#it's before midnight my time it still counts!!!

[notapradagurl7]

When He’s Not There.

Black! Fem!Wife! Reader x Terrence

Fandom: Foe (2023) Movie.

Summary: In 2036, you reside in a high-tech home with your wealthy husband, Arlo. One night, a striking 6'3" stranger named Terrence, representing a company focused on off-Earth habitation, arrives. While he engages Arlo in conversation, while your husband is away, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Visited by him.

Word Count: 4697k

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque @playgurlxoxo @babybratzmaraj @becauseimswagman1 @superheroprincess22 @pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics @hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24 @novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky @euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz @dxddykenn

A/N: I want to step out of my writing comfort zone but anyway, Don't forget to leave a like, comment & reblog to support, or you can always ask for a request Enjoy!❤️

Warnings: +18, dirty talk, praise, cheating, consensual for both parties, fingering, oral,(fem receiving) angst, teasing, an intimidating Terrence, risky sex in the living room, neglectful husband, strange questions about marital issues, profanity, p in v, jealousy, masochist Terrence, BDSM, unprotected sex.

————-

The moonlight peeked through the bedroom window and you groaned out of your peaceful sleep, once you heard a knock on the front door. You quickly stood with your husband Arlo from the bed, you grabbed the rifle from the side of your dresser in your high-tech home.

You heard a woman's computerized voice on the small holographic screen resting on the dresser, “You have a visitor at midnight, Terrence,” 

Your mom taught you how to shoot properly when you were thirteen, she wasn't too fond of Arlo when you got married too early, he’s been neglecting you and he’s been working full time at his CEO corporate job.

“Who the fuck is knocking on my door at this time of night?” Arlo grumbled lowly, groaning a bit with his raspy voice.

“It's probably that man from the off-earth habitation company sweetheart,” You mumbled back, rubbing the traces of sleep from your brown eyes.

Arlo’s face twisted up at the words “man,” he slid on his black tee shirt and pulled up his grey loose pants, zipping them up. Running a hand through his tiny curled afro, the lamp light glistened on his brown skin. 

You’d almost forgotten that you were sent a letter from a company for Off-Earth habitation aka living in space, it was sent to your husband instead. It was quite strange.

“You’ve talked to the man before? What's his name then?” Arlo barked, squinted at you, his brows furrowing in suspicion. 

“Terrence, I think, He’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on. keep it cool, okay? I’ll handle it.” you replied, gripping the rifle tightly, your heart racing.

Arlo rolled his eyes, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “You know how I feel about these corporations trying to buy more of my money when I updated everythin’ We’ve built this life here, babe. I'm the husband, I’ll handle it,” He shot back, crossing his arms.

You stepped closer to him, the warmth of his body grounding you and rubbed his shoulder. “I know, I know. But we can’t just ignore him. If he’s here, it’s for a reason.”

Arlo sighed, clearly still annoyed but resigned. “Fine, let’s just see what he wants. And give me that gun please,” he said gently, you passed it to him.

Arlo was given this flourishing high-tech home from his grandparents through inheritance, the house adorned with the latest technological advancements, and sleek light green furniture that blended minimalist aesthetics with comfort.

The walls were a crisp white, reflecting the soft glow of the advanced smart lighting that adjusted to your mood. There were pictures of animated art, abstract and vibrant, that hinted at your creativity and love for color, scattered thoughtfully throughout the living space.

The kitchen, where you spent most of your time, was outfitted with glossy black counters and stainless steel appliances that seemed to hum with energy.

You had a deep love for cooking, and the aroma of spices often lingered in the air, a testament to the meals you prepared for Arlo, even if he hardly appreciated them.

The décor spoke of old-world charm fused with modern aesthetics—a plush, deep green couch dominated the spacious living room, framed by small windows covered by velvet sage green curtains that overlooked the overgrown garden, the moon casting silver light over the wildflowers. The television hung on the right side of the wall, facing the couch.

You could hear the distant hum of the self-driving car parked outside, a reminder of the future you both lived in, yet felt so distant from. It turned off immediately.

You both valued a futuristic lifestyle, but it turned dull and ordinary while you worked as a librarian's assistant.

The library had always been your refuge since childhood, where you, the nerdy black girl, found joy in books, technology, the arts. It was in the canned goods aisle that you captured your husband’s attention through a chat about books and what to find the best spices, you liked to cook food.

There were self-driving cars available, and clearly, your husband purchased one to stay updated with the latest technology.

As you and Arlo approached the front door, the tension in the air was palpable. Your heart pounded, a mix of excitement and unease fluttering in your chest. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before Arlo opened the door.

There stood Terrence, a man who seemed to command the space around him. At 6’3”, his presence filled the doorway, and the white moonlight highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and the confident glint in his eyes.

Terrence undoubtedly caught your attention, but as a married woman, you knew your husband often grew suspicious whenever another man approached you.

He could be both protective and jealous at times. Arlo was 6'0", which you found appealing, particularly since you had a preference for tall black men.

He was dressed in a collared half buttoned white shirt with a black jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, he carried an air of authority that made it hard to look away. His black hair styled in tiny curles.

His green eyes seemed like they were pierced through your soul, reading your deepest secrets and fears in one stare. His muscles bunched through his clothes, and you could tell that he was committed to the gym. Damn.

“Good evening, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” he greeted smoothly, his voice deep and inviting, with a hint of curiosity, there was a British accent included.

Arlo’s face shifted instantly, suspicion etching deeper lines on his forehead. “You are, What do you want?” he asked brusquely, crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m here on behalf of the off-Earth habitation company. I wanted to discuss the proposal we sent your way, Arlo Stark and Y/N Stark right?” Terrence replied, his gaze flickering to you, and for a brief moment, you felt an electric charge pass between you.

“You know our names already? Even my wife’s name? Terrence right?” Arlo asked in suspension, placing the rifle at the corner of the room. His deep brown eyes reflected with anger flickered between you and Terrence for the umpteenth time.

You sighed annoyingly, it felt like a farrago of unwanted stuff piled up in your basement. “Yes, he does Arlo, this is 2063, you know technology has everything now,” you chimed in.

You stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. “We were just surprised to get a visit at this hour. Come in, let’s talk,” you offered, hoping to ease Arlo’s protective stance.

As Terrence entered, you caught a whiff of his cologne—rich and earthy, it lingered in the air like a promise. He glanced around your home, his eyes taking in the details—the art on the walls, the cozy ambiance.

“You have a lovely home,” he remarked, his tone genuine, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze.

“Thanks, We’ve put a lot of love into it.” you replied, flustered while rubbing the back of your neck.

Arlo cleared his throat, pulling you back into the moment. “Let’s get to the point. We’re not interested in moving to space, You’ve met my wife before?” he declared, his voice firm.

You could sense the tension; it was like a taut string ready to snap.

Closing the behind him with the three of you walking into the spacious living room and seated yourself on the couch, while Arlo stood beside you, Terrence seated himself on the armchair with a device in his hand.

You flipped the light switch and light of the warm yellow bulbs filled the room with a cozy light, contrasting sharply with the cool moonlight outside.

“Actually, I haven’t had the pleasure, but I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Y/N.” Terrence replied, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, igniting a flicker of something in the pit of your stomach.

You shifted slightly, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense scrutiny. “All good things, I hope,” you said, trying to inject some playful banter into the thick air.

“Very much so, Your reputation precedes you,” he replied with reassurance, his voice smooth, drawing your eyes to the way his lips curled into a smirk.

Arlo shifted beside you, the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame. “Let’s focus on why you’re here, we’re not looking to relocate, especially not to some off-Earth colony. We’re happy here.” he interjected, his tone clipped.

Terrence’s demeanor didn’t waver; he remained calm, unbothered. “I understand your hesitance, but I assure you, it’s not as daunting as it seems. This could be an opportunity for you both—”

“An opportunity to leave everything behind? To abandon our lives? I'm the wealthiest CEO in this gotdamn neighborhood, I don't need this,” Arlo countered, his voice rising, fists clenching at his sides.

“This is only a suggestion if you want to live in space, Arlo maybe you would have to prepare to leave your wife alone in this house?” Terrence asked in a firm tone, holding up a device that showed a person walking through a spaceship.

Arlo’s jaw tightened, but you could see the gears shifting in his mind. “Nope, not interested. I've already gotten the update on the self-driving car, the robots aren't in my damn house, and I've updated everything to keep up,” he said in an angry tone, his hand on his hip.

With that, his eyes landed on you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. He lowered his voice, “What about you? Are you truly happy?”

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, feeling a magnetic pull towards him. “I…I’m trying to be, I've haven't been happy that much,” you confessed, glancing at Arlo who was still stewing in frustration.

“Sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zone, even for a moment,” Terrence said, an invitation hanging in the air like a promise.

You kept your cool knowing that your husband was watching but you replied, “Who truly knows? I've been happy cooking lately,”

“Thank you for pitching this idea to us, Terrence, we'll see you later okay? Again, not interested in space, we’re more comfortable on Earth,” Arlo brought up.

Arlo walked with Terrence outside toward the self driving car, watching him get in, Arlo crossed his arms with his face still twisted in pure turmoil.

Your husband walked in with relieved face, shaking his head from side to side in disapproval while Terrence gave him a reassuring smile, Arlo’s eyes flickered toward you, but he said with anger.

“Let’s go to sleep, if he comes back then don’t let him in,”

————

You knew that your husband left for work at 5:00 at night, giving you peace and quiet throughout the day, he worked all night and all day at the his business, you needed days to yourself.

The next morning you woke up to the sun’s salutations, birds chirping and the walls that use be a crisp white, reflecting the soft glow of the advanced smart lighting that adjusted to your mood, suddenly changed to yellow for happiness.

You prepared breakfast for yourself, as the open-concept kitchen glowed with a soft blue light from the smart appliances, casting a serene ambiance that contrasted the warm weather brewing outside.

You glanced at the clock, knowing Arlo would be late again, swallowed by his ambition. Thankfully you didn’t have work today which meant you had a day off, You felt a rush of confidence, your curves fitting perfectly in the form-fitting dress that accentuated your dark brown skin and your curly pixiecut framed your face.

You heard a woman's computerized voice on the small holographic screen resting on the dresser, “You have a visitor at 9:00am, Terrence,”

You hurried your way toward front door, your heart raced, anticipation and nervousness bubbling within you. The memory of Terrence's intense gaze from the night before flooded your thoughts. You took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Terrence greeted, his voice smooth as silk, and a charming smile played on his lips. The morning sun highlighted the sharp features of his face, giving him an almost ethereal quality.

“Terrence! What are you doing here?” you asked, feigning surprise, though deep down, you were thrilled to see him again.

“I figured I’d drop by to discuss the proposal further. I know Arlo isn’t here, and I thought it might be a good opportunity for us to chat—just the two of us,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the kitchen where the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafted through the air. “Uh, sure, come in,” you finally said, stepping aside to let him enter.

As he stepped into your home, you felt a surge of electricity in the air between you. He looked around appreciatively, his gaze lingering on the decor. “How are you?” he repeated, taking in the cozy ambiance that you had cultivated with care.

“I’m pretty good, I’ve been cooking and had a day off today,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face.

Terrence stayed behind you, his presence overwhelming yet oddly comforting. “It definitely feels like a home, not just a house. It’s different from the sterile environments of the corporate world.”

You nodded, feeling a strange kinship with him. “I think it’s important to have a space that reflects who you are, especially in a world that’s constantly changing.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “And who are you, Y/N? What do you want?”

You chuckled lightly, feeling a thrill through your breast. “I don’t plan to moving to space, anytime soon so that’s just not talk about that,”

“Would you like something to eat or drink Terrence?” You asked him, your gaze never left his.

Terrence nodded with a smile, “I’d love some coffee, if you have it,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours as you moved toward the coffee maker.

The soft hum of the machine filled the air, blending with the chirping birds outside and the faint scent of breakfast still lingering in the kitchen.

As you poured the steaming liquid into a mug, you felt the tension from the previous night start to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of electricity.

“So, how did you end up in this line of work? The whole off-Earth thing seems…ambitious,” you asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing, your heart racing with each passing second.

Terrence leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, and a smirk played on his lips. “I’ve always believed in pushing boundaries. Earth is beautiful, but I want to be part of something bigger. The universe is vast, and there’s so much more out there.”

You chuckled softly, handing him the mug. “That’s a bold statement. But what about the people you leave behind? It feels like a big gamble.”

He took a sip, his eyes closing momentarily as he savored the rich flavor. “That’s true. But sometimes, you have to take risks to find what you truly want. Just like you seem to be doing right now,” he said, his gaze piercing through you.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, feigning innocence, though you knew exactly what he was getting at.

Terrence stepped closer, the space between you shrinking as he leaned against the counter, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. “I see the way you move in your own space, how you take care of everything around you. You’re not just a wife; you’re a force. And I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to truly know you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Terrence, I—”

He interrupted you, his eyes fierce and playful at the same time. “Let me finish. I know Arlo can be… preoccupied, and sometimes it feels like you’re just existing, rather than living. But what if you allowed yourself to explore what makes you feel alive?”

The air grew heavy with unspoken tension, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “What are you suggesting?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, daring yourself to lean closer.

Terrence’s words trailing off, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m suggesting that sometimes, we have to break the rules to find our happiness. What if I could show you a world outside of what you know? Just for a moment?”

Your heart raced, the invitation hanging in the air like a forbidden fruit. “And what would that entail?” you asked, the thrill of the unknown swirling within you.

“Talk to me, what do you really want?” he asked, his voice smooth and alluring.

You felt a rush of excitement and fear. You glanced toward the window, where the sun bathed the room in golden light, reminding you of the life you had built with Arlo.

But a part of you craved adventure, the thrill of stepping outside the lines. “Alright,” you breathed, heart pounding. “Let’s see where this day takes us.”

Terrence’s smile widened, a mix of triumph and desire. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Honestly, you were right about some things ya know? When I was younger I wanted to be a cook, have a my own restaurant. Arlo just had to just say that only some businesses fail or succeed,” You admitted with a shoulder shrug.

Terrence agreed with you, “I'm sure you would be very successful with the restaurant, you're an amazing cook. And you can follow those dreams,” He spoke up with reassurance.

You and Terrence talked all day, ate your cooked food while he appreciated everything, something Arlo didn’t do, you got to know the man better than your own husband.

"I always had this plan of running away from this boring life and find out what is out there for me, but I want intimacy from him,” You confessed to him, your eyes on him.

Before you could utter another the smart clock in the house said, “Arlo Stark is on his way home, in 15 minutes,” the AI voice spoke in a woman’s voice, making you flinch for a bit.

Terrence and you stood up from the table, you sighed lowly at the announcement, “I'm sorry for taking much of your time, you better go before my husband sees you. T, you know how he gets,”

Terrence shook your hand gently, and nodded in agreement, “I understand, but the advanced technology with the house, i'm sure that he already knows we're talking,”

You laughed softly and shrugged, then made your way to the front door and opened it. Terrence stepped outside and said goodbye, while Arlo observed from afar before arriving in the driveway in his autonomous vehicle, squinting and gripping the armrest of the comfortable seat.

"I fucking knew it," Arlo grumbled, his eyes flickered toward him and the house, pulled on the door handle, stepped out with ease.

——————

In the following weeks, while you spent time at the library conversing with Terrence instead of being at home, Arlo confronted you about your relationship with him.

He baselessly accused you of infidelity, stealing his money, and abandoning him for Terrence.

It was absurd. Although Terrence was initially a stranger, your thoughts increasingly turned to him, and he was evolving into a potential friend or casual fuck buddy in this context.

Terrence returned to your place late at night once more while you were home alone, unaware that he was also constantly thinking about you. The feelings were reciprocated; what are your next steps?

He sat across from you in the plaid sage green armchair, you sat on the couch prettily with a pink nightgown, only thick socks on since it was very cold in the house floors, regardless of what your husband said to you, you had to follow your desires and Terrence was the answer.

Now Terrence wore a dark gray tee shirt with a matching jacket, sweatpants due to the cold weather outside, your eyes never left his. Your finger brushed a curl over your ear, “Thank you for coming tonight, Terrence, Arlo is still at work, preoccupied with that.”

“Terrence, you’ve been keeping me much company while my husband is away, you know that don’t you?” You asked in innocent like tone, your thumb swiped across his cheek.

Terrence groaned lowly at your words, knowing you were right. Since that night you first met, he wanted you, and you felt the same once you saw him. He had his own fantasies, including the thought of you slowly riding him in various positions, whether in the living room, the self-driving car, or the bedroom.

"Yes, I do. I've wanted to treat you better than Arlo, but you're a married woman and if I—” Terrence spoke up until you interjected.

You shook your head at him in disagreement, silencing his fears and yours as well. “There wasn't nothing between Arlo and I except a loveless marriage, and money, he didn't give me what I wanted, he didn't support my dreams,”

He stood up from the armchair, circled around the table and stood in front of you, your hands gently cupping his attractive face, freshly trimmed bread with his mustache connecting. Pulling him down between your legs, you spread them open for Terrence.

“May I?” Terrence asked you gently, looking up at you with those eyes of his. Kissing your lips passionately, you kissed him back with fervor before pulling away.

“Yes, please, hurry..” You begged him, your hands resting on the armrest of the couch. The walls of the smart house changed to red for lust, matching the mood of both of you.

Terrence carefully raised your nightgown from your voluptuous figure and removed his t-shirt, revealing his toned physique. He admired your gorgeous dark brown skin and your lovely brown pussy that pulsed enticingly for him.

“Such a beautiful pussy,” he moaned, he shoved his thick, long fingers between your folds, and you moaned so slut like, his large hand smacked your ass roughly without mercy.

"Ow, fuckkk!" You cried out, riding out his fingers desperately, your pussy sucked his fingers back in.

“Look at you, swallowing my fingers with that pussy like a good slut,” Terrence groaned with a subtle rasp, thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

With your consent, he tied your wrists together carefully and with skill, you hitched a bit from the rope. He continued to push his fingers into you, leaving you breathless and trembling. He took some pink furry handcuffs from the dresser, giving you a sly smile, and you agreed with a nod. "Can I?"

"Yes you can,"

His hand rested on the small of your stomach, pushing you down on the soft mattress and smacking your ass roughly again, he grabbed his thick dick and pushed himself inside from the back, “OH FUCK! Terrence!” you cried out with desperate moans, rolling your hips.

“Fuck me, baby.”

With your consent, Terrence sensually glided his dick between your wet folds, you savored every inch as he groaned from the tightness of your slick walls. “Fuck, Terry.” she breathed, your eyes darken with lust.

He firmly grasped your waist, propelling his hips forward. "Open your eyes," he grunted, his brows furrowing in unwavering focus. Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open, locking their gazes passionately. 

Bliss surged through him as the tip of his dick tenderly kissed her cervix, eliciting a hushed groan.

"That's it, let me admire that beautiful face," he praised, causing you to surrender, your head falling back onto the plush pillow. Each thrust stole your breath away, leaving your yearning for more.

His hands cupped your breasts and rolled his fingers around your erect nipples with slow circles. Each tug and pinch from between his fingers made your whine in pure bliss.

“Oh shit—right there!” You chanted in pleasure, your voice increased in pitch. Your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, you sought to feel him deeper, enveloping his dick with your walls.

The intense sensation caused your essence to flow and perfectly coat him, resulting in euphoric screams of pleasure. As he trailed a path of kisses and hickies along your collarbone, the passion between them intensified.

It was if Terrence still knew which spots to get to whenever he was in the moment with you, “Right here baby?” he whispered in your ear, his teeth biting down on your earlobe. 

“Ever since I saw move in with your husband and we locked eyed, I knew that I wanted you, wanted to know every part of you. It was the right time to come back to you.” 

Terry's speed increased as he thrusts passionately and roughly, accompanied by the sound of their skin colliding echoing through the bedroom and the creaking of the bed beneath them.

“Don't you know how much I wanted you baby?” he grunted lowly, pecking her cheek. Her nails left welts on his shoulder blades as his fingers roughly pinched her clitoris. You ecstatically cried out as he penetrated her deeper, while he gently sucked on her nipple and flicked it with his tongue, causing it to harden.

“Yes!–I-i wanted you too—fuck!” You panted, made eye contact with Terrence once more, causing her eyes to roll back and she was certain that her soul had left her body and returned to her. An overwhelming sensation of pleasure washed over her repeatedly.

You experienced an intense orgasm that overwhelmed your like a powerful wave, causing your body and legs to shake uncontrollably around his waist. "i-i'm cumming-fuck!" you keened, holding his face tenderly in your hands and pulled him closer, engaging in a passionate kiss.

You fervently kissed him, muffling her moans in the process, "Let it out, baby.." he praised, while her stomach tied up in knots as Terrence continued thrusting a few more times. 

Her essence gushed around Terrence's dick, evoking an appreciative moan from him as he gently pulled out from you. "That's my girl," he softly uttered. he praised, pecked your lips twice.

Your bare figure trembled beneath him after the powerful climax, making you breathing unsteady. Terrencr positioned himself above you and then shifted beside You, both of them breathing heavily and sharing a light laughter.

“You good baby?” he asked in concern. His forehead rested against yours. 

“Yeah, I-I’m good..” You muttered softly, their skin sparkled with sweat. They turned their heads towards each other, exchanging a smile.

After that, he carried you into the bathroom, he ran you a hot bath and quickly cleaned up the mess, you washed up once Terrence gets dressed quickly, he kissed your lips tenderly. "I'll see you tommorw?"

"Yes, you will,"

The both of you were secreting longing, pining for each other, you heard him left the house and grabbed the furry handcuffs, closing the door while you were left with pleasure, a plan roamed your mind but you finished cleaning up. You were still gonna see the man without shame.

—————

[respectthepetty]

Choose Violence: Pick One - GMMTV Edition

This started because of a "we hear you, and we don't judge" post because I was thinking about a pair who has *the* show that everyone loves, but I wouldn't pick that show as the show that highlights them best as a pair. So I'm going to sit in my truth for the GMMTV branded pairs and pick which show I think highlighted them best as a branded pair.

However, in order for the couples to be in this list, the pairs must have acted as at least THREE different couples as of the end of 2024, so for example, JimmySea is out because they only have Vice Versa and Last Twilight. The implied relationship in Perfect 10 Liners doesn't count since Jimmy didn't appear. So by these standards, even Singto x Krist are OUT! Most of the "newbies" like Winny x Satang are out too, but not all of them!

Off x Gun

Senior Secret Love, Theory of Love, Not Me, Cooking Crush, The Trainee

These are the boys who started the list because I should pick Not Me, but I'm going to be honest with the crowd - COOKING CRUSH! It's been their best show. Fight me!

Tay x New

Dark Blue Kiss, Cherry Magic, Peaceful Property

Technically, they shouldn't be on this list because they didn't play a couple in Peaceful Property since it wasn't a BL, but this is my list and there is no way Polca wasn't going to be included, so it's canon to me, and therefore PEACEFUL PROPERTY is their best show! I wrote what I wrote!

Earth x Mix

A Tale of Thousand Stars, Cupid's Last Wish, Moonlight Chicken

It's way too soon to know how Ossan's Love will turn out, but even if it's great, I know my choice because it will always my choice - CUPID'S LAST WISH! They played comedy, drama, and romance. It gave them dimensions. It gave them the range.

Pond x Phuwin

Fish Upon the Sky, Never Let Me Go, We Are

Oh, this is soooo har---NEVER LET ME GO!

Force x Book

Enchanté, A Boss and a Babe, Only Friends, Only Boo, Perfect 10 Liners

I know I should pick A Boss and a Babe, and before 2024, I would have easily picked that show, but now I know that Force and Book have the range, yet have been handed some of the weakest plots that horribly typecast them, so my pick is the only one that did them true justice - PEACEFUL PROPERTY with a steel chair!

First x Khaotung

The Eclipse, Moonlight Chicken, Only Friends, The Heart Killers

They will always turn out the best performance, but I have to go with the reason we even got them in the first place - THE ECLIPSE. Easy.

Milk x Love

Bad Buddy, Vice Versa, 23.5

BAD BUDDY, duh.

Gemini x Fourth

My School President, Moonlight Chicken, My Love Mix-Up

Were they a couple in Bad Buddy? Doesn't matter because there is only one show here that proved to me that even if I hate their upcoming Ticket to Heaven, they will win all the awards for it because they can act and had me by the throat in MOONLIGHT CHICKEN. Good for them!

Junior x Mark

Midnight Museum, Cherry Magic, Perfect 10 Liners

I really think they are going to serve in Perfect 10 Liners, but just like Force and Book stealing my heart in one episode in Peaceful Property, Junior and Mark did the same in MIDNIGHT MUSEUM, and I still hope they are together in a parallel universe.

Boun x Prem

Until We Meet Again/Between Us, Even Sun, Cutie Pie

It'd be obvious to go with Win x Team since they played them twice, but fuck it, we ball, so it's CUTIE PIE for the established couple!

View x June

10 Year Ticket, Dangerous Romance, 23.5., High School Frenemy

I have to squint for some of these, but this is my list, so since I'm not getting them again, I'll do what I want! I'm giving it to the show I only watched fan-made videos of their parts - HIGH SCHOOL FRENEMY since I think they did best with hating AND pining.

Aou x Boom

Midnight Museum, Vice Versa, Hidden Agenda, We Are, Perfect 10 Liners

This is the hardest one because they have played a couple so many times and it all started with Enchanté where they weren't even a couple (right?), but even the tiny knowledge that Dome took over Boom's body in Midnight Museum had me in my feels! I'm confident that Memoir of Rati is going to be their best outing so far, but I still wouldn't be able to pick just one. DRAW because I think every version of a couple they have played is fantastic. Period.

Joong x Dunk

Star in My Mind, Hidden Agenda, The Heart Killers

I'm a Jaidee fan first, and a human second, so I love everything they have done, but gun to head, it'd be THE HEART KILLERS.

And it's only because the show leans into why I think they are a great pair in the first place since this is how they behaved in Safe House.

Basically, I think they are playing themselves.

A really loud kid pestering a quiet kid into leaving the house.

Choose Violence Bonus Round:

Ohm x Singto in He's Coming to Me is the best pairing either has had, and the competition isn't even close.

Thor x Fluke should have been a branded pair after The Warp Effect and could've easily pulled Wandee Goodday off (glad we got Great x Inn though).

And for Marc x Poon to be thrown together at the last minute, they are running circles around these established couples.

I wrote what I wrote. Fight me in a Texas Chicken parking lot, and come prepared because the streets raised me, and I'm Catholic, so I ain't afraid to go hard 'cause God will forgive me!

[amethystarachnid]

NEW YEAR EVE WITH THE KIDS

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: New Year Eve party with a 10, a 6 and a 2 years old kids isn't easy, especially when it's a Stark party, but can you and your husband, Bucky, manage it?

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Request: not requested but I wanted to write for Bucky from the Holiday special with this trope: 29. New Year’s Eve Party with the Avengers (or X-men)  – The Avengers come together to celebrate the New Year, but there’s a twist: the kids are part of the celebration. How does your character juggle both the kids' excitement and their own fun as the clock counts down to midnight?

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ From now requests can only be done in the asks, not in the comments because it's confusing and I'm scared of forgetting a request <3

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The evening begins with chaos, of course. In your household, it always does. You’re standing in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, trying to fix the clasp on your necklace when you hear a loud crash from the kids’ room, followed by Estelle’s exasperated voice.

“Liam! I told you not to throw the ball near the closet!”

You sigh, glancing at Bucky, who is currently on the floor wrestling Julie into her tights. “I thought the party was supposed to be fun,” you mutter, and he chuckles, looking up at you with that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip.

“Fun’s subjective, doll,” he replies, finally managing to slide the tights over Julie’s chubby legs. She giggles, kicking at his vibranium arm as if it’s her favorite toy. “There we go, princess. All set for your grand entrance.”

Julie claps her tiny hands, her pigtails bobbing. “Pahty!” she exclaims, and Bucky scoops her up, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. She shrieks in delight.

The crash upstairs is followed by Estelle shouting again. “Mom! Liam’s stuck in the closet!”

You exchange a look with Bucky. “Your turn,” you say, gesturing toward the door.

He smirks, standing up with Julie still perched on his hip. “Sure thing, boss.” He taps your chin with his free hand before heading out, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.

In the kids’ room, you hear the commotion quiet down as Bucky arrives to handle the situation. You use the brief reprieve to fix your makeup and take a deep breath. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all, and Tony Stark’s parties are legendary. You can’t show up looking like you’ve just run a marathon.

A few minutes later, Bucky returns with Liam in tow. Your six-year-old has a sheepish grin and a telltale smudge of something across his cheek. Bucky looks bemused, though not particularly surprised. “Our boy thought he could climb the shelves to get his Captain America action figure. Guess who came to the rescue?”

“Captain America?” you tease, raising a brow.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Close. His dad.” He sets Julie down and crouches to Liam’s level. “You okay, bud?”

Liam nods vigorously. “Yup! Daddy saved me!” He beams up at Bucky, who ruffles his hair and mutters something about reckless behavior being genetic. You stifle a laugh.

By the time everyone is dressed, it feels like an entire year has passed. Estelle looks radiant in her sparkly silver dress, which she picked out with great care. Liam has been persuaded into his tiny suit after much negotiation, and Julie, in her poofy pink dress, keeps twirling and declaring, “I’m a pwincess!”

Bucky, who looks as devastatingly handsome as ever in a sharp black suit, whistles low as he glances at you. “Doll, you’re stealing the show tonight.” His eyes trail over your outfit with such open admiration that it makes you blush.

“Flattery won’t get you out of diaper duty later,” you say, smirking.

He grins. “It’s worth a shot.”

With everyone finally ready, the five of you pile into the car and head to the compound. The drive is lively, filled with Julie’s excited babbling, Liam’s endless questions about fireworks, and Estelle’s occasional exasperated sighs about her younger siblings. Bucky is at the wheel, his hand reaching over to rest on your knee every so often, grounding you amidst the chaos.

When you arrive, the compound is already buzzing with life. Tony has outdone himself, as usual, with glittering decorations, an extravagant buffet, and a live band playing festive tunes. The kids’ eyes widen in awe as they take it all in.

“Remember,” you say, crouching to their level. “Stay close to us, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Estelle says dutifully, though she already looks like she’s itching to run off and explore. Liam bounces on his toes, clearly more excited about the dessert table than anything else. Julie clings to Bucky’s leg, her little hand clutching his fingers.

Bucky picks her up effortlessly, his eyes soft as he looks at her. “Ready to have some fun, sweetheart?”

She nods, her face lighting up. “Dance with me, Daddy?”

His grin is immediate. “Always.”

The night is young, and though wrangling three kids at a Stark party might be a Herculean task, you know one thing for certain: with Bucky by your side, it’s going to be an unforgettable start to the new year.

The party is in full swing as you and Bucky step into the grand hall with your three little ones. The band plays jazzy renditions of holiday classics, and the room sparkles with golden lights and elegant decorations. Tony is in his element, greeting guests with a drink in one hand and an effortless quip on his lips. Somewhere near the center of the crowd, you catch a glimpse of Steve, already engaged in a polite but animated conversation with Natasha.

The kids, of course, are magnets for attention. Within minutes of your arrival, they’re surrounded by adoring Avengers.

“Is this my favorite Barnes family?” Sam’s voice booms as he makes his way over, a broad smile on his face. He leans down to fist-bump Liam, who immediately grins.

“Uncle Sam!” Liam exclaims, hopping with excitement. “Look, I’m wearing a suit! Dad said I look like James Bond.”

Sam chuckles, throwing Bucky an amused glance. “James Bond, huh? High praise coming from your old man.”

Bucky shrugs, looking unapologetically proud. “He pulls it off.”

Julie, meanwhile, reaches for Sam, her tiny arms stretching toward him. “Unca Sam!” she demands, and Sam obliges, scooping her up with ease.

“Well, aren’t you the prettiest little princess,” he says, spinning her around. She squeals with delight, and you take a moment to exchange a relieved smile with Bucky. At least for now, someone else is helping entertain the kids.

Estelle, however, is more interested in catching up with Uncle Steve, who spots her and immediately crouches to her level. “Is that Estelle? Or is it a movie star in disguise?”

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “It’s me, Uncle Steve. Can I show you the drawing I made for you?”

“Of course,” he says, his face lighting up. She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her small purse and hands it to him. It’s a detailed sketch of Captain America’s shield, meticulously colored in red, white, and blue. Steve whistles, clearly impressed. “You’ve got talent, kiddo. I’m gonna frame this.”

Estelle beams, and you exchange a look with Bucky. “She’s been working on that for days,” you whisper, and he nods, pride etched in his expression.

As the evening progresses, the kids take turns dragging you and Bucky in different directions. Liam is enthralled by the dessert table, where Thor is loudly extolling the virtues of a massive chocolate cake to anyone who will listen. Julie insists on dancing, tugging at Bucky’s hand until he relents and twirls her around on the dance floor. The sight of him, in his sharp suit, crouched down to Julie’s height and spinning her like she’s the star of the evening, melts your heart.

“You two make it look easy,” Natasha teases, appearing at your side as you watch them.

“Easy?” you laugh, sipping your drink. “Nat, I haven’t had a single moment to sit since we got here.”

“Well, you’re doing great.” She gives you a sly smile. “And if you need a breather, let me know. I’ve got my ‘scary Aunt Nat’ face ready to keep them in line.”

“Scary Aunt Nat?” you repeat, grinning. “I’m not sure they’d buy it.”

Natasha shrugs, but there’s a glimmer of affection in her eyes as she watches Julie try to dip Bucky during their dance. “Worth a shot.”

When Julie finally tires of dancing, Bucky scoops her up and makes his way back to you. “This one’s gonna crash soon,” he says, his voice warm as he adjusts her position on his hip. Julie rests her head on his shoulder, her thumb in her mouth.

“Want me to take her for a bit?” you offer.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve got her.” His free hand finds yours, and for a moment, the chaos of the evening fades as he gives you a soft smile. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”

Before you can respond, Liam reappears, his mouth covered in chocolate frosting. “Mom! Dad! Uncle Thor let me try the big cake!”

“Of course he did,” Bucky mutters, giving Thor a mock glare across the room. Thor grins unapologetically, raising a glass in salute.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, buddy,” you say, grabbing a napkin and crouching to wipe Liam’s face. He squirms but lets you do it, his excitement about the cake apparently outweighing his aversion to being fussed over.

The rest of the evening is a whirlwind. Steve steps in to play “superhero tag” with Estelle and Liam, giving you and Bucky a much-needed moment to sit down and enjoy a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Clint distracts Julie with a balloon animal he somehow fashions out of a stray party decoration. Even Tony gets involved, showing Liam and Estelle how to use a holographic projector to create firework simulations.

You lean back against Bucky’s shoulder, savoring the rare quiet moment. “We owe them all big time,” you murmur.

Bucky kisses the top of your head. “They don’t mind. It’s family.”

The word settles over you warmly, and you glance around the room. Estelle is laughing as Steve pretends to trip over his own feet during their game. Liam is perched on Thor’s shoulders, looking like he’s ready to conquer the world. Julie is curled up in Natasha’s lap, her eyelids drooping as Nat quietly tells her a story.

It’s chaotic, messy, and exhausting, but it’s yours. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The quiet moment doesn’t last. It never does.

You’re just about to take another sip of your drink when Liam barrels into you, clutching your leg with surprising force. “Mommy,” he whines, his voice muffled against the fabric of your dress, “I’m sleepy.”

You glance down and notice the way his little face is pressed against you, his arms wrapped tightly around your thigh. He’s usually full of boundless energy, so this sudden clinginess catches you off guard. “Sleepy already, huh?” you ask, crouching down to ruffle his hair. “It’s not even close to midnight.”

“I’m not tired,” he insists, his eyelids drooping even as he says it. “I just want to sit with you.”

Bucky appears at your side, Julie still nestled in his arms. She’s half-asleep now, her thumb firmly planted in her mouth, her head resting against Bucky’s shoulder. He rocks her gently without thinking, his movements instinctive and soothing. “Looks like the little ones are winding down,” he observes, his voice low.

You glance over to where Estelle is happily chatting with a small group of other kids her age. She’s animated, her hands gesturing wildly as she tells some story or another. Clearly, she’s inherited your social streak.

“Estelle seems fine,” you point out. “We just have to figure out how to keep these two awake.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his vibranium hand lightly patting Julie’s back. “You mean how to keep them awake without a meltdown.”

“Exactly,” you say, standing up with Liam still clinging to your side. He seems content to stay glued to you for now, his cheek resting against your stomach. You stroke his hair absentmindedly, already brainstorming.

Natasha appears out of nowhere, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. “Looks like bedtime’s creeping up on them,” she says with a smirk. “You two need a strategy?”

“We’re open to suggestions,” you reply, gesturing at Liam and Julie. “We want them to make it to midnight, but…”

Natasha tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe some fresh air would help. Take them out to the balcony for a bit. It’s quieter out there, and the cold might perk them up.”

Bucky nods. “That’s not a bad idea. What do you think, doll?”

You shrug. “Worth a shot.”

With that, you gently pry Liam from your leg and scoop him into your arms. He protests half-heartedly but quickly settles, his head drooping against your shoulder. Bucky adjusts Julie, who lets out a sleepy little sigh but doesn’t wake fully, and the two of you make your way toward the balcony.

The cold air hits you immediately as you step outside, and it’s invigorating. The sky is clear, the stars twinkling brightly, and the faint sound of the party inside provides a comforting background hum. Liam stirs slightly in your arms, blinking against the crisp air.

“Hey, buddy,” you say softly. “Feel that? It’s nice out here.”

He mumbles something incoherent, but his eyes stay open. Julie, on the other hand, gives a little shiver, prompting Bucky to wrap her more tightly in his jacket.

“You think this’ll do the trick?” Bucky asks, his breath visible in the cool air.

“Let’s give it a few minutes,” you reply, swaying gently with Liam.

The two of you stand there, side by side, enjoying the rare moment of relative peace. Estelle pokes her head out onto the balcony a few minutes later, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Mom! Dad!” she exclaims, her voice slightly too loud for the serene setting. “There’s a game inside with prizes! Can I play?”

You exchange a glance with Bucky, who nods. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he says. “But stay where we can see you, okay?”

Estelle grins and darts back inside, leaving the two of you alone with the younger two. Liam starts to perk up slightly, his head lifting from your shoulder as he takes in the view of the compound grounds below.

“Are there fireworks?” he asks sleepily.

“Not yet,” you tell him. “They’ll happen at midnight.”

“I want to see them,” he says, his voice firmer now. You take that as a good sign.

Julie stirs again in Bucky’s arms, her big blue eyes blinking open. She glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting, before giving Bucky a sleepy smile. “Daddy.”

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky says, his voice as soft as the snowflakes that begin to drift down from the sky. “You waking up a little?”

She nods, resting her tiny hand on his vibranium arm. “Cold,” she murmurs.

“We’ll go back inside soon,” he promises, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

After a few more minutes, you decide it’s time to return to the party. The fresh air has done its job—Liam is more awake now, and Julie is at least partially alert. Once inside, the warmth of the room welcomes you, and the kids seem to adjust quickly.

You and Bucky take turns carrying Julie and coaxing Liam into small activities to keep him occupied. Tony, always the entertainer, steps in at one point with a bubble machine he’s somehow rigged up, and that distracts Liam for a good ten minutes. Estelle reappears briefly to show you the prize she’s won—a small stuffed animal—before darting back to her group of friends.

“Are we actually going to make it to midnight?” you whisper to Bucky as Julie leans heavily against him again, her eyelids drooping.

“We’re stubborn,” he replies with a grin. “The kids get it from us.”

You laugh softly, taking his free hand in yours. “Alright, Sergeant Barnes. Let’s see if we can pull this off.”

The final stretch to midnight begins with a burst of energy you didn’t see coming—mainly from Liam. As the games inside kick off, his drowsiness evaporates like snow in sunlight. The moment he notices kids gathering around Tony, who’s setting up some sort of interactive holographic game, Liam wriggles out of your grasp and bolts across the room.

“Uncle Tony’s got a game!” he shouts, weaving through the crowd like a little rocket.

“Liam!” you call, but he’s already in the thick of it, his excitement contagious. Other kids, Estelle included, gather around Tony as he explains the rules with dramatic flair.

Bucky chuckles, watching Liam’s antics. “Looks like he got his second wind.”

“Lucky him,” you reply, adjusting Julie in your arms. She’s growing heavier by the second, her little head lolling against your shoulder. “Wish I could say the same about this one.”

Julie lets out a soft hum, her eyes fluttering shut. You sigh, exchanging a look with Bucky.

“Almost midnight,” he says, checking the clock on the wall. “Think we can keep her up for the fireworks?”

You cradle Julie closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We have to try. She’ll be upset if she misses them.”

Bucky steps closer, his vibranium arm resting gently on your back. “Fireworks, huh?” He leans down to nuzzle Julie’s cheek, his voice soft and coaxing. “Hey, baby girl, you wanna see the fireworks? Pretty colors in the sky?”

Julie stirs at the mention of fireworks, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Fiwerworks?” she mumbles, her voice slurred with sleep.

“That’s right,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But you have to stay awake for them, okay? Just a little longer.”

Her eyes open a fraction, and she nods weakly, her thumb finding its way back into her mouth. Bucky grins, clearly charmed by her determination. “That’s my girl.”

The promise of fireworks seems to work, and Julie stays semi-alert as the minutes tick by. You and Bucky take turns holding her, walking her around the room to keep her from dozing off completely. Occasionally, she perks up when she hears laughter or music, but it’s clear she’s hanging on by a thread.

Meanwhile, Liam is fully immersed in the games, his earlier sleepiness forgotten. He’s running back and forth with a gaggle of kids, cheering loudly whenever someone scores a point or completes a challenge. Estelle joins in too, though she occasionally glances back at you and Bucky to make sure everything’s okay.

As the final minutes of the year approach, Tony takes the stage to announce the countdown, and the energy in the room shifts. People start gathering near the large glass doors leading to the garden, where the fireworks will be launched. The kids trickle back to their parents, their excitement palpable.

“Mom! Dad!” Liam calls, sprinting over to you with flushed cheeks and wild eyes. “It’s almost time! Can we go outside? Uncle Tony said the fireworks are gonna be HUGE!”

Estelle follows close behind, clutching her prize from earlier and looking equally excited. “I want to see them too!”

“Of course,” you say, smiling at their enthusiasm. “Let’s get our coats.”

You and Bucky bundle the kids up as quickly as possible. Julie, now fully awake at the mention of fireworks, clings to Bucky’s neck as he wraps her in her tiny pink jacket. “Fiwerworks, Daddy!” she says, her earlier sleepiness replaced by anticipation.

“That’s right, princess,” he replies, adjusting her hood. “Let’s go see them.”

The five of you step out into the garden, joining the crowd of partygoers waiting for the show. The night is crisp and clear, the stars twinkling above, and the air buzzes with the thrill of the approaching countdown. Bucky keeps Julie in his arms, her wide eyes scanning the sky, while Liam stands between you both, bouncing on his toes. Estelle stays close, her hand gripping yours tightly.

As the final seconds tick down, the crowd begins to chant. “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

You look up at Bucky, who’s already watching you with a soft smile. His free hand finds yours, squeezing gently. “Happy New Year, doll,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple.

“Happy New Year, Buck,” you reply, your heart full as you glance at your children, their faces glowing with excitement.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” the crowd cheers as the clock strikes midnight, and the first firework explodes in the sky. It’s a brilliant burst of color—red, gold, and blue—illuminating the garden in dazzling light.

Julie gasps, her tiny hand flying to her mouth. “Oooh!”

Liam lets out a cheer, jumping up and down as more fireworks light up the night. “Look, Mom! Look, Dad!”

Estelle claps her hands, her eyes sparkling as she turns to you. “They’re so pretty!”

You and Bucky exchange a look, a shared understanding passing between you. This moment—surrounded by your children, their laughter and awe filling the air—is everything you could have hoped for. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and you smile against him.

“Happy New Year, Mom and Dad!” Liam shouts, tugging on your hand. “This is the best!”

Bucky laughs, pulling you both into a group hug with Julie still in his arms. “Happy New Year, buddy. It’s just getting started.”

The fireworks die down, and the cheers from the crowd begin to fade into a hum of conversation and laughter. Midnight has come and gone, and while the party is just getting into full swing for most, you and Bucky exchange a knowing look.

The kids, their initial excitement fading, are starting to show signs of exhaustion. Liam tugs at your hand, leaning against your leg, his earlier energy replaced by sleepy eyes and slow movements. Julie rests her head on Bucky’s shoulder, her little hand clutching his jacket. Even Estelle, who usually has the stamina of a marathon runner, yawns widely as she rubs her eyes.

“You ready to call it a night?” Bucky asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair from Liam’s forehead. “Yeah. They had their moment, but they’re done. And honestly, so am I.”

Bucky chuckles, pressing a kiss to Julie’s temple. “Alright, let’s round them up.”

The kids don’t protest much as you gently guide them toward the door, saying your goodbyes to the Avengers along the way. Natasha gives you a knowing smirk, Sam teases Bucky about being an old man, and Steve promises to stop by for brunch soon. Tony makes a grand gesture of bidding farewell, but even he keeps it brief, clearly understanding the delicate balance of leaving before a kid meltdown.

By the time you reach the car, the crisp night air has lulled the younger two into a state of near-sleep. Bucky carefully buckles Julie into her booster while you help Liam into his car seat. Estelle climbs into the back with minimal fuss, clutching her stuffed animal and leaning her head against the window.

Once everyone is secured, you climb into the passenger seat, exhaling a long breath. Bucky starts the car, and the hum of the engine fills the quiet night. The drive home is peaceful, the streets nearly empty save for the occasional car heading in the opposite direction. The kids are silent, their breathing slow and steady as they drift off.

For a moment, it’s just you and Bucky, the soft glow of streetlights illuminating his profile as he drives. His hand rests on the gear shift, and without thinking, you place yours over it. He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Tired, doll?” he asks, his voice soft.

“A little,” you admit, returning the smile. “But happy. It was a good night.”

Bucky nods, his eyes flicking back to the road. “Yeah. Seeing them light up like that for the fireworks… worth every second.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “And you? You didn’t hate the party?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I had you and the kids with me. How could I?”

The quiet comfort between you is palpable, and you take a moment to study him. The way his jawline softens when he’s relaxed, the way his eyes crinkle just slightly when he smiles. You’re about to say something when a small murmur comes from the backseat.

“Daddy…” Julie mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. “Fiwerworks pretty…”

Bucky’s smile widens as he glances at the rearview mirror. “Yeah, princess,” he says softly. “They were pretty.”

By the time you pull into the driveway, all three kids are sound asleep. Bucky kills the engine, and the two of you sit there for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell of the quiet car. Finally, he turns to you with a grin. “Think we can carry them all inside without waking them?”

“Challenge accepted,” you reply with a playful smirk.

Bucky goes for Julie first, carefully unbuckling her from her car seat. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her head resting on his shoulder as he cradles her against his chest. Meanwhile, you gently coax Liam awake enough to walk inside with your help. He grumbles softly, rubbing his eyes but ultimately lets you guide him.

Once inside, Estelle trudges toward her room on her own, too tired to argue about brushing her teeth or changing into pajamas. Liam makes it to his bed with a similar lack of resistance, flopping down onto his mattress as soon as he’s within range. You manage to get him into a pair of pajamas with minimal effort, though his eyes remain mostly shut the entire time.

Julie is the hardest, her small body limp and heavy in her sleep. Bucky sits on the edge of her bed, holding her upright while you gently pull off her party dress and replace it with her favorite unicorn pajamas. She lets out a sleepy sigh, her thumb slipping back into her mouth as her head lolls against Bucky’s chest.

“Almost done,” you whisper, smoothing her hair back. Bucky’s gaze softens as he looks down at her, his vibranium hand carefully tucking the blanket around her tiny frame once she’s settled in bed.

“She’s out like a light,” he murmurs, standing up and following you out of her room.

With all three kids finally in bed, the house falls into a deep, soothing quiet. You and Bucky make your way to the living room, collapsing onto the couch together. He stretches his arm along the back of the couch, pulling you close as you lean against him.

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Barnes,” he says, his voice teasing but tender.

“Happy New Year, Sergeant Barnes,” you reply, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “We survived another year,” he says with a chuckle.

You laugh softly, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “And we’ll survive many more.”

The two of you sit there in the quiet of your home, the promise of a new year stretching out before you, filled with all the chaos, laughter, and love you’ve come to cherish.

[sleekervae]

Flickers | the projectionist (johnny) x reader

Masterlist

A/N: had this idea knocking around in my head for a few days. And while still not clear on his real name in the movie, I'm going with Johnny for simplicity sake.

Pairing: the projectionist (johnny) x fem!reader

Summary: late night at the cinema and a salacious book has poor johnny in a bind for his colleague.

Warnings: erotic writing, heavy smut, oral, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 4,436

Johnny first met Sophie on the tail end of a smoky September evening, the air thick with the scent of roasted peanuts from the vendor outside the theater. She was leaning against the wall near the alley, cigarette perched between her fingers, looking every bit like she belonged in one of those French pictures he sometimes screened after hours. Her boss—a producer Johnny had worked with before—had sent her ahead to fetch some reels, but it was clear from the way she moved, slow and deliberate, that Sophie wasn’t the type to rush.

She was all sharp cheekbones and sharper wit, her dark hair pinned back haphazardly as though she’d stopped caring halfway through the task. When she introduced herself, her tone was low and indifferent, like she wasn’t used to people looking twice at her. Johnny had glanced down at her shoes—simple flats, scuffed at the edges—and wondered if she realized how much attention her quiet presence commanded.

At first, they only spoke in passing, exchanging a few words while Sophie handled errands for her boss. But over time, she lingered. She’d stay after picking up reels or dropping off schedules, watching him from the doorway as he adjusted the projector.

“I didn’t think anyone still cared about this old junk,” she remarked once, arms crossed, her voice carrying a trace of amusement.

Johnny looked up from splicing a reel, the dim light catching on her pale skin. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it runs smooth. Besides, this junk’s how I pay rent.”

She laughed—a low, throaty sound—and it hit him harder than he expected.

It wasn’t long before she started coming around on her own time, sitting in the empty theater while he threaded film for the midnight show. She’d sit near the back, legs crossed, watching the flickering images with an intensity that made him uneasy in the best way. One night, she waited until the credits rolled to ask him:

“You ever think about what’s not on the screen? The stuff they won’t show?”

It was an odd question, but Sophie was full of those. Her curiosity was sharp and relentless, poking at ideas most people shied away from. Johnny didn’t know what to say, so she filled the silence herself, telling him about the scripts she was working on.

“They’re not normal,” she admitted, the word slipping out like a taunt. “Producers don’t like ‘em. Too weird. Too… honest.”

She wouldn’t let him read them at first, claiming they weren’t ready. But she couldn’t resist teasing him with snippets. A line of dialogue here, a provocative idea there. The more she shared, the more Johnny’s imagination took off. Her writing was raw, full of heat and longing that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with desire.

It wasn’t just her words that got under his skin. It was the way she said them—leaning close, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was sharing a secret too dangerous for anyone else to hear. Her eyes would linger on him, searching for a reaction, and he’d have to fight the urge to shift under her gaze.

Johnny wasn’t sure when he started picturing her in the scenarios she described, but once the idea took root, it spread fast. He’d catch himself watching her hands as she gestured, wondering what they’d feel like on his skin. He started noticing the curve of her lips when she spoke, the slight rasp in her voice that made everything she said sound like a proposition.

He told himself it was just curiosity—admiration for her creativity, maybe—but the truth sat heavier in his chest. Johnny was down bad for Sophie, the way she embraced the messy, carnal parts of human nature without apology. She made him feel like a character in one of her stories, teetering on the edge of something raw and thrilling.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see how far she’d let him fall.

It was one of those late nights where the air in the projection room felt heavy, the low hum of the machines lulling them into an easy rhythm. Sophie had perched herself in the chair in the corner, legs crossed, cigarette forgotten between her fingers.

“You really want to read it?” she asked, her voice a little too casual.

Johnny didn’t look up from the reel he was inspecting, though his hands faltered for half a beat. “Been asking you for weeks, haven’t I?”

Sophie smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it, like she was testing him. She reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded stack of pages, bound with a frayed ribbon.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if it messes with your head,” she said, tossing it onto the counter.

He wiped his hands on his trousers before picking it up, the weight of her work feeling heavier than it should’ve. The title scrawled across the top in her loopy handwriting read Flickers.

Johnny picked the script off the counter, his fingers brushing the ribbon binding it together. The room felt warmer now, Sophie’s proximity a heavy presence that made it harder to focus. He flipped through the pages until he landed on a scene near the middle—words catching his eye like fireflies in the dark.

He cleared his throat, half for himself and half to test the waters. “Mind if I…”

Sophie raised a brow, but there was a softness to her smirk. “Go ahead... If you dare.”

The challenge in her voice spurred him on, and he began to read.

“'Paul's hands traced the curves of her body, firm and possessive. His voice was a husky whisper in her ear as he demanded, "Tell me how much you want me." Lucille gasped, her body responding eagerly, guiding his hands to where she needed him most.'

“'His grip tightened around her as he felt her body molding to his touch, her warmth enveloping him. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, and she shivered beneath him in response. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him as he traced patterns over her stomach and sides with his fingers. The softness of her skin sent shockwaves of desire through him, and he growled low in his throat. His hands found their way up to cup her breasts, kneading them gently before pulling on her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Lucille threw her head back with a soft moan, the sound echoing in the room. Her scent was intoxicating—a mix of sweet perfume and primal need.”

Johnny paused, his voice trailing off as he glanced up. Sophie had turned her face away, her dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. But she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be—he caught the faintest curve of her lips, a smile threatening to give her away.

“Keep going,” she said softly, her tone lacking the teasing edge it usually carried.

Johnny swallowed, taking a seat in the chair beside her, “You sure?”

Her eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze for just a moment too long. “I’m sure.”

He returned to the page, his voice lower now, threading through the quiet tension between them.

“‘You like watching me unravel,’ Paul murmured, his hands tightening on her waist. ‘Does it make you feel powerful?’

“She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. ‘It makes me feel alive.’

“With one swift motion, Paul pulled back Lucille's bustier, revealing supple curves that seemed endless in the dim light. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of skin, tracing patterns that made her gasp and squirm beneath him. His lips followed suit, kissing and nipping along her collarbone and down towards her breasts. They stood tall and proud under his admiring gaze, begging for attention. With a soft sigh, he bent down to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first before increasing the pressure. Lucille cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back off the bed.”

Johnny stopped again, unable to ignore the way Sophie shifted closer to him, her knee brushing against his thigh. “This is… something else,” he murmured, not realizing he’d said it out loud.

Sophie finally turned to him, her cheeks flushed but her smile unshaken. “You like it?”

He let out a low laugh, setting the script down but keeping his eyes on her. “I think you’re trying to get me in trouble.”

She bit her lip, that wicked, knowing smile from the page mirrored on her face now. “Or maybe I just know what I want,” she said, her voice quiet but sure, “Keep going,” she urged.

The room suddenly felt claustrophobic as the scene unfold. His heart raced as Paul buried himself between Lucille's legs, read how she moaned and screamed for him, their encounter brimming with unbridled desire. Every word and gesture built to a tantalizing climax, sending Johnny's mind reeling with fantasies. But it wasn't Paul or Lucille anymore; it was him and Sophie. Her seductive smirk and intense gaze held him spellbound, igniting a fire within him that he could not resist.

“You write like this all the time?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Only when I feel inspired,” Sophie replied, standing now. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, as though testing just how far she could push him. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He set the pages down, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Do I?”

The silence between them thickened, charged with all the things Johnny wasn’t saying. The way her scripts had lodged themselves in his brain, filling the quiet moments with flashes of heat. The way she seemed to know, without him ever admitting it, how badly he wanted her.

Sophie closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touching him. “If you’re too shy to finish, I can always act it out for you,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny’s breath hitched. He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but the way her eyes lingered on his lips told him she wasn’t.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sophie smirked, leaning in until her mouth was inches from his. “Who says I can’t?”

And that was it—whatever thin thread of control Johnny had been clinging to snapped. He closed the gap, his hands gripping her waist as their mouths collided. She tasted like smoke and something sweeter, her body pressing into his as though daring him to take more.

The pages of her script fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as Johnny pulled her into his lap, her legs falling on either side of him. Sophie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath hitching against his lips. She didn’t hold back—her movements were confident, commanding, like she’d been waiting for this moment as much as he had.

For Johnny, it wasn’t just about the heat of the moment. It was the way Sophie unraveled him, her words and presence stripping him bare until there was nothing left but want. She made him feel like he was part of her story, and for once, he didn’t care if it had a happy ending.

The room was awash with raw desire and urgency as Johnny's hands fumbled to undo the intricate clasps of Sophie's bustier, the fabric falling away to reveal the soft curve of her skin. Sophie's nails grazed down his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as she leaned in to capture his lips hungrily. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as Johnny tore off her dress in a rush, his movements desperate and primal.

Sophie gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch as he explored every inch of her exposed skin. Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The air crackled with electricity between them, passion igniting like a wildfire that threatened to consume them whole.

Their kiss deepened, becoming a symphony of need and longing that echoed through the room. Johnny's hands roamed over Sophie's body, memorizing every curve and

dip, every smooth plane and luscious valley that lay beneath the surface. He traced her spine with reverence, his fingers dancing down the small of her back and around to cup her hip, pulling her against him in a desperate plea for contact.

Sophie whimpered into his mouth, her own hands finding their way beneath his shirt, tracing the muscular lines of his abdomen as she felt the heat radiating off of him. The fire between them was building, growing in intensity until it threatened to consume them both in its fervor. She couldn't remember ever feeling this way before – so alive, so consumed by a need that seemed to pulse through her very veins.

And then Johnny's lips were on her neck, trailing kisses down to where her pulse raced wildly beneath the surface. And despite herself, Sophie's knees began to weaken. His teeth gently nipped at the tender skin of her shoulder, sending shivers of desire coursing through her veins. She could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers, warming her to her very core. And as much as she tried to fight it, it was impossible to deny the sheer power that he held over her in this moment.

The room was spinning with a mix of lust and adrenaline, the two of them lost in a whirlwind of passion that threatened to consume them both. Johnny's breath was hot against her skin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone until he finally reached the delicate curve of her breasts.

She gasped as he took one in his mouth, sucking gently on the taut nipple while running his hands down over her hips and towards the sway of her backside. Sophie moaned softly into his hair, her hands fisting in his shirt as she arched her back, the pleasure coursing through her. This was beyond anything she'd ever experienced, anything she could write—a fire burning bright within her that only he could fan into flames.

As his lips moved from one breast to the other, Sophie's breath became ragged, her body trembling with need. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer still. She felt like she was dancing on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating, and she was powerless to resist it.

Johnny's hands trailed down her back, tracing the curve of her hips before sliding beneath her, lifting her onto the chair. She let out a soft gasp as he settled her onto the wooden frame, his strong arms supporting her weight. The room was filled with a heavy silence punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the sound of fabric rustling as they tore at each other's clothes.

With an unspoken demand, Johnny lifted her gently and placed her on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. Her breath hitched as she realized how exposed she was, how vulnerable she felt. But in that moment, she didn't want to be anywhere else. She wanted him to take her, to claim her with a passion and intensity that was like nothing she'd ever known.

Johnny pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands firm but tender as they settled on her thighs. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

Sophie blinked, her lips parted in protest, but he silenced her with a smirk that promised he wasn’t going far. He strode to the projection room door, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed through the space.

“No interruptions,” he said, more to himself than her, before his eyes flicked back to her.

Sophie was still perched on the table, her legs slightly apart, the hem of her skirt riding dangerously high. She looked at him with a mix of confidence and vulnerability, her breath shallow as he crossed the room again.

“And here — I thought you changed your mind,” she teased, though her voice wavered slightly.

Johnny’s grin deepened, his eyes dark and intent as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist, drawing her toward the edge of the table with an easy confidence. “Couldn’t have that,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Not when you look at me like that.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a whispered promise against her skin. “Not when I’ve been dying to know how far you’ll let me go.”

Her gasp turned into a moan as his hands slid down, tracing the curve of her hips before tugging her closer. Sophie gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as Johnny’s mouth moved to her neck, his stubble rough against her soft skin.

“Johnny…” she whispered, her voice breathless and pleading.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. “You don’t want anyone hearing us, do you?”

He continued, his touch feather-light as he traced the delicate line of her stomach, her skin quivering beneath his fingers. Sophie bit her lip, her eyes closing as he marveled at the way her body arched towards him.

As she felt his fingers slide under the hem of her undergarments, she caught her breath in a sharp gasp. He looked up at her from where he knelt, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of fear. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

Sophie nodded, an array of emotions playing across her face as she met his gaze. "Yes," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear. She wanted this; she needed this.

Johnny's eyes locked onto hers for a moment longer before they flicked lower, the heat of desire still smouldering in their depth. He took a shuddering breath, his hands steady as he pulled her underwear down, revealing the most intimate part of her. For a moment, he simply looked, drinking in the sight of her before him.

Sophie's heart threatened to burst from her chest, the sight of Johnny looking at her like that making her feel powerful and delicate all at once. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him closer and reassure him that she was alright. But she also craved the touch of his skin against hers, the warmth of his body enveloping hers in passion's embrace.

With a deep inhale, Johnny let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin before him. Sophie let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure washed over her. His touch was gentle yet firm, as if he were caressing a delicate flower with utmost care. She felt herself growing warmer, her body trembling with anticipation.

Johnny's eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he placed soft kisses along her inner thigh. Sophie let out a shaky sigh, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly as she felt the world around her fade away.

There was something magical about this moment, something that she knew would stay with her for eternity. Johnny's experience and passion were intertwined with her own desires, creating a symphony of touch and emotion. His hands traced delicate patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine and causing a fire to ignite within her core.

As his lips brushed against her folds, Sophie's breath hitched. The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure and need, of their bodies speaking volumes without a single word being spoken. She could feel Johnny's warmth at her entrance, the anticipation of what was to come making her tremble with excitement.

Johnny then descended upon Sophie's slick, wet pussy like a starved animal. His tongue delved into her folds, tasting her sweet nectar, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Sophie's back arched out as a moan escaped her lips. Her fingers threaded through Johnny's hair, pulling him closer as he devoured her.

His tongue darted in and out of her pussy, fucking her with it like a little cock. He teased her entrance, tasting her sweet juices before plunging deeper. Sophie's hips bucked as she ground herself against his face, desperate for more. Her moans grew louder as her pleasure built, her breath hitching with every flick of Johnny's tongue against her clit.

Her legs trembled as she felt her orgasm building. Johnny's skilled tongue worked her into a frenzy, his fingers digging into her thighs as he held her in place. She could feel herself on the edge, ready to tumble over into pure ecstasy. With one final flick of his tongue, Sophie came undone.

Her orgasm tore through her like a tidal wave. Sophie's eyes rolled back into her head as she cried out in pleasure. Johnny continued to lick and suck at her pussy, drawing out every last shiver and shudder of her orgasm. When Sophie finally came down from her high, Johnny looked up at her with a smug smile on his face.

"Good girl," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste so fucking sweet."

Sophie could only blush and pant in response, still reeling from the most intense orgasm of her life. Johnny's mouth on her pussy had been filthy and depraved, but she couldn't get enough. She knew she'd be begging for more in no time.

With a smile that promised more, Johnny stood and pulled his pants down, his impressive erection bobbing in front of them. Sophie smiled up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. She reached out to him, her fingers tracing the length of his cock.

"Take me," she whispered, her voice full of desire. "I’m all yours, Johnny."

Johnny positioned himself at Sophie's entrance and slowly pushed inside. She gasped at the sensation of him filling her up, stretching her tight hole until she was overflowing with him. He began to move, his body slamming into hers with a rhythm that matched their hearts' desires.

Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as she felt Johnny's cock pound against her insides. She met every stroke with a moan or a whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him for dear life. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding—skin slapping against skin, breaths becoming ragged gasps for air.

The air in the room was thick, their bodies entwined in a rhythm that left no room for restraint. Johnny's movements were deliberate yet teasing, each thrust pulling a gasp from Sophie's lips. His mouth found her ear, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered.

"Is this how you pictured it?" he murmured, his tone laced with a wicked edge. "When you wrote those words—was it me you imagined, Sophie?"

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find balance amidst the chaos he was unleashing on her. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe beyond the sensation of him inside her.

"You’ve got a filthy imagination," Johnny continued, his voice dripping with mock admonishment, though his thrusts deepened with every word. "I read every line, you know. Every single detail. Do you squirm when you write it? Did you get this wet just thinking about it?"

Sophie’s moan was all the response he needed, her head falling back as she clung to him, desperate for more. Her body betrayed her, arching into his touch, meeting every movement with equal fervor.

He chuckled, low and rough, his teeth grazing her neck. "Thought so. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to stop." His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it higher to anchor her against him. "So tell me, Sophie—am I better than your story?"

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Y-you’re better,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper, “So fucking better.”

"That’s what I thought," Johnny growled, his lips crashing against hers as he drove them both closer to the edge. Sophie arched her back as he reached between them to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

"Come for me again," he commanded, nibbling at her ear while still teasing her clit. With a cry, Sophie obeyed, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he continued to move inside her.

Never had she felt so alive, so desired. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex as their bodies moved as one, lost in the haze of desire and passion. Johnny's lips found hers once more, their tongues tangling in a messy dance of lust and love.

He pulled out at the last moment, his come splattering against her swollen clit. She cried out in ecstasy as he filled her up again, painting her insides with his release. And then they collapsed together in a heap on the table, their breathing ragged and heavy as they came down from their high.

Sophie couldn't believe it—she'd never felt anything like this before. This raw, unrestrained passion that burned bright between them. As she looked into Johnny's eyes, she knew that whatever words she’d written couldn’t truly capture the essence of their connection. Not like this.

Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, lay entwined, hearts pounding in sync with the fading echoes of their passionate embrace. As their breaths slowly returned to normal, Sophie traced her fingers through the damp hair on Johnny's chest, marveling at the man before her. He was more than just a character in her story; he was real, and he had brought her words to life in a way she never thought possible.

Johnny turned his head towards her hand and captured it in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "That was... incredible," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears of overwhelming emotion. "You truly are a wordsmith, Sophie."

She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing grin. "I can't take all the credit. You helped bring the idea to life."

He chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well then, let's write another chapter, shall we?"

[beersangel]

The silver lining ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: quiteguy!matt x overachiever reader.

content warnings: angst !

summary: Aven Brooks, a driven overachiever, and Matt Sturniolo, a quiet, reserved guy with a reputation for being rude, are paired for a school project. While Aven is open to working together, Matt is reluctant, but their forced partnership begins to reveal there's more to each of them than meets the eye.

click here for the previous part.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The night before, Aven had been buried in her usual routine: debate practice with Dakota and Courtney, a project session with Matt, and a late-night cram for her math quiz. It was close to midnight when Dakota came over, flopping onto Aven’s bed with all the energy of someone who hadn’t spent the day juggling back-to-back responsibilities.

“So, there’s a party tomorrow night,” Dakota said, scrolling through her phone.

“Cool. Have fun,” Aven replied without looking up from her notes.

“No, no,” Dakota said, sitting up. “You’re coming too.”

Aven sighed, not pausing her writing. “Dakota, I’m swamped. I’ve got a quiz to prepare for, a debate to rehearse, and—”

“Aven,” Dakota interrupted, her tone firm. “You need a break. When’s the last time you did something fun?”

Aven finally glanced up, giving her friend a flat look. “I don’t think standing in a crowded room full of sweaty strangers counts as ‘fun.’”

Dakota wasn’t deterred. “Courtney and I already decided. You’re coming with us, even if I have to drag you there myself. You’ll survive one night.”

After a few more rounds of Dakota’s relentless persuasion, Aven gave in, more out of exhaustion than agreement.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The bass thumped through the walls, vibrating the floor beneath Aven’s feet. She stood in the crowded living room, her shoulders brushing against strangers as voices rose and fell around her. Dakota and Courtney were somewhere in the chaos, probably on the makeshift dance floor near the speakers.

Aven sighed. She hated parties. The heat, the noise, the sheer overwhelming crush of people—it wasn’t her scene. She scanned the room for an exit, her eyes landing on a sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Without thinking twice, she made her way towards it, weaving through the crowd.

The cool night air greeted her as she stepped outside, instantly calming her nerves. She exhaled deeply, relishing the quiet compared to the noise inside. It was then she noticed someone sitting on the grass, their back turned to her.

Matt.

He sat cross-legged, his elbows resting on his knees, looking down at something in his hands. Aven hesitated for a moment before stepping closer.

“Can I sit here?” she asked softly.

Matt’s head jerked up, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he nodded. “Sure,” he said, his voice low, before looking back down.

Aven lowered herself onto the grass next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her arms on top. The silence between them was neither awkward nor comfortable—it was just… there.

“Why are you out here?” she asked after a few beats, her voice breaking the stillness.

“It’s loud in there,” he replied simply, still not looking at her. He paused, then added, “You?”

“Same reason, I guess. I didn’t even want to come,” she admitted, shrugging. “My friends dragged me here.”

Matt let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. “You’d rather be at home studying, huh?”

Aven blinked, surprised. She turned her head to look at him, only to find him already watching her. His gaze was steady, unreadable. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Matt tilted his head, pausing for a moment before asking, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” Aven asked, frowning slightly.

“Overwork yourself,” he said, his voice calm but cutting in its directness.

Her defenses went up instantly. “I don’t overwork myself,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it at all. “Why?”

Aven’s jaw tightened. “Why do you never talk to anyone?” She shot back, her words defensive and pointed.

Matt didn’t respond. He just sat there, his eyes dropping back to the ground.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. After a moment, Aven exhaled, the fight leaving her body. “Because I have to,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the night air.

Matt looked up, his gaze curious but not pressing.

“I want to get into my dream school,” she continued, her voice steady now, like she was reciting a fact.

Matt stayed quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “And what if you don’t get in?”

The question hit her like a slap. Aven frowned, the thought piercing her like a needle. “Why would you say that?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“It’s a possibility,” Matt said with a shrug, his tone casual.

Aven’s stomach tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. She had never considered it—not really. Her dream school wasn’t just a goal; it was the only option, the plan she had clung to for years.

Matt watched her reaction, his sharp eyes analyzing the way her expression shifted. After a beat, he spoke again. “You know, for someone who thinks they’re so smart, it’s kind of pathetic how you’ve pinned your entire future on one thing.”

Aven froze, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She turned to him slowly, her eyes narrowing, a mix of disbelief and hurt flashing across her face. After a tense pause, she spoke, her voice quiet but cutting “You know, I didn’t want to believe the rumors,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but firm. “I thought, maybe—maybe he’s not as bad as everyone says. But you know what? They’re right. You are rude.”

She pushed herself off the ground, dusting her jeans off before walking towards the house without another glance at him.

Matt stayed frozen in place for a moment, his thoughts swirling. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed himself off the grass. He caught sight of Aven slipping through the sliding door and into the crowded living room. His jaw tightened as he followed after her, weaving through the party.

The noise inside hit him like a wave, but he didn’t slow down. His eyes stayed locked on her as she moved through the crowd, her shoulders stiff, her head down. She didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just kept walking like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Matt muttered a quick “sorry” as he bumped into someone holding a red cup, but he barely broke stride.

By the time he reached the door, Aven was already stepping outside. He hesitated for half a second, then pushed it open, the cool night air hitting him as he spotted her heading down the street.

“Brooks,” he called out, but she didn’t stop, her pace quickening as she walked down the dimly lit street. “Brooks, wait up,” he said again, louder this time as he walked after her, but she kept moving, her shoulders stiff and head down.

“Aven,” he said finally, his voice softer but firm as he closed the distance between them.

She stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “What?” she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. Her expression was a mix of anger and pain, but it was the hurt in her eyes that made Matt’s throat tighten.

“I—” He started but faltered, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her.

“What, Matt?” she repeated, her voice cracking now. “What do you want to say? That I’m stupid for wanting something? That it’s pathetic to care about my future?”

She could feel the tightness in her chest, the weight of his words pressing down on her, and suddenly, all the doubts she’d buried deep inside began to surface. What if she didn’t get in? What if all her hard work wasn’t enough? The thought of not walking in her father’s footsteps—of falling short—was a fear she had never fully allowed herself to confront. But now, hearing Matt’s words, it felt too real, too possible.

Her words cut deep, sharper than he expected. “Aven, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his tone softening, almost pleading.

“Then what did you mean?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing, though the hurt still shone through. “Do you think before you speak? Or do you just say things without caring how they’ll affect people?”

Matt opened his mouth, but no words came. He didn’t have an answer—not one that would fix this, at least.

Aven sighed, her shoulders sagging as she looked away, her jaw clenching. “Forget it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I should’ve known better.”

She turned away from him and started walking again, her pace brisk. Matt stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared into the night. The weight of his own words hung heavy in the air around him, and for the first time in a long while, Matt felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel.

Regret.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

author’s note: their first fight lol 💗 I love writing angst! also I’m thinking of making tag list so if you want to be added reply to this post <3!

- 💌

[scrollonso]

Cinnamom — Strollonso (3) (prev)

A little over a week later, Lance sat at the back of Dr. Alonso’s classroom, tapping his pen absently against his notebook. His mind wasn’t on the lecture — truly, it hadn't been since they started this little arangement. It wasn’t even on the upcoming exam. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the awkward dinner he’d had with his father and the way Fernando had reassured him afterward.

It had been tense, but Lance got through it — mostly because of Fernando (and his cock.)

Now, though, things felt different.

Fernando had been more distant this past week. Professional. Careful. He still held Lance’s gaze longer than he should, still lingered when they crossed paths, but it wasn’t the same.

Lance hated it.

How could Fernando let him get so close, let him feel every inch of his body, just to suddenly decide it was too much? It wasn't fair.

“Mr. Stroll,” Fernando called from the front, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you answer the question?”

Lance blinked, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention — realizing half the class had passed by and he hadn't heard a word. The class chuckled quietly, and Fernando’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Maybe you’d like to join me in my office after class to review?” Fernando said, his voice casual, but his gaze intense.

Lance’s heart leapt. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, sure.”

When class ended, Lance lingered as the others filed out. Once they were alone, Fernando closed the door, leaning against it.

“You’ve been distracted,” Fernando observed, his voice low.

Lance crossed his arms. “And you’ve been avoiding me.”

Fernando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had to. After the encounter with Lawrence… I needed to be careful.”

Lance frowned. “Careful? You said you weren’t going anywhere. You said you weren't scared.”

“I’m not,” Fernando assured, stepping closer. “But I also have to protect you. If anyone finds out…”

Lance grabbed Fernando’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care who knows.”

Fernando cupped Lance’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “You should care.”

“I only care about you.” Lance leaned into his touch. “So stop pulling away. It’s driving me fuckingcrazy.”

Fernando shook his head softly. “Language, Lancito.”

Lance smiled. “Sorry, sir.”

Fernando kissed him then — slow and deliberate, like he’d been holding back for too long. Lance melted into it, his arms wrapping around Fernando’s neck, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Fernando rested his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m done keeping my distance.”

“Good,” Lance whispered, breathless. “Because I need you.”

“And you have me,” Fernando promised, his voice firm. “Now shoo, I actually have work to do.”

Lance grinned at Fernando’s words, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

Fernando laughed, watching him leave with a lingering gaze. As the door shut behind Lance, Fernando sighed, shaking his head. He was already counting the minutes until he could see him again.

After his last class of the day, Lance made his way to Esteban’s dorm, texting as he walked.

Lance:

Coming over. I’m bored.

Esteban:

Perfect timing.

Charles is here too.

🍕🍕🍕

Lance smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. By the time he reached Esteban’s door, the two were already lounging on the couch, laughing over something on TV.

“Lance!” Esteban greeted, tossing him a soda. “Finally.”

“Miss me that much?” Lance teased, flopping down beside them.

They spent hours catching up, laughing and talking about anything but school. The sun dipped below the horizon, and before Lance knew it, the clock read past midnight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fernando:

Where are you?

Lance bit his lip, heart skipping a beat.

Lance:

Este's. Why?

There was a long pause before Fernando’s next message.

Fernando:

I need you.

Lance stared at the text, his pulse quickening.

Lance:

I’ll be there soon.

“Guys, I gotta go,” he announced, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“Yeah.” Lance shot them a quick grin. “Something came up.”

Charles smirked knowingly. “Dr. Alonso?”

Lance’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Esteban laughed. “Go, go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

When Lance finally arrived at Fernando’s house, he barely had time to knock before the door opened.

Fernando stood there, eyes dark and intense. “You took your time.”

Lance stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You missed me that much?”

Fernando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed Lance by the collar, pulling him into a heated kiss. Lance melted against him, hands gripping Fernando’s waist.

As they broke apart, Fernando whispered, “Missed you.”

Lance grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a smirk. “Now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you.”

Lance didn’t need any more convincing. He followed Fernando willingly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

With a shudder, Lance senses a hand breach the waistband of his sweats and descend, bold fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking. He exhales harshly, little moans slipping out between gasps as Fernando's grip becomes surer, tightening around the head of his cock and thumbing over his slit. Kicking off his clothes might be easier, but Lance feels paralyzed by his touch, unable to do more than blindly feel for the button of Fernando's pants and fumble them open.

Instinct takes over from there, and before either of them can get another full breath in, Fernando's erection is hot and weighty in the palm of his hand, and he too is uttering low groans and trembling with each circuit of Lance's roving hand.

Finding his way to the Spaniard's neck, Lance's teeth bite down, earning him a pronounced shudder and a firm pull of his cock. He makes a trail in this way, alternately using lips and teeth to provoke the reactions he craves. Beneath his assault, Fernando is uncharacteristically pliant; seemingly the only part of him still functioning on a normal level are his fingers. Maybe, just maybe, it's not that unreasonable to think he isn't used to the touch of another person. The stray thought sinks like a brick, crushing yet alluring, into the pit of Lance's stomach, and he groans into the divot of Fernando's collarbone.

Is it worse to wonder about that, or to like the idea so much?

Both seem less than honorable, but currently, Lance isn't sure he has the brainpower to debate it further. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, stroking faster until the cadence of Fernando's voice grows choppy, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Caught between the wall and him, Fernando's eyes finally slam shut, and his hips jut forward, fucking through the waves of release into Lance's fist. His recovery is quick, however, and before Lance can even try to finish himself off, Fernando mirrors his pace with firm strokes of his hand until he too feels the wind knocked out of him, and collapses with a moan into Fernando's shoulder. 

They remain pressed together for several long moments, feeling the collective warmth stored between them and attempting to regain their composure.

"Finally," is the first word to hit the air afterward. Lance fingers trace a lazy circle at the small of Fernando's back. "I've been thinking about this all day, Nando."

"I'm aware," Fernando mutters gruffly into the Canadian's skin. 

How could he not be? Observation is a natural strength of his, but Lance's persistence drives home the truth all the more.

"Get some sleep," he adds for good measure. Because in some ways, he's still a responsible adult.

"I'm heading back," Lance agrees. The lack of reluctance on his face makes it clear — there'll be a next time to savor — but now he has to go back to Esteban's place before his dad notices he left. He turns on his heel before leaving, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

The next day, a girl — most likely a year or two younger than Lance — stood at the front of the classroom, her hands nervously clutching her notebook. The chatter of students filled the room as they waited for Dr. Alonso to arrive, but she had only one person in her sights — Lance.

Lance sat near the back, laughing with Esteban and Charles, completely unaware of the determined look on her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and began walking toward him.

Esteban was the first to notice her approach, his brows lifting in curiosity. “Uh, Lance? Incoming.”

Lance glanced up, confused at first, but his expression softened when he saw her, always greeting people with a smile no matter who. “Hey, Bianca. What’s up?”

She stopped in front of him, cheeks flushed. “I need to talk to you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips. “Right now?”

“Yes.” Bianca swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, and… well, I like you, Lance. A lot.”

The room fell silent. Charles shot Esteban a wide-eyed look, while Jessica and Zhou exchanged awkward glances.

Lance blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I know it’s a bit sudden,” Bianca continued, nervously twisting her fingers together. “But I had to say it. You’re kind, funny, and I… You know, I just think we’d be good together.”

Before Lance could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Alonso walked in, his gaze immediately finding Lance. Fernando paused mid-step, taking in the scene — Bianca standing close to Lance, the tension in the room palpable. His eyes narrowed.

“Take your seats,” Fernando said, his voice obviously more aggitated than it had been for previous lectures. "We have an exam to prepare for."

Bianca glanced at Lance, waiting for a response, but Lance only murmured, “I… we should talk later.”

Reluctantly, Bianca nodded and returned to her seat — which was, thankfully, on the opposite side of the room.

As the students settled, Fernando’s gaze lingered on Lance longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. Lance shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that stare, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now.

Throughout the lecture, Fernando’s usual composed demeanor was tinged with an edge of irritation. His eyes flicked toward Lance more often than usual, catching Lance’s gaze every time.

When the class ended, Lance lingered, waiting for the room to empty — he didn't want Fernando to get the wrong idea.

Fernando approached slowly, his arms crossed. “So. Bianca.”

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I— Nando, It's not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Fernando’s voice was low, laced with jealousy.

“She confessed. I didn’t say yes.” Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because I’m not interested in her. You know that.”

Fernando’s jaw clenched. “She clearly doesn’t.”

Lance smirked, leaning in slightly. “Maybe I should make it clearer, then.”

Fernando’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How?”

Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could start by kissing me.”

Fernando glanced at the door, ensuring they were alone before stepping closer. “You’re trouble, Lance.”

“And you love it.”

Fernando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lance’s lips, lingering just long enough to leave no doubt about who Lance belonged to.

When they pulled apart, Fernando whispered, “I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Though, they both knew Fernando was simply exaggerating, they understood what they had had to be kept a secret.

Lance grinned. “Including Bianca?”

Fernando chuckled. “Especially Bianca.”

Lance laughed softly, resting his forehead against Fernando’s. “She really did make you jealous, hm?”

Fernando’s hands slid down to rest on Lance’s waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. “You should know by now, Lancito… I don’t like to share.”

Lance’s heart fluttered at the possessive edge in Fernando’s voice. “You know you don’t have to.”

Fernando pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. “Still, I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. Especially not someone like Bianca.”

"She's your student, Nando," Lance snorted. “Plus, she’s harmless.”

Fernando’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Harmless until she confesses her feelings in front of half my class.”

“Alright, that was awkward,” Lance admitted with a grin. “But I handled it well, didn’t I Nando?” He hummed, eyes almost begging for praise.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “By running straight into my office after?”

“I knew you’d handle the rest,” Lance frowned, wrapping his arms around Fernando’s neck.

Fernando’s expression softened as he leaned in, kissing Lance again. This time, the kiss was slower, more lingering, the kind that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

When they finally pulled apart, Fernando’s voice was quiet but firm. “No more hiding how we feel when it’s just us.”

Lance nodded, his gaze steady. “And outside of here?”

Fernando sighed, brushing a stray curl from Lance’s forehead. “We’ll be careful. But I won’t ever let you doubt that you’re mine.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him at the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Good. Now, let’s make sure you never forget it.”

Before Lance could respond, Fernando backed him up against the desk, hands sliding under Lance’s shirt. The tension between them was electric, a slow burn that neither of them seemed willing to extinguish.

Lance left Fernando’s office feeling utterly satisfied and completely wrecked. His legs wobbled slightly, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to walk normally. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and every step reminded him of what had just happened against Fernando’s desk — of the hands, the whispered words, the way Fernando had completely unraveled him.

As he exited the building, Lance caught sight of a few classmates still lingering outside. He straightened his back, forcing a casual expression onto his face, though he could feel their curious gazes.

“Long meeting with Dr. Alonso?” Zhou teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lance grinned, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Right.” Zhou shot him a knowing look before heading off.

Lance shook his head and made his way home, thankful for the quiet streets. But as he entered the house, the familiar sound of his father’s voice made him pause.

“Son?”

Lawrence stood in the hallway, glancing up from his phone. His eyes narrowed as he took in his son’s appearance — the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way Lance was walking like he’d just run a marathon.

“You alright?” Lawrence asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Lance froze, heart pounding. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re walking funny.”

Lance swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “Oh, uh… I tripped on the stairs at school.”

Lawrence’s brow furrowed. “The stairs?”

“Yeah. Totally wiped out.” Lance gestured vaguely toward his legs. “Banged my knee pretty bad.”

Lawrence’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, and Lance could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“You need to be more careful,” Lawrence finally said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to take more care of yourself if you expect me to allow you to move out.”

“I know, I will,” Lance promised quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”

Lawrence nodded, distracted again by his phone. “Good. Chloe is coming for dinner.”

As soon as his father walked away, Lance slid into the living room and his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Fernando.

Fernando:

Home safe?

Lance smiled, typing back.

Lance:

Yeah.

My dad thinks I tripped on the stairs.

Fernando:

You’re terrible at lying, Lancito.

Lance:

Not as bad as you are at being subtle.

My legs are dead, old man.

Fernando:

Good.

Now you’ll think of me every time you walk.

Lance laughed quietly, shaking his head. He could still feel Fernando’s hands on him, the lingering ache a reminder of everything they’d done in such a short amount of time.

Lance:

I already do.

Next day's exam was serious — Lance could tell just by seeing the look on Zhou’s face, the way his friend’s brows were furrowed from concentration and not from arguing with people on Twitter. Everyone in Dr. Alonso’s ethics class was laser-focused, heads down, pens moving furiously across their papers. Everyone… except Lance.

He leaned back in his chair, lazily tapping his pen against the desk. The questions on his exam sheet blurred together, the words losing meaning. His mind was elsewhere — on the man sitting at the front of the room.

Fernando Alonso.

His professor looked effortlessly perfect, as always. The fitted white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the top button undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his tattoo, and Lance couldn’t help but admire the way his veins stood out when he adjusted his watch. That had become a daily occurrence since Lance had, half-jokingly, mentioned how much he loved seeing Fernando’s arms during one of their secret late-night rendezvous.

Now, Fernando did it every class.

Lance sighed, twirling his pen between his fingers before lowering it to the paper. A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he skimmed the first question.

Question 1: Define deontological ethics and explain how it applies in a business setting.

He scrawled:

"Deontological ethics is essentially following what society feels is right, like not hypothetically inviting your professor over to your house when your father is home and letting him fuck you in every position imaginable."

He glanced up, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. Fernando was scanning the room, his expression stern, completely unaware of the inappropriate content Lance was jotting down just feet away.

Question 2: Discuss the ethical implications of conflicts of interest in professional settings.

"My biggest conflict right now? Deciding whether I want to kiss you senseless or strip you out of that shirt. Let’s just say ethics is the last thing on my mind. :)"

Lance chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he moved on to the next question.

Question 3: Provide a real-life example of ethical boundaries being crossed in a workplace.

"Real-life example? Easy. You and me, Nando. Every lingering glance, every stolen moment, every touch that leaves me wanting more. We’ve crossed every boundary there is (I don’t regret a thing.)"

He glanced up again, catching a brief flicker of Fernando’s gaze meeting his. The professor quickly looked away, but Lance knew.

He knew.

Question 4: What is the importance of maintaining professionalism in high-stakes environments?

"Professionalism? You’re really going to lecture me about professionalism when you can’t keep your hands off me? Are you sure you’re qualified to teach this course with me in it? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest distraction you’ve ever faced."

When he reached the final page, Lance couldn’t resist a little flourish to his signature.

"P.S. — If you don’t call me into your office after reading this, I’ll be very disappointed. But if you do… lock the door. ♡"

The clock ticked down, students began filing out one by one, but Lance took his sweet time. Finally, he stood, strolling to the front of the room, exam paper in hand. He dropped it face down on Fernando’s desk, lingering just long enough to catch his professor’s attention.

“Finished already?” Fernando asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Lance leaned in slightly, his voice low and playful. “I think you’ll want to take your time with my answers.”

Fernando’s lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “Is that so?”

Lance winked. “Oh, definitely.”

He turned to leave, heart pounding in his chest. Just as he reached the door, Fernando’s voice rang out, soft but commanding.

“Mr. Stroll?”

Lance froze, hand on the doorframe. Slowly, he turned back, his breath hitching.

Fernando’s gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed. “See me after class.”

The room emptied, leaving them alone. Lance approached the desk, his pulse quickening as Fernando picked up the exam, flipping through the pages. His brows lifted slightly at Lance’s audacious answers, but instead of reprimanding him, Fernando closed the paper, meeting Lance’s gaze with a smirk.

“You know,” Fernando began, standing and walking around the desk until he was mere inches from Lance, “this is highly inappropriate.”

Lance’s breath hitched, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

Fernando chuckled, reaching out to trace a finger along Lance’s jaw. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want, Professor.”

Fernando’s grip tightened slightly, pulling Lance closer. “Lock the door.”

Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he reached behind him, his fingers fumbling for the lock. The soft click of the door securing echoed in the silence, and when he turned back, Fernando was still standing there — eyes dark, lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” Fernando murmured, his voice low, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lance shrugged, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. “I figured you’d notice. I was counting on it.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Lance’s spine. “So bold today, mi chico travieso.”

Lance grinned. “Only for you.”

Without warning, Fernando closed the distance between them, his hands sliding around Lance’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Lance gasped softly as Fernando’s lips brushed against his ear.

“And what am I supposed to do with a student who writes that kind of nonsense on his exam?”

Lance tilted his head, giving Fernando better access to his neck. “You could give me detention.”

Fernando laughed, his breath hot against Lance’s skin. “I think you’ve already got me in enough trouble.”

He kissed Lance then — slow, deep, and deliberate. Lance melted into it, his hands gripping Fernando’s shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Every kiss from Fernando was intoxicating, but this one felt different. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, a risk they both craved.

Fernando pulled back, his hands never leaving Lance’s hips. “You want to know what I feel when I look at you?”

Lance nodded breathlessly.

“I think about how reckless this is.” His thumb traced circles on Lance’s hip bone. “How wrong it should be.”

“But?” Lance prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

Fernando leaned in again, his lips hovering over Lance’s. “But I can’t stop.”

Lance kissed him again, harder this time, hands sliding up Fernando’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric. “Good,” he murmured against Fernando’s lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Fernando’s hands slipped lower, gripping Lance’s thighs and effortlessly lifting him onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of them cared. Lance wrapped his legs around Fernando’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“This is crazy,” Fernando whispered, trailing kisses down Lance’s neck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then don’t stop.” Lance’s voice was a plea, his hands tangling in Fernando’s hair. “Please.”

Fernando groaned, his resolve breaking completely. His hands roamed under Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing every curve and scar, committing them to memory. Lance’s breath hitched as Fernando kissed his way down his chest, pausing only to murmur softly in Spanish — words Lance didn’t fully understand but felt in his bones.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Fernando whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Lance smirked, tilting his head back as Fernando kissed a line across his collarbone. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Fernando’s hands worked their way to the hem of Lance’s shirt, fingers tugging it up slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every inch of exposed skin. He kissed along Lance’s jawline, pausing just by his ear.

“When’s your next class, mi sol?” His voice was low, husky, filled with barely restrained desire.

Lance’s mind spun, barely able to process the question with Fernando’s hands sliding under his shirt, palms warm against his skin. “Uh… I think—” He gasped as Fernando’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “I think I’ve got time.”

Fernando chuckled against his skin, pushing the shirt up and over Lance’s head before tossing it aside. “You think?”

Lance grinned, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” Fernando’s hands moved to Lance’s belt, fingers deftly undoing the buckle. “Because I don’t want to rush.”

Lance bit his lip as Fernando’s knuckles brushed against his stomach. “What if someone comes back?”

Fernando glanced up, his gaze dark and intense. “Then we’ll have to be quiet.”

Lance’s pulse quickened as Fernando leaned in, pressing a kiss just below his navel. “I’m not great at quiet.”

Fernando smirked, fingers slowly sliding Lance’s belt free and letting it drop to the floor with a soft clink. “I’ll just have to make you bite your lip then.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or mine.”

Lance shivered, his hands resting on Fernando’s shoulders. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” Fernando’s fingers found the button of Lance’s jeans, popping it open effortlessly. “You make me reckless.”

Lance’s heart thudded in his chest as Fernando tugged his jeans down, leaving him in just his boxers. Fernando’s eyes trailed over him slowly, appreciatively, before returning to his face.

“You’re gorgeous,” Fernando murmured, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him into another deep kiss. Lance melted into it, fingers tangling in Fernando’s hair again, tugging gently.

As they broke apart, both of them breathless, Fernando’s hands slid lower, gripping Lance’s hips. “So… how much time do we really have?”

Lance grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips. “Enough.”

Fernando’s eyes darkened at Lance’s response, a slow smile spreading across his face. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back, pushing the contents of his desk to the side in one fluid motion.

Lance blinked, startled by the sudden movement, but before he could say a word, Fernando grabbed him by the waist and spun him around, pressing him firmly against the now-empty desk.

“Hands flat,” Fernando murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Don’t move.”

Lance shivered, his palms pressing against the cool wood. His heart pounded in his chest as Fernando stood behind him, his hands sliding over Lance’s back, tracing the line of his spine.

“You’ve been driving me mad all week,” Fernando whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Lance’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, watching you in my class, knowing I can’t touch you? Knowing no one here knows you belong to me?”

Lance gasped as Fernando’s hands slipped lower, over the curve of his hips. “I think I have an idea.”

Fernando chuckled, his lips trailing kisses across Lance’s shoulder. “You’ve been testing my control.”

“And now?” Lance glanced back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you still in control?”

Fernando gripped Lance’s hips tighter, bending him forward slightly. “Not even a little.”

Lance smirked, arching his back slightly to press against Fernando. “Good.”

Fernando groaned, his composure slipping further as he pressed his erection against Lance, hands roaming greedily over his body. “I’m going to make you regret writing those answers.”

“Doubt it,” Lance teased, breath hitching as Fernando’s fingers brushed his bare skin. “I’ll just write more next time.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are, Professor.” Lance shot back, voice breathless, “bending me over your desk.”

Fernando kissed along Lance’s shoulder again, his hands steadying Lance’s hips. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Promise?” Lance asked, biting his lip to stifle a gasp as Fernando’s hands wandered lower.

Fernando smirked against his skin. “Oh, Lancito… I’m just getting started.”

Fernando let his hands slide over the perfect silk skin of Lance’s legs until he reached his university hoodie. “Looking so innocent, the perfect student, but in the meantime,” he pulls the hoodie over Lance's head, then his jeans and boxers, letting the boy lean completely naked against his desk, “fucking his professors.”

“Professor,” Lance corrects him, “only one.”

“That’s right, mmi sol,” Fernando drawls, placing his hands under Lance's thighs and turning hum aroind before hoisting him up the desk. “I am so lucky.”

Lance groans when Fernando lets his hands trail over Lance's chest and graces his nipples with his nails before taking both pink numbs between his fingers and pinching. “So pretty for me,” Fernando tells the boy and Lance throws his head back and pulls his legs up the edge of the desk while Fernando rolls the pretty brown buds between his fingers.

“Please, Daddy, I need– need–” Lance pants, not phased by the new term or his words not coming in coherent sentences. Fernando chuckles slightly as Lance spreads his legs a bit wider.

“I know, baby, I’ll give you what you need,” Fernando promises, removing one hand from Lance's chest and using it to open his belt buckle, “patience.”

He squats down again, hearing his knees crack as he leans in to lick a stripe over the perfect little hole. Lance moans, almost too loud, the walls of the offices aren’t that thick, but Fernando revels in the idea of someone overhearing them as he licks again, and again. The fingers of his left hand still work Lance's nipple, while his tongue works itself inside him and his right hand finds his own cock. Stroking himself in tandem with his movements makes Lance's arousal rise and he wants to bury himself in the boy so badly.

“Do you think you can be good for me and turn, baby?”

Lance lets his legs fall to the floor immediately and turns around, his arse perking out and his hands flat on the desk. “Like this, Daddy?” He purrs, testing the waters. 

“Perfect, peque.”

With a bit of effort, Fernando gets back to his feet and walks around the desk, opening the drawer to grab the almost empty bottle of lube. “Looks like we’re almost out,” he grins and Lance lifts his head to meet Fernando's gaze. He smirks, too, with a shrug.

“Exam stress is getting to me hard.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Fernando muses, though he knew the last thing Lance was worried about was any work in this class — coming back behind the boy and lubing himself up before putting some on his index and middle finger to insert them into Lance with a precise push. The boy moans filthy and Fernando grins. “Let’s relieve some of that stress shall we?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Lance moans, letting his cheek rest on the desk.

"Watch it." Fernando warns whime opening him up quickly, replacing his fingers with his stiff cock, thrusting into Lance with fervour. He leans over and takes Lance's cock in his hand, stroking him while thrusting deeply. “That better, Lancito?”

“Fuck, yes, Nando,” Lance moans, his hot breath condensing on the desk. “So much better.”

Fernando fucks him thoroughly and it’s not long after that Lance is whining out that he is coming. Fernando is not even nearly there and he lets Lance catch his breath for a second before he starts moving again. “I think we can go for another one, what about you, mi amor?”

The gasp coming from Lance is a mix of excitement and trepidation. Fernando laughs and glides his hands over Lance's back as he thrusts in again, harsh and quick. “God, you feel so good, baby.” 

“Oh, shi— shoot, frick, that’s–” Lance moans, not getting to say what he thinks because Fernando is hitting his prostate and the only thing he can mutter is ‘so good’. 

“Yeah, want to feel good baby?” 

“Yes, please” Lance croons, lifting his head slightly. Fernando slides out and turns the other around, lifting him up to the desk before thrusting back in. Lance's fierce eyes look up at Fernando and he feels the pleasure in his abdomen increase tenfold when the boy smiles at him. “Hi, Sir.”

The view is gone quickly when Fernando leans over him and takes one of Lance's nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking at it. Lance's eyes close and his head is thrown back in the sensation. Fernando can feel his already stiff cock against his abdomen and reaches for it with a last flick of his tongue.

“Hi, beautiful,” he groans, feeling his orgasm approach while he pumps his fist around Lance's hard cock and thrusts so hard that the desk is rocking. “Eyes on me.”

They shoot open and Lance sees the foggy look that has come over Fernando, making the older man smile. “Are you going to cum for me again, mi sol?”

“Nando, sir, please, too much, too–” Lance pants as Fernando speeds up his handwork and thrusts with aim to hit Lance's prostate. “Oh, fu—uck, fuck, fuck!”

White spurs over Fernando's hand but he doesn’t let go, keeping the spent cock warm with his large hand while he fucks himself to his climax. The desk scratches over the floor and Lance lies on it, spent and a happy, dazed smile on his lips when Fernando finds his release. He folds over the other man with a deep groan and a heavy sigh.

It’s silent in the room for a bit, Fernando just gathering his wits and Lance panting from the excursion. There is a hand in Fernando's hair and he smiles from the small act of sweetness from the boy.

" 'M sorry, Nano" Lance mumbled, Fernando knowing why the boy was so quick to apologize.

"Don't worry about it, Lancito" Fernando smiled, pressing a kiss to his student's cheek before pulling back to hell him dress.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 8

Rating: All good, nothing horrible

Warning: Ghost’s ego is dangerously large

Summary: At long last, you put two and two together.

Word Count: 926

ao3 link

Yet again, you were woken up by someone knocking on your door.

This new trend in your life was fucking annoying; nobody in your circle ever knocked on the door anymore, only ever texted to say they were outside and waiting. Sure, anyone with a delivery would knock, but that would be at a reasonable time of the day, not past midnight.

You went to investigate, tying your dressing gown tight over your pyjamas as you tiptoed through the living room. Ghost was still out on the sofa like a light, his face hidden underneath a cushion, Soap curled up on the armrest by his head. Neither stirred as you crept past them to the door. How could anything out there possibly be more terrifying than the beast on your sofa?

Still, you kept the chain on.

You peered through the peephole before even touching the door, squinting at the person on the other side. You didn’t recognise the man. He looked like someone’s dad- a full beard and moustache, complete with a little hat. Maybe if you ignored him, he would just go away. Fat chance. You could see him raising his hand to knock again, so you reluctantly went to the door, quietly opening it and frowning through the crack,

“Can I help you?”

“Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour. You seen Ghost?”

Who the fuck was this? And how on Earth did he know Ghost was asleep on your sofa?

“Who?”

“Come on now. You know Ghost. Simon.”

“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong address. I don’t know a Simon.”

Why your first instinct was to lie was a mystery to you. Ever since Ghost had come into your life, it felt as though your entire being had shifted; you were wary, paranoid, and secretive. You hadn’t told a soul about Ghost, whereas before, any man that so much as text you ‘u up?’ had a full report to the group chat.

“You really gonna do this?”

“Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Inexplicably, you’d developed some sort of sixth sense for when Ghost was behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you could just feel him standing behind you. You reached behind you, grabbing onto the material of his jumper as your fingers brushed against it and attempting to pull him away from the door, out of sight of the strange man.

“Chrissake.”

So much for that. For a SAS man, he wasn’t great at being sneaky. Ghost moved you out of the way of the door, undoing the chain and opening it properly,

“S’only Price.”

You weren’t best pleased about another random man knowing where you lived, and you huffed,

“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to expect one of your lot to be at the door? It’s not like you wear badges.”

Unlike Ghost, Price didn’t seem to view everything of yours as his own, staying on the other side of the threshold, though his eyes did roam over the entranceway to your flat, gleaning whatever information he could take from it. Still, you didn’t appreciate it. Luckily for you, again, unlike Ghost, Price seemed to be able to take a hint. He looked at Ghost,

“I’ll be waiting in the car.”

When he was out of earshot, you looked over at Ghost, who was sat on your sofa putting his trainers on,

“I’m getting a little sick of soldiers showing up at my door in the middle of the night, you know.”

“Not the impression I got.”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline, and you rounded on him,

“I beg your absolute pardon? You wanna repeat that?”

“Still haven’t put two and two together?”

You stared at him as he got to his feet, trying to figure out what the fuck he was trying to imply.

“Take your time, love.”

Ghost was such a non-human entity in your mind that you hadn’t even conceived of a reality in which you could mistake him for a normal human man. But now, all the similarities were laid out for you to see, and now, you couldn’t fathom how you hadn’t seen it until that second.

Motherfucker.

You pressed your fingers together, then to your mouth, your thoughts reeling with both humiliation and rage. You’d hit on Ghost in a bar. More than that, you’d hit on him while not recognising him at all. And he had rejected you.

“There you go.”

“You better get out my house right now.”

“You sure that’s what you want?”

How could this cocky piece of shit be the same man that was broken just looking at Soap? He must still be drunk.

“On God, I will fucking kill you.”

“Come on, how was I supposed to give you my number if you already have it?”

You searched for anything nearby to fling at him, grabbing a little wooden statue your friend had carved and threw it at his head. Of course, he dodged.

“Gonna hurt me right after you tried to save me from Price? Please. I know your heart.”

You’d never stabbed a man before, but today seemed like it would be a good day to try. You picked up one of your stilettos from where it sat neatly on the shoe rack, advancing on Ghost with murderous intent, but he slipped past you to the door.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” He paused at the doorway, “I’m not gonna forget about this.”

You answered by flinging your heel at him as he shut the door.

[abbeysquidd]

Happy Birthday, Ray Narvaez Jr🥳🥳🥳

[missholoska]

happy new year of utdr ❤️

[anna-scribbles]

thirteen update 🍂 🎹 🏠 👻

chapter 2: November

chapter summary:

She was in a good mood. If she was ever going to take it well, it would be now.

“Maman, what if I went to school this year?”

excerpt:

“Heh.” Adrien flicked a finger beneath his chin and strutted the length of his bathroom floor, glancing at himself in the mirror. He twirled a rose—a red one, one he’d grabbed from the vase downstairs—between his fingers and then presented it to the mirror with a flourish.

“Haruhi!” he declared, “the spring of my heart surges upon the sight of your fresh smile, my love. My heart beats at the command of your drum! Your face is the fierce longing of my soul, and I present to you now this token of my lavish, undying—”

A sharp knock clicked against the bedroom door and Adrien froze, his hand still passionately hovering over his heart.

“Adrien?” Nathalie’s voice called, and Adrien—true to character, if he did say so himself—startled so hard that he slipped and fell onto his butt on the tile.

“Yeah?” he called, hastily pulling himself up and trying to find a place to set down the rose.

Nathalie peeked her head through the bathroom door and took him in, his rumpled hair and the too-small blue blazer he’d saved in the back of his closet for occasions such as…this.

“You have a guest,” she said flatly, and Adrien could not for the life of him figure out whether she was making fun of him.

She left before he could decide, and then it was only a matter of seconds before his bathroom door was thrown all the way open and a blonde ponytail bobbed into view.

“Adrikins!” Chloé crashed into him, wrapping him up in a hug that nearly knocked him over again. “It’s been way too long. You’ve been neglecting me. Aw, did you get me a rose?” She plucked it from his hands and then scrunched up her nose. “Ew, is this real?”

“As real as the current that springs from the well of my heart,” Adrien invented, and Chloé frowned at him like he’d just spoken Greek. “Nevermind.”

She looked him up and down and scrunched her nose up even more. “What did you do to your hair?”

Adrien frowned at his reflection in the mirror and pushed his hair further over to the side.

“I was trying to make it look cool.” He’d been trying to make it look like Tamaki from Ouran High School Host Club.

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed.”

read on ao3

[ofthehands]

TCM Ship Week @maskemasker

Day 1: Clothes Swap

Ship: Lefton

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings: Thoughts of violence, canon typical attitudes, lighthearted attempted murder, and general Sawyerisms

It was hard to say how exactly it had come to all this. How his parents’ attempt at socializing Drayton a little so he wasn’t a complete freak and could keep up appearances when cops came sniffing around, had led to his… problem with the neighbor boy. But somehow, that single silly misstep had led to a whole world of trouble. 

It wasn’t that big of a problem when they were teens at least. Then it had been nothing but a dangerous game of chicken- getting closer- brushing against one another- seeing who would pull away first. The issue came when while they were drunk on his old man’s stolen liquor, Enright had moved to press their lips together, and Drayton hadn’t thought to pull away at all. Drunk he didn’t think too much about it, but try as they might, they couldn’t stay drunk forever. 

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. 

But it did. And they couldn’t exactly pretend it was a game anymore. 

So from that point on, they both treated it a little more seriously. Both in earnesty and fear. They both knew damn well that this thing between them would have to be kept hidden. Close to their chests. But Drayton was good at keeping secrets anyways. 

It didn’t have to be significant. Eventually, certainly, Enright would move on- find a girl to be with and forget all of whatever the hell this was. Or at least that’s how it should’ve gone. Would’ve gone too, if Drayton weren’t the unluckiest bastard to ever walk the Earth. 

As it did happen, Enright got… fixated. In some strange way. Determined it was more than some fucked up childish thing they were doing. Convinced it was something sinful, and horrible, but in some way real. Drayton was alright with that- maybe he could convince Enright to see his way- convince him that the Sawyer family way was right- since he was interested in the unnatural and sinful. But suddenly, without so much as a goodbye, he up and disappeared for a few months. Drayton figured he finally found something better- something real- and decided to stop fooling around like they had been. Until one day Enright had the nerve to show back up, meeting him at the gas station, proudly wearing a uniform that marked him as something much more horrible than a bit queer. Drayton felt like he might faint right then and there. He knew then they had no future together, no life where happiness could be theirs. 

In the time he was away, Lefty had become a cop. 

“Sawyer! How’ve you been?” he asked, friendly as ever. 

“Good Lord- Lefty- w- what the hell are you wearin’?” He looked down at that dorky little uniform, his big blue eyes wide with confusion. 

“Well, I uh- I just finished up academy training and now I’m a-”

“A cop,” Drayton finished for him. 

“I mean, yeah, I’m an officer of Muerto County and-”

“What would you wanna go off and turn into a cop for?” Drayton asked, a little more anger in his voice than he probably should’ve let slip. 

“Well I just- I mean- I wanna help people. Protect ‘em. And here in Muerto County we have one of the highest rates of disappearances in the state! Goin’ back to the 1890’s- it’s an epidemic!” Lefty paused for just a moment, giving Drayton time to spiral as he thought about what would happen to him if Lefty kept digging into those disappearances. “That… That ain’t gonna be a problem, is it?” he asked. Drayton tensed up a little, involuntarily. “That I’m a cop?” He knew what he had to do next. 

“What? Oh, nah,” he said, trying to smile, trying to look relaxed. “Just surprised is all. Always thought you’d work with cattle, like your daddy or… or be a preacher or somethin’.” Lefty smiled, a bit more relaxed, and Drayton couldn’t look him in the eye. They talked some more, about something Drayton couldn’t really remember. He just kept thinking about what he had to do next. 

Which was how they ended up where they were. Lefty sound asleep in the Sawyer home’s guest bedroom. Drayton standing over the bed with an axe. Getting ready to do what had to be done. To stop him from becoming a problem. 

He just wished it was easier. Wished he could just do it- like a man- like Grandpa would’ve. Wished Lefty would wake up suddenly and fight him- give him a reason to do it. Wished he wouldn’t smile softly in his sleep. But wishing wasn’t liable to get him anywhere. Drayton had no choice. He had to act. He raised the axe above his head. Lefty moved then- suddenly, and Drayton tensed, got ready to swing- but he didn’t wake up. He wriggled a bit, pushing the blanket down, worming his way up. Too hot. A treacherous fondness settled in Drayton’s chest at that. Lefty found some comfortable spot, still sound asleep, blissfully unaware. He looked small in the simple cotton shirt Drayton had loaned him. Lefty was broad-chested, but short. And that shirt was a bit too big on Drayton. Drayton wondered briefly if he’d ever be able to wear that shirt again. Considering the state it would be in shortly. Then he swung the axe. 

“Psst!!” The sudden noise made him jump out of his skin as quietly as he could, and his axe swing missed, planting the head firmly in the bed frame- only inches from Lefty’s skull. 

“I’ll be up in just a minute,” Lefty muttered, somehow still mostly asleep. Drayton turned, pissed off, glaring at the door. The twins were looking at him there with big eyes, more quiet than they usually were. 

“What the hell do you little rats want?” Drayton whispered, trying his damndest not to yell, despite how much he wanted to. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“The cars with the lights is b-back,” Bobby whispered in turn. Drayton tensed. The cars with the lights. 

“The one that took Daddy-” Nubbins tried. 

“I know,” Drayton snapped, a little louder than he should’ve. “At the house?”

“They’re by the- the cattle guard.” 

“Oh hell. Oh for fuck’s sake-” The house was clean, on the first floor. Drayton had to clean it up to get Lefty in- to lure the other over for dinner and then into bed to kill him. But there were too many bones on the Sawyer property to ever clean up, and if they got into the basement there was too much blood there to ever clean out. Drayton needed to keep them away- to keep them from getting too close. But they had no reason to listen to him and every reason to distrust him. He turned, between the boys and Lefty, trying to figure out his next step. Then he saw Lefty’s little cop uniform. He’d worn it over to show the boys, proud of what he’d gone and done, not realizing they wouldn’t think highly of it. It was silly- at best- a size too big on his vertically challenged frame. But it gave Drayton an idea. He pulled the axe from the bed frame as quietly as he could and passed it to the boys. “Alright, take this downstairs, and I’ll meet you there. There’s somethin’ I gotta do real quick.” 

Drayton felt utterly stupid jingle jangling his way down the stairs in that uniform. He scratched the back of his neck and considered his hair for a moment. They’d made Lefty cut his hair. Would his overgrown hair give him away? The way he spoke? The way he stood? What happened if they realized he wasn’t really Officer Enright? He didn’t know. But he had to do something. So he went out and got in the truck. 

He stopped at the end of the driveway, where the cops were waiting, just lurking in the early light of dawn. He stepped out of the truck and pulled his- well, Lefty’s- belt up, the way cops did. There were two of them, just standing around, looking at something in the brush. Scanning. Looking for something. Drayton swallowed heavily. 

“Howdy fellas,” he said. “What uh- seems to be the problem?” 

“Well, Mr. uh-”

“Enright,” Drayton said. He had to lie- the damn uniform said Enright. He hoped they wouldn’t catch him there- hoped they didn’t know Lefty, hoped he hadn’t said it with too little confidence. 

“Well, Mr. Enright,” the taller of the two said, “We come over here from Hale County on account of somethin’ about a missin’ girl.” Oh hell. 

“Well uh…” If Drayton lied - told them he’d heard nothing about any missing girl- he figured they might get suspicious. “I.. I hate to say it but, we’ve had a lot of disappearances out here… I’m… I’m kind of new on the force, I don’t think I’d be able to help you much with that, but if you head on to Childress-” 

“Oh yeah, we were ‘bout to head on that a way,” said the shorter cop- the one with a cigarette between his stained teeth.  He blew a little smoke at Drayton as he spoke. Drayton had smoked plenty himself as a teen, but that pissed him off anyways. 

“Well,” Then get the hell out of my county- “What’s got you stoppin’ here?” He tried to seem amiable, tried to stifle his nervous laugh, bouncing on his heels a little. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. 

“She stopped at a gas station just down the way. Nobody’s seen her up in Childress, from what information the folks at the station gave us- but that was just from callin’ in. We stopped ‘cause this is the first house we seen out here for miles. Seems like somewhere that if somethin’ happened to her car she might’ve gone.” Drayton swallowed. 

“Well, this is my family’s home. Lived here for generations. There ain’t really anybody out here but us. And if a lady’d come by, well I…I’m pretty good with cars, I prob’ly could’ve fixed it up. And if not, I could’ve given her a ride to the station.” The taller one nodded.

“Yeah… We didn’t really know who was livin’ out here, but… knowin’ it’s y’all does make me feel a little better,” the taller one said. 

“You sure there ain’t nobody else around here?” asked the smoker. 

“Positive,” Drayton said. He chuckled a little, “You think I don’t know my own backyard?” The two exchanged a look and Drayton considered for a brief moment trying to grab one’s gun and shooting the other with it, before the taller one spoke up again. 

“Well, I think we’d ought to get out to Childress now. Thanks for talkin’ with us, Enright. And uh, by the way, get a haircut, alright? And maybe some boots that match your uniform.” Drayton hadn’t thought about the shoes- hell. 

“Oh uh- yessir- sorry sir-” Drayton felt embarrassed and he wasn’t even quite sure why. But that seemed to shine through in his face, and they accepted it and moved on. As they drove away Drayton let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, and got back into his truck. 

When he got home the boys hadn’t cut each others’ hands off with the axe and Lefty still seemed to be sound asleep. He snatched the axe from his brothers, putting it too high for the grubby bastards to reach before they got any ideas, and headed up the stairs, trying to quietly return the borrowed clothes. 

He opened the door more delicately than he had ever done before. Lefty was still there. His breathing wasn’t as deep, so Drayton figured he was at least half awake. Drayton slipped in the room, closing the door behind him. He looked around the room, filling with soft morning light. It was peaceful in a way the Sawyer house never really was. It felt like a dream. Like something unreal. He turned, for a moment, and looked at the broken, dusty full length mirror that sat on the floor. His reflection was distorted, by the angle and the dust and the spiderweb cracks across the glass. But he could still see it. It was strange, to see himself in a uniform- especially that uniform. Maybe he could’ve done something like that. Signed up with the cops or the military. Found some way out of this place. But that wasn’t where he belonged, or what he got to have. He was a Sawyer. He would live and die on that farm, with his family. He had no choice to go anywhere else. That was his lot in life. 

Drayton almost jumped out of his skin when Lefty put his arms around him from behind. 

“D’ah- Shit! What in the hell-” He jerked back a little but stopped himself from elbowing his… friend in the jaw. 

“Oh, sorry- didn’t mean to scare you-” Lefty muttered, face pressed to his back, arms wrapped gently behind his waist. Drayton settled a little, despite himself. He moves quiet when he wants to. Good to keep that in mind. “What’re you up to?” Lefty asked. 

“Well uh- I was just- uh…” It was easier to lie to him like this- when he didn’t have to look him in the eyes.  Drayton could just barely see him in the mirror behind him, a bit of Lefty’s mousey hair visible over his shoulder. But Drayton was struggling to think of something to say regardless. Lefty peeked up, looking over Drayton’s shoulder at the mirror. 

“It looks good on you,” Lefty said. “You’d make a fine lookin’ officer.” Drayton outright laughed at that. 

“Yeah, sure, you damn fool.” He turned around, away from that dusty reflection and back to reality. There were things Drayton would’ve liked to have been if he wasn’t a Sawyer. A damn cop wasn’t one of ‘em. He looked down at Lefty, still wearing his too big cotton shirt and ratty old sleepin’ pants. He thought about how close he had come to putting an axe through his skull. Then he kissed him, a quick, gentle peck on the lips. “Alright, that’s enough messin’ around. Let’s get all this switched back.” They exchanged clothes as quickly and modestly as they could, till everything was back to mostly normal. Drayton could still smell Lefty a bit, on that shirt. Feel his warmth. He wondered, with the state it was in, if he’d ever be able to take it off. Then he looked back at Lefty. 

He knew he should probably kill him. Find some way to do it quick, since he had the space and the time and the advantage. That boy was going to cause him a world of trouble one day. He could feel it all the way to his bones. But he could take care of that another day. For the time being, he decided to just enjoy the early morning sun.

[shouldprobablybereading]

Stormlight 5 being less than 36-ish hours away is actually insane

[spacemanxephos]

The hair on Lalna’s arms stood up. The electricity in the air was similar to the presence Ridgedog had given off, but it was also distinctly different in a way he just couldn’t put his finger on. Just how apples and oranges were both technically fruit, but obviously different in their designs.

Lalna shuddered.

Kirindave leveled his six eyes down at him. The god was already monstrous in size, at least eight feet tall, and him hovering above the ground made his shadow loom even further. His veins and eyes rippled with teal electricity. Lalna gulped.

Kirindave raised an eyebrow. “Duncan Lalna Jones. We meet again.”

Lalna’s fear was instantly replaced with irritation at the use of his full name. His expression dropped.

“Kirindave,” he greeted tersely.

[abbelbees]

xigged bar for 2/2

[meluronsoda]

p a n d a v e

[alex51324]

Useful article from CNN on election-night misinformation.

Key takeaway is that pretty much whatever happens, Trump will claim it's evidence that the election is being rigged against him.

Some additional things to keep in mind--particularly if you haven't been through many of these before:

The winner may or may not be projected on election night. How long it takes depends on a bunch of factors, having to do with the logistics of ballot-counting and how the statistical analysis comes along. Getting a projected winner by midnight and the count taking several days are both well within the range of normal, and neither one suggests that anything nefarious is happening.

Counting of votes always continues for several days after the election, until every vote has been counted. This happens regardless of whether or not the media have "called" a winner, or a candidate has conceded.

Media outlets project election winners based on the data that has come in and their statistical models--they do not "declare" or "decide" who won. The major outlets are very motivated to avoid an incorrect projection*, so if they make a call, it's because they're really sure they have enough information to accurately predict the outcome of the final count.

Usually, when this happens, all of the major media outlets are making the same projection around the same time--within the same hour, at least, and often in the same 10 minutes or so. If there's an outlier, there's a good chance they're either guessing or propagandizing.

Candidates do not get to call the race in their own favor. There's a decent chance Trump will try, but also it's also normal and expected for both campaigns to talk like they're expecting to win; e.g. introducing their candidate as "the next President of the United States" when appearing before supporters at events. (My guess is that if he does try, the mainstream media outlets will simply sanewash it as typical election-night bravado, which is actually fine.)

The only thing that means anything, coming from a candidate/campaign, is a concession. This will often happen after the media has called the race for the other candidate; it usually isn't a surprise. A normal campaign will often go quiet--stop sending people to talk on TV, etc.--when they're getting ready to concede. (Trump arguably** still hasn't conceded 2020, so no one is particularly expecting him to concede any time this coming week.)

It's normal for the numbers to change a lot. There are always some surprises, but there are also standard patterns: results from the southeast usually come in a clump, and put a lot of electoral votes into the Republican column, early in the night. Democrats usually pick up the west coast states, which of course are the last to close their polls and start reporting results***. For the swing states, where we'll probably see a lot of reporting on very incomplete vote totals, results will start coming in first from the rural areas, which lean red; cities take longer to count their votes--because there are more of them--and lean blue.

The more uncertainty there is about the outcome, the more you'll hear about the evolving numbers--news networks have airtime to fill, and there's only so many ways you can say, "Still too close to call." Try not to obsess over these numbers; the news networks have people specially trained to analyze this exact kind of data, and if they can't say how it's going to turn out, you're not going to know, either.

If it ends up being too close to call for several days, there will probably be reporting on small, county-by-county vote dumps. It's important to realize that this is all still the original count of the votes, not a recount or "finding new votes." We only hear about it when the election is so close that these relatively small numbers of ballots are likely to affect the outcome, but it happens every single election. In 2020, Trump repeatedly claimed that ongoing counts were some how irregular, and sometimes demanded that counts be stopped when the current total showed him in the lead. This is, to be clear, nuts; the full & complete count of the votes always takes more than just the one day, and it's a bedrock principle of democracy that every valid ballot is counted.

(* Back in 2000, the Bush-Gore election with the whole Florida debacle, several major news outlets did project winners too soon, and then had to walk back their projections.

This definitely contributed to the chaos that night, and may have also contributed to the widespread perception that Bush was the "real" winner and Gore was dragging the country through multiple recounts, in those first few days when the initial count of wasn't even complete in some states.

As a result, responsible media outlets are much more cautious these days about election-night projections.)

(**On January 7, 2021 he made a statement that was taken as indicating his understanding that Biden had won, or at least that he knew he wouldn't be staying in office, but he never stopped saying he won.)

(***This often looks like the Republican being miles ahead, and then suddenly California reports in and they aren't anymore. Expect Trump to pretend that this is somehow shocking, even though the last time a Republican won California was 1988.

Similarly, he will also pretend to be surprised when, for instance, Philadelphia turns in their first big batch of results, and Harris's numbers jump up.)