day out was a weapon. He’d kept some small tab on the materials being shipped in and out, the parts, the work-orders commissioned and the company logos plastered on the safety fencing surrounding the towering scaffolds. He’d inferred as much, but what sort of military marvel they were building had escaped him until this moment. 

  She was weaving webs with her words, traps of her own design with which to snare him, and he powerless to stop her as he listened. How carefully she chose her inflection, the strength of her tone, her use of metaphor, the subtle patronization with which she put him on a rung beneath her as she carefully sawed off the ones below him as if to spite the both of them. 

  His genius would be his downfall, would it? Well, it seemed she’d see to that. 

  “I’m beginning to see why you couldn’t cut it in Public Outreach — if that gun shoots half as well as you shoot yourself in the foot, Miss Scarlet, you won’t have any need for me,” he muttered lowly, his patience wearing thin by the stiffness of his jaw. 

  She was holding him hostage with threat of her own ineptitude, appealing to his life’s work as a way to ensure her own didn’t burn down and take her and half of Junon with it. He wasn’t certain how he felt about this, both astounded and somewhat impressed at the audacity she displayed in her admissions. 

  “So what’s in this for me — aside from the obvious curbing of unintended casualties? You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not well versed in negotiation with terrorists,” he jested, admittedly a bit savagely. “Weapons technology is not my specialty, and I fear it may send the wrong message for me to focus my attentions on sectors out of my expertise. I have no interest in working under you, Miss Scarlet — no insult intended. I’ve got my sights higher than that,” he spoke matter-of-factly, pushing himself off the desk and circling back around to where he once sat. 

  “If ShinRa is so ready to take my designs and discard me, as you suggest, and you are propositioning my aid to further your success in said company, by all accounts, Miss Scarlet, I believe you’ve done yourself a disservice in being so very honest,” his lips pressed into a thin, mirthless smile, fingertips pressed to his desk as he gazed at her. “You’ve done little thus far to convince me this endeavor is in my best interest.”

[wombywoo]

various hairstyle sketches ~

[architectofhope]

dogof-war​:

Reeve comforts him like none other can - the architect seeing sides of the general that he’d not laid bare before. For a man so high strung, Reeve dismantles each and every knot, his fingers delicate on the marred skin of an aged ex-SOLDIER. 

Regret sits heavy beneath those scars, anguish not only for his loss but for the way he once treated the man beside him. Cruel jokes that had become even crueller opinions; a fight started whenever a fight could be. Looking back, Heidegger is embarrassed - resentful of his own over-indulgence. 

The only way he can respond is with an arm over Reeve’s, an embrace that pulls him in so close that he can feel the warm breaths of his lover on his chest. 

“You’re a good man, Reeve-” 

Heidegger had greeted the good of the world before, himself never quite a fit for such a magnificent lot - all he can do is admire and serve. Loyalty to a fault or rather, many. 

“Too good for me-” although his tone is lighthearted, a truth balances on each word and hangs off of his lips. The same lips that can’t help but be pressed against the heat of Reeve’s forehead, a long pucker that remains on skin for a few seconds before a hand lifts his lover’s chin. 

Brown eyes admire everything about the other man, the general willing to sacrifice his ego in these softer moments. 

“Thank you-” he doesn’t await an answer, the thickness of his lips making a move for Reeve’s.

The press of their affections is a delight to feel on his skin, the graze of his lover’s beard on his own always a feeling that would provoke a curl in the corner of his lip. If he could tell him how he felt - he would - he would say it plainly and simply and he would say

I love you.

  Reeve would not pretend that the cruelty of the past had not hurt him. There was no denying the ways in which he had reacted, or hiding the truth when Magnar had seen it himself in the architect’s eyes. He was not naive or self-loathing enough to erase those things and act as though they’d never happened simply because Heidegger was a good lay and, as it turned out, a good man beneath it all (despite his best efforts at insisting the contrary). But because of these things, not in spite of them, Reeve was willing to give the general the chance to make it up to him -- and he, himself, was intent on proving himself trustworthy enough of a man to bring those walls down brick by brick; they both had work to do.

  The compliment felt less jarring every time he heard it drop off the other’s tongue -- Heidegger had brought it up often, how good a man he was. Those words used to be spoken with such sharp criticism that at first it had been hard to believe them to be a thing of genuine admiration, but there was no doubt in his mind now as they lay here, the other holding him so desperately close, that Heidegger meant them with all the reverence he possessed. 

  Reeve pressed warm kisses to his partner’s chest, humming a soft tone of amusement as the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly, glancing up toward the other’s face. “A matter of perspective -- I’m sure plenty would disagree,” he spoke softly, but the addition of unworthiness caused that smile to fade once more. 

  “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you don’t deserve good things -- least of all yourself,” he chided, his voice trailing off as the hand dipped beneath his chin, causing his expression to soften as he watched eyes, then lips close in, sinking into them with willing abandon, meeting gratitude with gratitude. 

  Heidegger may not have been able to speak the words, and it may have been for the best -- Reeve may not have been quite ready to hear them -- but there was little left to doubt in the way it felt to be kissed like this, and some part of him knew what it meant. 

[architectofhope]

dogof-war​:

Heidegger ignores any of the confusion from his partner, the smile across his lips unable to fade when he can only think of Reeve’s face when they watch this back later. Would he be angry or aroused? Maybe both; Heidegger can look forward to that. 

His fingers tug against the strands of the Reeve’s hair and before he bothers to unzip his pants, he satisfies himself with a gentle grind to the other man’s lips. Even whilst clothed, Reeve knows how to excite him, those subtle movements against the bulge in his pants doing well to bring out a heavy breath and a gentle rock of his hips. 

“Always a tease-” 

he retrieves his hand to unzip his trousers, a quick grab between his legs to unveil his cock before the other. It goes without saying that the general is entirely hard, his member swollen and desperate for attention. With his free hand, he squeezes the shaft, his own stiffness surprising him but then the sight of Reeve half-dressed and tied up is one that leaves him horny and wanting more. 

He presses length to Reeve’s cheek, the stubble of his beard edged against his shaft before he presses himself beside the other’s lips. 

Heidegger palms the back of Reeve’s head with his hand, a gentle motion encouraging him to satisfy urge. Fingers entwine between the strands of his hair, wax sticking against them though the general hardly cares.

“Go on-” lips part, a desperate ask nestling between them and the breaths that become ragged.

  By this point Reeve was intimately familiar with the swell hidden beneath the man’s trousers, so when Heidegger unzipped to present himself, the thrill that coursed through his body was a knowing one. There was a moment’s frustration in recalling that his hands were bound, otherwise he might have gripped it, given it a squeeze and a tug, appreciated it’s masculine formidablity in a way that he knew would appeal to the general’s pride. In light of his lack of tools he would have to make do with what he had.

  Eyes never left the other’s own as his head tilted, tipped to graze parted lips from the base of the man’s shaft to the tip, teasing him, offering a taste of supple flesh that would soon enough have its hold on him -- but not just yet. He teased the man’s length with open-mouthed kisses, and just before the thrill of such touches wore off, the tip of his tongue would trace a long, languid line along the swollen vein, relishing the throb his attentions elicited. 

  It did not take much to fill his senses, that single lick enough to savor warm, heady flesh, a light, clean musk tickling his nose as the flat of his tongue laved against heavy flesh hanging beneath a scattering of dark hair. He, himself, began to grow uncomfortably tight within the confines of his slacks, shifting on his knees in hopes to ease the gaunt stretch of fabric pinned beneath his weight, but it did little good; he would groan ever so softly in response.

  The hand in his hair was encouraging but not forceful, for which he was grateful, the styling wax he used to keep the natural wave of his hair tamed back loose enough not to snare him -- in fact it had lost hold on his hair hours ago, as was wont to happen when he toyed with it late at night, wracking his brain over paperwork. Magnar was not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, and Reeve had made it clear under no circumstances that there would be no forcing anything into any part of him, mouth included; his cheeks would ache enough later without also having his jaw unhinged by an overeager thrust. 

  With this reassurance in mind he took the man between his lips, jaw going slack, minding his teeth as he slid the general’s length along his tongue as far as could be managed without choking himself before pulling back with a slow, steady suction, meeting his gaze once more.

[architectofhope]

dogof-war​:

Ruvie’s proud of her son, so much so that Heidegger can only admire that pride. Did Reeve know it? Heidegger has to wonder why the director’s ego isn’t bigger but then she’d taught him modesty, too, hadn’t she?

He takes another sip of his tea - each and every sip is as sweet as the last, the cool air doing well to make it all the more tantalising on the taste-buds.

“I have two daughters-” he nods, ignoring the comment regarding his occupation. There isn’t much an old man can say about war to an even older woman - Ruvie may be a sweet old thing but she’s shrewd and what was that saying? ‘Don’t bullshit and a bullshiter?’ - Heidegger wouldn’t even try. 

“More stress than a son, I can only assume-” a laugh eases any atmosphere. There isn’t anything in the world Heidegger loves more than his daughters, though he could guarantee that they’d not return such affection. He shakes his head, fingers separating strands of his hair as a short laugh leads him to shrug.

“Women will forever baffle me-”

  Ruvie appreciated that Heidegger was selective about the course of their conversation, just fine with hearing about his girls over his war career. She respected soldiers and men who gave their life to service, but she had never much cared for the wars an the violence herself. 

  “Oh we’re not all that bad,” she waved him off with a soft chuckle of her own, folding her hands around her teacup and canting her head aside. “Every person on this planet has their own set of unique challenges and merits, sons and daughters both,” she reassured him, lifting her cup to her lips. 

  “How old are your girls, Mr. Heidegger? Do they live with you in the city?” she questioned curiously. Reeve hadn’t known much about Heidegger’s girls at the time they’d spoken of them, though things had certainly changed between the two men since then — not that Ruvie would know anything at all about that. 

[architectofhope]

( @dogof-war​ continued from x )

  He’d just shut down his computer and shoved a toothbrush in his mouth when he heard his phone buzz from the kitchen, stepping out of the bathroom to eye it skeptically before padding bare-footed over to snatch it off the counter and check the notification. 

  Heidegger. Naturally.

  He snorted softly, continuing to scrub his teeth with idle strokes as he thumbed a reply. 

  [ Text - Heidegger / 01:28am ] : And if I hadn’t been? Would you have texted until my phone buzzed itself off my nightstand?   [ Text - Heidegger / 01:30am ] : It’s been years, but yes I have. It was one of my father’s favorites.   [ Text - Heidegger / 01:33am ] : When are you going to learn to propose date nights at a reasonable hour instead of waiting until I’m in no condition to leave the house, or trying to meet a deadline? 

[architectofhope]

chasiingrain​:

〚 ❣ 〛 His question leaves her humming dreamily for a moment in thought. She’s never been beyond Midgar before, has only heard stories of the various cities beyond these borders, has had daydreams of traveling across the lands to visit other places. Not just for acting, but for sightseeing, for meeting new people, reveling in new cultures, foods, celebrations. It all seems so wonderful.

“I don’t know where I would go first, truthfully. I know some places are best avoided, some cities overrun with a…mystical plague of sorts?” She raises her eyebrows and looks to Reeve in question, to see if he knows the truth better than the rumors she’s heard. “But Caitscrùn would be lovely, and I would love to meet your mother.”

A soft flush colors her cheeks again at the idea of it, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if he would go there with her, introduce her to his mother, thinks that maybe it would too forward a question to ask. The smile on her lips pulls a touch bigger, and she raises the bouquet to smell the flowers in an attempt to hide it.

  Reeve had indeed heard of this plague, but only from second-hand accounts — he’d never experienced it himself, and by the sounds of it, would never want to. His features would go a bit more grim at the topic, his reticence to urge her out into the world a bit stronger now that he’d been reminded, glancing down into her curious gaze. 

  “As far as I’ve heard it’s creeping up from the south-east — still a ways away, but I would be cautious if you venture that way. Doctors and spell-masters alike have been searching for a cure, but so far they’ve only been able to slow the spread within individuals. It sounds a nasty fate,” he shivered a little. 

  He was glad for the change in subject when she brought up his mother and his homeland again, offering her a pleased half-smile. “She might never let you leave — she’s always wanted a daughter. Rhys and I were a bit more trouble than she was counting on, and didn’t look have so lovely in dresses and ribbons,” he chuckled.  

[architectofhope]

[anon] haha reeve is a nerd. nerd man. ha. nerd.

[architectofhope]

urbdev-assistant​:

She noted his comment about Palmer with curiosity. “I don’t think you’re out of line, sir.” Relieved, hm? It was true, she’d spent more time with Palmer than she’d have liked. “Palmer was an…interesting supervisor, to be sure. But I learned so much working with the engineers and planners in the Space Division. Different from UrbDev, but valuable nonetheless. Made good friends too.” The thought prompted her to remember it’d been a while since she’d written to Shera. She wondered how things were in Rocket Town.

“I think I ended up right where I belong. I learned what I needed to learn to prepare for here.”

As Rita registered his generous offer, she realized she may have been too forward. “I hardly want to impose, sir. I was joking; of course there isn’t any pressure to invite me.“ She felt slightly embarrassed. “I got to overexcited by the though of cake, I didn’t mean to be rude. Though, you are quite a good son, helping out your mother like that.” Doubt gnawed at her now; would he really have mentioned it if she were unwelcome. Oh, she’d always had this problem with indecision, always second guessing the meaning of others words. A skill her Papa taught her as valuable, working in ShinRa. One she nevertheless found a blessing and curse.

There was another buzz on her phone, and she couldn’t stop herself from looking. A cursory glance saw it was again Papa, with the message: Chat soon? Fair enough; he’d been patient. She would wrap things up.

“I think 15 minutes is almost up.” She tried not to look to wistful. “Not half-bad, was it?”

  Her propensity toward diplomacy was impressive to say the least, and his expression would read as such as she carefully navigated his comment about Palmer and his department. He was glad she had made friends, at least. It must have made things more bearable in the long run, and he knew how a sense of camaraderie could keep people afloat even in the most unsavory of situations. 

  “I think we can both agree on that,” he smiled to her with a nod, confirming that he felt she’d landed in the place that suited her best — though he might have been a little biased in thinking so. 

  When she backpedaled on meeting with Ruvie he would lift a hand to interrupt, shaking his head. “It’s not,” he reassured her with a soft chuckle. “It’s not rude at all — I’m sure my mother would love to meet the people I work with. I’ve told her all about you,” he paused before quickly correcting himself, “-all of you. I’m very proud of my team.” It was true, Ruvie often asked him about work and about the young woman who had joined on as his secretary that she spoke with on occasion. Reeve had told his mother everything he knew, fielding as many nosy questions as he could without being needlessly invasive, but his admiration for the woman who helped keep him afloat when the company tried its damndest to sink him was palpable. 

  “I would very much like the company if you joined me — some time. It doesn’t have to be this weekend,” he persisted. “And I’m sure my mother would love to ply you with dinner and cake,” he chuckled again. “She doesn’t get many visitors, but I do what I can when I’m able.” 

  The pregnant pause to follow would be interrupted by the buzzing of her phone, drawing his attention briefly before he sucked in a deep, bracing breath, nodding in acknowledgement that their time was coming to an end. He lifted his empty food container in cheers to her with an appreciative expression, “not half bad at all. It was quite enjoyable,” he agreed in such a way that insinuated the food was not the extent of what he’d enjoyed about the break. 

  “Let’s do this again some time, shall we?” he proposed sociably, scooting his chair back and collecting up his empty containers, holding out a hand for hers as well to dispose of. 

[architectofhope]

thememcry​:

      it was through half-lidded eyes that she watched him, soaked in the soft rasp of his tone as he blamed the wine on their mutual warmth. her own lilt held something musical to it, much lower than the usual register she spoke in —threatening an easy chuckle at any moment, “ must be the wine. ” and she settled her leg against the round of his waist, let herself remain stretched against the small space of the couch as if she were claiming the entire surface as solely her own. he’d have no choice but to press himself to her if he wanted to rest even for a moment, and she’d be quick to wrap herself around him like a weed if he did. but for now … for now curious eyes watched his eye line and the quick contemplation turned to action where he snatched the spoon from the depths of an ice cream bowl she’d forgotten in lieu of other activities, one brow quirked in response to his own brow lifting and the slyness that stole his handsome features.

      immediately she sucked in a breath, whether it be anticipation for the shock of cold that the melted ice cream would bring or entirely involuntary was up to debate, but the soft ah that left her lungs was followed by a quick chortle … something to even out the sensation of sticky chilliness as it started its way down her side —only to be met with the eagerness of a warm tongue. her fingers slipped into the strands of curled hair at the back of his head, drawing short lines against his scalp before winding against the tresses and offering an easy tug. aerith’s approval came in her own rasped hum, in the shaky intake of air when he ended the slow trail with a press of kisses just beneath her breasts. surely he’d hear the hitch as he settled into her neck for another line of kisses there, too. she even shifted beneath him, a slight wriggle she’d just as easily write off as adjusting herself when no such thing was necessary. 

      a march of shivers began from where his breath tickled at her ear and neck from his explanation, down her throat and into the base of her spine where they liked to collect themselves in moments like these. “ i have more than a few pairs, ” aerith managed to reason, never once letting that smirk of hers slip while his hand traced and squeezed at her thigh. gods but he could be such a tease in the simplest of ways. her own fingers kept in his hair, loosening her grip to continue carding through smooth strands as she’d done a thousand times before —as if this were as innocent as him resting his head in her lap to perhaps catch a moment of sleep instead of one laden with rich tension ready and willing to be sliced right down the center. and there was something in the way of his description of those stockings, the intonation on each word, the lowness of his voice that perhaps came across as purposefully breathless that pushed a sigh out of her, had her eyes slipping shut as if she need imagine it instead of simply looking down. she was all too familiar with the snap of the netting breaking (more than one pair had fallen victim to snags as she walked, or her own fingers tugging a bit too tightly when guiding the leggings up the round of those same thighs), but the satisfaction of his hand being the cause rolled through her pleasantly.

      “ oh, no. look what you did. they’re absolutely ruined now. ” her gaze fell onto him, eyes narrowing with the playfulness of accusation meeting obvious teasing, and she lifted her head to steal his lips for just a second before continuing. “ i think you have to scrap them whole pair, now. ”

  Her lips would be met with smiling tiers, kissing her with a soft hum of agreement. The pair would have to be scrapped, there was no other way. But things on the couch were getting undeniably cramped, the loveseat not quite meant for this sort of activity. As such he reached behind him, making sure those legs were wrapped securely before both arms tucked beneath her body and scooped her upright onto his lap. He’d steal a quick kiss from her lips before slowly moving to his feet, hands on her thighs holding her there clung to him like a koala as he made his way toward the bedroom, leaving the remnants of their date to be dealt with at a later time. 

  Reeve dropped her on the bed with a playful bounce, leaning over her and bracing himself on his hands as he dipped in to arrest her mouth in a deep, heady caress that dissolved into nips and pecks along her jaw and down her neck. He would straighten, gazing down at the woman looking a bit swept up and disheveled beneath him, a smile curling his lips that betrayed both deep admiration and undeniable lust, winking playfully as took her by the hips and gently flipped her over onto her stomach. 

  He would lift those hips until she was on her knees, skirt flipped unceremoniously up against her back to expose the curves of her backside etched in dark intersecting threads stretched taut over muscle, and of course the underwear beneath. It was not often that Reeve was able to appreciate her from behind like this, on knees before him, presented. He was so very fond of her beautiful face and all the expressions she made, the feel of her lips and her breath on his skin, the cascade of her soft hair over her body, either lose or braided. But there was something novel about this. Exciting. A bit more lascivious than usual — and he would make the most of it if she let him.

  He gripped her rear, admiring the give of it beneath his palm, fingers pressing in until flesh grew pink and he released, massaged, leaning down to press his lips against the curve so that his beard tickled her through her tights. The sight of the broken pattern was there within his field of vision at her hip, inspiring him toward further destruction as the tip of his finger ran a slow line from the base of her spine, down between the flesh of her rear to graze along the center of her underwear with tantalizing insinuation, then back up again. 

  He would repeat this a few times as lips pressed warm kisses to her skin, free hand lifting to bunch the back of her sweater up along the slope of her body, trailing kisses along her spine in its wake as the other hand palmed her between her legs and rubbed her until he felt a telltale dampening of that scant garment. 

[architectofhope]

It's a note written in red ink pinned to a potted cactus: 'Sorry for being prickly, lately.' Left on his desk, although noticeably she's helped herself to his stapler. Hopefully, she's taken it to staple paperwork with, and isn't currently 'updating' it to make it in any way lethal. - madamdirectcr

  It was upon arriving at his office, setting down the paperwork he’d taken home the night before and taking a swig of coffee from the paper cup clutched in his hand that he noticed the small addition to his desk where another object usually sat.

   In the absence of his stapler was a cactus bearing a note, a brow lofting as he reached out to pluck it up and read it, the gift-giver making themselves known almost immediately in combination of not-so-cryptic words and unmistakably bright red penmanship that belonged to a very particular someone. 

  He snorted softly, carefully picking up the cactus and eyeing it with interest. He would have to thank her when he invariably ventured to her department with a fistfull of unstapled documents. 

[architectofhope]

thememcry​:

      it’s something in the way that ruvie cradled that bag of seeds that had all of aerith’s attention: the close proximity to her body as if she were instead cherishing a tiny, cold kitten or curve of her palm as it fit the shape of the bag in the way it bulged in fullness … she held it as if it were a precious baby and something in that gesture had aerith recalling some of reeve’s words. for most people here seeds are a dream, a relic of the past. something to plant and watch pithy sprouts claw their way out of infertile soil before withering. it was obvious in the sweet glimmer of ruvie’s eye that something quite similar had befallen her —aerith wouldn’t have any of that. it just wouldn’t do.

      so there was some surprise when she handed the seeds back, when she extended the olive branch outward for more assistance than just a second set of hands. aerith wouldn’t let this be a failure … and perhaps ruvie was afraid that it would be. her fingers tightened around the bag slightly, the sincerity of her own smile giving the slightest bow of her tiers, and she nodded in understanding. it would be done together, wholly. “ well, let’s start there. ”

      she was remiss to peel away from the kind gesture, the tenderness in ruvie’s eyes or her own palms, but over to the edge of the noted planter before she dipped to her signature crouch and balanced the bag of seeds on her knees. without donning her gloves she snatched her trowel and dug into the dirt, breaking up the craggy crust making up the uppermost layer and working at loosening a large square of it before abandoning the tool all together and digging her hands fully into the soil beneath. soft and loamy —the secret well under the dead dryness above perhaps coaxed into existence by aerith’s mere presence. maybe it hadn’t been there before … and maybe it had.

      “ well … we can make a frame of some of the flowers i have … a nice square, some that don’t spread too far so they keep to their own little area. and fill the center of the planter with some of the less common seeds. there’s one, though … i might dig into the corner over there, by your house … it needs more space, likes to be alone. but … first we have to till the dirt a bit. knock some of this old and hard mess deep in, mix it up. anywhere we want to planet. ” the good thing about the dead earth? no weeds … she’s only have to stick her wrists or slightly more into wherever they wanted to plant to encourage the rich silky soil upward, something more habitable for the flowers.

  Ruvie watched Aerith take to a crouched position with such ease it might have been her natural posture, hands coming to rest on hips as she watched the girl break the surface with a trowel. Dust. Dust and parched dirt all the way through, that’s what she’d expected to find when little delicate fingers withdrew from the craggy maw struck by the metal trowel. That was all Ruvie had seen of soil in years, and yet...

  That little hand disappeared beneath the surface and sank, the gentle agitation sending the most wonderful fragrance into the air that aroused an immediate and unavoidable nostalgia in the elder woman. Her eyes closed, she breathed in deep, losing herself to memories of a farm from days long passed, long before cities with metal skies, or great rumbling reactors that sapped the very life from the ground they sat on. 

  “My gods, can it really be?” she spoke softly, mostly to herself, moving to kneel carefully beside Aerith to see with her own eyes the lush soil beneath the cracked and crumbling surface. It was beautiful. Moist. Warm with life and nourishment. The perfect place for tiny seeds to nestle and grow into strong and vibrant blossoms. She felt her breath tremble a little, eyes going glossy behind glasses that she fixed on the bridge of her nose. 

  “A miracle,” she exclaimed softly, growing giddy with excitement, reaching out with gloved hands to grasp Aerith’s face gently and press a kiss to her cheek. “That’s a wonderful idea, let’s get to work,” she pushed herself to her feet, going to retrieve her own tools and set back in to digging with her new gardening companion, encouraged by the first true signs of hope she’d seen in ages.

[architectofhope]

urbdev-assistant​:

She half wanted to laugh, shrugging off a number of internal jokes about her work ethic rubbing off on him. Instead, Rita started reordering the fallen stack of contracts, ignoring the way he tugged further on his collar to press his own cold water bottle against his neck.

But she couldn’t ignore his joke, though he had no idea it’s impact. Of course he didn’t know how she truly felt, nor could he have understood how those feelings were at present compounded by their heated predicament. Rita’s head felt foggy; she didn’t trust her judgment in this state.

“Actually, sir, the heat is the distraction. I think it’s probably best if I go take a break.” She made to rise, feeling the unpleasant black rush of blood from her head to her toes, and she wavered slightly, pressing her palms firmly into the table to steady herself. She needed to escape to somewhere she could compose herself; she would take refuge in the archives.

  He was about to acquiesce to her request for a break when he saw her swoon against the table, both brows knitting sharply as all mirth fell from his features and he closed in on her side with a pair of long, quick strides.

  “Are you alright?” his hands framed her by grasping her shoulders gently without thinking, hoping to steady her in case she lost consciousness, the concern palpable in his tone and expression. “I think it’s best we both take a break, get you a bit of fresh air and cool off,” he reasoned in a finite manner. “I’ll accompany you — I would suggest the cafeteria, but I fear they may be in the same predicament being on the same floor. There’s a café on the corner with a small patio. Shall we try there?” he offered along with his arm for support.

[architectofhope]

urbdev-assistant​:

“Thank you, Ruvie,” the name tasted sweet on Rita’s lips, much like the gesture preceding it. She felt touched that the woman regarded her so invitingly. Then again, based on all the things Reeve had told her over the years, she couldn’t have doubted it.

“I must say,” she laughed at Ruvie’s suspicious remark, “I’m shocked to hear this about Reeve. He’s completely fooled me. I’d have never guessed he resists such delicious gifts.” She snorted. “Then again, I never can, so maybe I just overestimate how much others like sweets.” 

“Water is wonderful, thank you.” Rita found herself surprised by the admission - were Reeve’s visits only perfunctory? She’d need to probe him on that, perhaps even chide him into taking time for a proper visit. “I appreciate your offerings, but I won’t be able to stay very long myself. I do have to attend to some errands for my grandfather before the end of day.”

Fortunately, her route took her to the undercity in this sector before moving on to Wall Market; it was one of the reasons she’d planned her itinerary to see Ruvie as she did. “But of course, not before cake. Anything I can do to help?”

  “No need, dear, make yourself comfortable,” Ruvie declined, taking down a pair of glasses from the cabinet as well and filling one with a pitcher of water from the fridge, the other with orange juice for herself. She set the glasses down and cut into the cake, carefully dishing each a plate a generous slice.

  “Sadly my Reevie has never had much of a sweet tooth,” she sighed wistfully. “I suppose most parents would be grateful for such things,” she perched herself on a stool and passed a plate and a fork to Rita before sliding the other in her own direction. “He made himself sick on a bag of saltwater taffy his grandpa brought him for his birthday one year when he was about six. Was never quite the same after that,” she huffed amusedly, forking off a bite and popping it in her mouth.

  “Reeve told me you were with ShinRa some time before you became his assistant. Were you born around here? Go to school around here?” she wondered, taking a sip of water.