#this laptop is nearly ten years old

[strangefable]

bloatware i hate you.

especially from you microsoft. stop making me have to fight for my life to get my computer to have only the programs I WANT INSTALLED.

also also. big giant huuuuuuuuuge fuck you to dell for royally fucking me up for so long. never again. you're dead to me.

[motherofdogs1010]

Guys Not My Age I (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warning: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy

A/N: Re-write of 'Need to Know'

Series Masterlist

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

Her head throbbed and pulsated as she begun to wake up.

The overall shittyness of a hangover taking over her body as the loud, blarming phone alarm rung hard in her ears as she groaned. She buried her face into the pillow as she felt movement coming from next to her, immediate confusion filling her mind as she heard, "Shit, sorry. Forgot that I had the stupid alarm on."

She recognized that voice even with it being laced with grogginess and sleep as she snapped open her eyes, wincing from the daylight that peeked over the curtains.

She was met with an unfamiliar room that looked like the standard college dorm: books and notes in an slight mess on the desk with a laptop hanging by it, posters on the walls and the distinct sound of boys laughing and footsteps coming down the halls.

Turning her head, her eyes widened as the memories of the previous night filled her as she resisted to gulp as she was met with the shirtless image of Peter fiddling with his phone.

The memories of the night before felt like a tidal wave washing over her as she remembered having gone out to drinks with the Avengers team to celebrate their latest takedown of yet another Hydra compound (she handled hacking into the tightly encrypted computers) and she knew Tony had partly also wanted to take her out to get her back out onto the dating scene.

She watched as Peter scratched his head for a moment, seemingly beginning to wake back up as she came to the realization of her naked body under the blanket and the realization of her memories being confirmed as she saw a glimpse of the scratches on Peter's back.

Sitting up as she tugged up the blanket, she wondered how the hell she was suppose to do a walk of shame out of her as Peter said, "anyway, want to get breakfast?"

"What?"

Peter tilted his head a little, "want to get breakfast? I thought since we were getting along so well..."

The ache between her legs from last night a reminder of how well they got along.

It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it or anything, but it was the realization that she had slept with someone nearly ten years younger than her.

"Peter, I'm-"

"I know. You're 30 and I'm 21, I don't care." Peter shrugged and she couldn't help but get distracted by his strong physique. "I told you I don't want a girl my age, I've wanted you."

It made her heart clench at statement.

"All I'm asking for is you take a chance", Peter pleaded, bringing their lips into a soft kiss.

It made her melt.

"Fine. One chance."

Peter grinned.

"But I refuse to be seen by a bunch of frat boys so you better make sure they clear out of here. I'm too old to be dealing with that."

"You're barely 30, no even that old."

Y/N downed the shot of tequila that Tony had passed her, laughing as she felt the burn in her throat and hearing Tony cheering. Say what you want about Tony, but he knew how to party as he had taken them to some nightclub that he bought for shits and giggles.

"Enjoying the burn", Tony teased, Y/N laughed.

"It's the tequila sweats that I hate", she said back.

Standing up from the little VIP booth Tony had rented for them all, Y/N scoped out her surroundings. She saw Nat dragging a bashful Steve to the dance floor, Steve was awkwardly moving around before he finally got the hang of it and began dancing with Nat. Y/N laughed as she watched Steve get down on the dance floor, she spotted Vision (who had his human form on) with Wanda near the bar as Wanda was getting another drink.

"Are you having fun?"

Y/N looked in the direction to see Peter standing there with a grin, Y/N smiled back at him.

"I wondered where you were", Y/N responded, "I always forget your 21."

"My baby face makes it that way", Peter joked.

Y/N had to admit, Peter Parker was a very attractive man, especially right now with his hair gelled back, a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. Tony said Peter had changed a lot since high school, having managed to join a fraternity in his first year of college; she had only met Peter in the last year so hearing that he was anything but confident before was a little shocking since he walked around like a little mini Tony sometimes.

Peter moved a little closer to her as Tony announced that he was going to join Wanda at the bar.

Sam and Clint were missing, both men having taken some time off to go visit their families, especially for Sam since he wanted to be there for one of his nephew's birthdays.

Although, the person that everyone seemed to ignore that wasn't there was a certain Winter Soldier, but it seemed everyone was on the rocks with the man at the moment. But cheating and immediately bringing around the girl you cheated with will do that, won't it?

Of course that was the second main reason behind Tony bringing nearly all of them out to the club was because of her confiding in Tony about being ready to get back out there. She felt no issue confiding in Tony considering how close of friends they were, she was coming out in his upcoming wedding to Pepper in just a few months time.

"It's a cute baby face", Y/N teased, Peter chuckled.

"I'm glad you're having fun", Peter said, "you deserve it."

Y/N smiled as she tugged up the neckline of her red mini dress, the fabric clinging to her large breasts and hips. It was an off the shoulder dress that she chose just for the occasion with long sleeves and paired with some red bottoms that Nat was letting her borrow.

Y/N watched as Peter looked a bit indecisive as if he was second guessing himself before he blurted out, "Would you like to dance?"

"Don't you think you should be dancing with someone your own age?" she teased before Peter snaked a toned arm around her waist.

"Age is just a number, right?" Peter answered with a wink. "When it comes to two consenting adults, of course."

She wouldn't be an idiot to say she hadn't noticed the younger man's eyes roaming her figure. But she never thought much of it considering she had been in a relationship with Bucky, but that bridge was burned a lot time ago.

She was here to have fun, dance a little, drink... there was no harm in just a dance, right?

"Alright, Spiderboy", Y/N said, "show me what you got."

~

Wanna know what it's like (like) Baby, show me what it's like (like) I don't really got no type (type) I just wanna fuck all night

The sound of Doja Cat singing could be heard even in the women's restroom, the door locked in a rush as Peter pressed her harder into said door. Their tongues dancing across one another as she could taste the alcohol on his tongue, Y/N moaned as Peter slotted his knee between her legs, pressing against her wet cunt and beginning to rock her hips against him.

But Peter pulled his knee away and she whimpered, breaking the kiss for a moment before she felt one of his hands trail under her dress, finding her thong.

"You're soaked", Peter teased, she shuddered as Peter ran a finger down her slit. "I bet I could slid right in."

As if that was his cue, Peter slid a finger into her, Y/N let her head fall into Peter's chest as he slowly began to pump his finger in her.

"Don't tease", she moaned as she brought his face down to hers.

What's your size? (Size) Add, subtract, divide ('vide) Daddy don't throw no curves (curves) Hold up, I'm goin' wide (wide) We could just start at ten (ten) Then we can go to five (five) I don't play with my pen (pen) I mean what I write

She connected their lips again as Peter slid another finger into, fingering her harder now as he began to rub her clit in tight circles. Y/N cried out at the sensations as she rocked her hips in time with Peter's movements.

Peter began to trail kisses down her neck as her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth falling open as pants escaped her mouth.

"Fuck you're beautiful", Peter said as he quickened his fingers. "Come on, Y/N, cum on me."

Y/N felt like she was in the Twilight Zone right now, but fuck it, she was enjoying it with the way Peter was fingering her. She could feel that tight knot building in her as Peter's fingers reached an area in her that made her nearly tear up in pleasure, his fingers practically massaging it as she began to tug on his hair as her toes began to curl.

"P-Peter", she panted, "gonna...cum..."

She saw Peter grin in satisfaction as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She felt breathless and fuzzy as Peter fingered her through it before she whimpered at the overstimulation, which Peter pulled his fingers out.

"Still think I should find someone my own age?" Peter teased, she narrowed her eyes as she panted.

Peter slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.

"I always knew you'd taste sweet", Peter said as she reached for his belt buckle.

Peter brought a hand up, squishing her cheeks together and forcing her lips into a pout; he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips as she successfully managed to get unzip Peter's slacks, slipping her hand inside to begin to tease the younger man in front of her.

"Now, you wanna be a tease?" Peter groaned as he began to move her to one of the many sinks in the bathroom.

I just can't help but be sexual (whoa) Tell me your schedule (yeah) I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will) I do what I can to get you off (I will)

Peter had gotten her on the sink, legs spread and her thong stuffed in one of his pockets as he began to rock into her. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt Peter hike up her leg on him higher, sending him into deeper territory and brushing up against her G-spot as he began to rub her clit in time with his rocking.

"P-Peter", she slurred, eyes beginning to water from pleasure.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so good", Peter whined as he gripped the sink below her.

His thrusts becoming rougher as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Might just fuck him with my makeup on (I will) Eat it like I need an apron on (yeah, ay) Eat it 'til I need to change my thong (yeah, ay) We could do it to your favorite song (yeah, ay)

Her makeup was ruined, she was sure of it from the amount of kissing, sweat and tears. Y/N shivered as Peter bite down on a part of her neck, making her clench around her even tighter and causing him to let out more groans of pleasure, his hips slapping into her even rougher.

The sound of skin slapping skin rung in bathroom, echoing off the walls as she brought Peter's face back to her own, smashing their lips together as she squealed when her second orgasm hit her, her legs shaking and back arching.

You're exciting, boy, come find me Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" Fuck that feeling both us fighting Could he try me? (Yeah) mmm, most likely

She had pushed Peter onto one of the toilets in the bathroom, his dick red and leaking when she had straddled him before sinking down onto him. Y/N shivered as she felt Peter stretching her out again and she knew she was going to be feeling him the next day as she moaned and threw her head back at the delicious stretch his cock gave her cunt again.

Peter gripped her hips before grabbing her ass and smacking it, she pulled her face towards his, connecting their lips as she begun to rock her hips.

Oh, wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof, pussy like an Alakazam (yeah) I heard from a friend of a friend That that dick was a ten out of ten

She could someone knocking on the door, but she could care less right with Peter buried so deep inside her as his hands that gripped her hips so tightly began to help rock her.

Baby, I need to know, mmm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🕷️🕸️💻~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes Y/N wondered what Peter had been like before he went to Empire State and joined his fraternity, and in this moment as they sat across from one another at one of the on-campus cafes, she figured maybe this might have been it with how he fidgeted a little.

"Nervous?" she mused, "this was your idea."

"I can't be nervous on a date with a pretty girl?" Peter remarked and she chuckled.

"Not after last night." Peter grinned and ran a hand through his fluffy, chocolate brown hair. "Besides, this isn't a date. This is you trying to convince me why I should go on a date with you."

"Sorry, it's just... I've liked you for awhile, but I didn't say anything because-"

"Because of Bucky?"

Peter looked down sheepishly and Y/N reached over to grasp his hand.

"And then when you two broke up, I didn't think it would be right to tell you because of how everything went down."

"You're doing a lot better than he did", Y/N said. "I appreciate that you waited, Peter. That's really sweet of you."

Peter grinned a boyish grin that Y/N couldn't help, but replicate back at him.

~

She had agreed to a date with Peter.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think of the thoughts that others might have with her being seen with Peter. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to see if she had any wrinkles, age-related blemishes and sighed.

"You look stressed." Slightly startled, Y/N turned around to find Nat standing the doorway of her room with a curious look on her face.

"Just a little."

"Where are you off to? Hot date tonight?" Nat asked with a grin.

"About that", Y/N trailed off, looking at her outfit.

A white, blue-floral printed dress that cinched at the waist and was off the shoulder adorned her body with her keeping her makeup clean and simple, and her face loose and away from her face.

"Who's the lucky person?"

"Peter."

Nat was silent for a moment as Y/N felt the pit of anxiety in her stomach at the thought of her friend's judgement before Nat said, "well damn, didn't think the kid had the balls to make a move."

"What?" Y/N asked as she went to grab a pair of platform sandals.

"Anyone would working sense could tell the kid was eyeing your ass all the time", Nat nonchalantly said with a shrug. "Don't tell you didn't notice?"

"I noticed", Y/N defended, slipping her feet into the shoes. "I just thought it was because he was young."

"I also take it that you were with him when you disappeared from the club?"

Y/N's eyes widened as she looked away before Nat let out a laugh.

"Damn, you have to tell me all the details when you get back", Nat teased. "But I'm glad you're getting back out there again."

"You don't think it's weird? With me being older than Peter?"

"If men in their sixties can date women young enough to be their daughters, why can't you go on a date with a younger guy?" Nat shrugged.

Y/N gave Nat a smile and sucked in a breath.

"So, how do I look?" Y/N asked, posing for a moment.

"Like Parker will most likely fuck the shit out of you."

"Perfect."

Peter texted her not too long after that he had arrived and in an air of her favorite perfume, she met him out in the living room of the compound.

A sense of satisfaction fell over her as she noticed Peter's eyes raking over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair slightly gelled away from his face, a white button down shirt and black slacks framed his body.

They were alone in the living room, a rare event since the space always had at least one person present but apparently not today.

"You look amazing", Peter complimented, stretching out his hand and grasping hers.

He gently pulled her towards him as his eyes hungrily stared into hers.

"Thank you", she said with a small smirk. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Never worn it before."

Lost in their own world, they never noticed a certain figure hanging around the corner, seething as he watched Peter met her lips in a soft kiss.

His metal hand clenching into a fist as he turned away, fuming at the sight before him.

TAGLIST

@theoraekenslover

[bigtreefest]

New Year Coming In

Pairing: Boyfriend! Jake Jensen x Girlfriend! Reader

Summary: You and Jake may have signed up for more than you can handle to start off the new year with a bang.

Word count: 1,514

Content/warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, p in v unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, kissing, exhausted sex, aftercare, Jake and his glasses and his hair and his beefy body and his everything

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!! I hope you all enjoy this Jakey crackfic that took over my mind at 2am. Please, feel more than welcome to screech with me about it. And a special little thanks to @brandycranby for a line of dialogue.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Main Masterlist

The idea sounded perfect at first. Jake was happy to indulge you. Heck, it felt amazing for him, too. He got to welcome the new year with a good release, pleasing himself and the woman he loves. But oh man, if he didn’t wish he met you sooner before, this was the one thing that would get him pleading for it to be 2001 all over again, even if he had to relive the awkward years to avoid death by dehydration. Never mind how old the two of you were back then, he would’ve time traveled for it to be that year with you now.

A nice year would’ve been 2004, too. Coming four times in one session was something he could do with his eyes closed. Except he hadn’t, his eyes were peeled open, looking at the bright screen, in the times where he remembered being locked in his dark bedroom with his first laptop. Four times, easy. Really, even ten times, 2010. It would’ve had to have been parsed out over the course of the day, but he could’ve done it without complaint. Except, for the year 2025, the two of you had gotten a late start, not realizing how long and how much 25 rounds would take out of you. The agreement being 25 times, for each of you.

Not that he wanted to complain, but Jake Jensen never thought that he would’ve seen the day where he thought it was too much sex. And yet, here he was nearly drained. He laid on his back, cheeks ruddy, glasses crooked, bleached strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. His pupils were dilated in bodily satisfaction, just barely able to focus on you as you bounced on top of him, chasing your 12th simultaneous orgasm.

The sheets had been discarded long ago to the side, leaving you both exposed to the air in the room that was steadily rising in temperature, the sweat on your bodies lingering.

His fingertips dug into your thighs, sore hips sloppily raising to meet yours. Just enough sensation remained in his dick to feel you begin to clench in closeness as you reached down to rub your clit, tipping yourself over the edge with Jake joining you. His eyes squeezed shut and his chest heaved, nothing coming out of him despite the sensation of overstimulation that had overwhelmed him. In fact, he had shot blanks for the last three orgasms, too.

While you both came down from your highs, puffs of humid air filling the narrow space between your mouths as you leaned down to kiss Jake, he looked up at you, his face a mix of pure exhaustion, lined faintly with dopey satisfaction, but also a little worry. He hummed against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours to get just enough leverage to speak.

“Baby, I don’t think I can get to 25. We’re at 12 and my dick is gonna fall off.”

You giggled, pulling away and placing a hand on Jake’s cheek, thumb brushing back and forth.

“Okay, okay. How about this, what if we just make it 25 total?”

Jake furiously nodded his head, grateful for the reprieve. Between the two of you now, you’d reached 24. He could get you to 25. Hopefully. He knew his body was past halfway to limp, sucked dry, but maybe you weren’t as much of a noodle. Maybe you had one more in you.

Just when he thought he could take a breather, though, the both of you looked over your shoulder at the TV that had been softly playing in the background. In the top corner by the year’s newest pop sensation was a countdown clock to the new year. It had just reached under ten minutes.

Your head snapped back forward and your gaze met your boyfriend’s, the both of you panicking with eyes as wide as saucers. You had to make your deadline and time was dwindling quickly! But Jake swiftly jumped into action, tugging your hips in a gesture to pull you up his body. There was no way he had the time to recover and go another round, but this was dire!

“Use my face. USE MY FACE!” he urged you as he frantically pulled his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. You shuffled forward on your knees, his limp dick sliding out of your puffy entrance, filled with multiple rounds of your combined release. You moved so quickly to hover over his head that it didn’t have time to seep out of you before Jake yanked you down to his mouth with a firm grip by his large hands.

In an instant, his tongue was inside you, laving at your still spasming pussy, drinking down your wetness as his nose nudged your clit, coaxing it back to a stage of readiness. In seconds, he had you whining, grinding your hips against his face, begging for more attention on your sensitive nub. Jake could tell exactly what you needed, moving his mouth upwards, goatee lightly scratching your labia as he did so, and latched on to your clit, tongue working in tandem with the suction he was creating.

As if he still weren’t close enough to you, he used his hands to press on your plush thighs, squeezing you closer to him when he sucked harder. A new wave of arousal flowed through you, confirmed by Jake’s satisfied hum that sent a shockwave out from your core and across your limbs.

Your arms flailed, searching for something to hold onto, one reaching the headboard, the other drifting down into his damp locks. As you fisted his hair, you made brief eye contact with him, a smile on his face evident by the creases at the corner of his bright blue eyes when he reached up and tweaked a nipple towards the end of his focus range. Jake could just barely make out the scene above him, squinting slightly, when you fought throwing your head back in pleasure.

You might have felt like ecstasy was about to make your body implode, but you would’ve held on for just how pretty the sight of your boyfriend was, enjoying this moment underneath you, trying to feed your insatiable appetite for him. You were so zoned in to his every feature that he caught you by surprise when he did that thing with his tongue, guaranteed to make you topple over the edge every time.

You barely caught the image of him winking at you in reassurance that he wanted you to let go as you squeezed your eyes shut and your fists clenched hard, the headboard creaking. Jake let out a groan against your pussy that sent another tingle up your spine, causing you to call out, “Ah, Jake!” when you careened over the cliff once more.

Jake broke the suction of his mouth, gently easing you off of him, his strong arms setting you into the mound of sheets that laid at his side. He had regained just enough life in his legs to jet to the bathroom quickly to clean himself up, returning with a warm, damp towel which he used to tenderly wipe between your legs. He discarded it, tossing it into the hamper as fast as he could.

Jake settled back into bed, slipping his glasses back on and looking at the countdown clock on the television which had just dipped below 30 seconds, as he pulled your naked body on top of his, a sleepy smile filling your face, eyes closed peacefully. You hummed contentedly, finding comfort pressed against his beefy torso as his one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hiking your knee up for you to toss your leg over his slim waist. Your head settled on his shoulder, nearly face-to-face with him, just in time for the final countdown.

Both of your gleaming smiles matched each other when the ball dropped and you lifted yourself up to kiss him, lips dancing slowly, reverently. There was no longer a rush. The two of you could just enjoy each other as you rang in the new year with a definite bang.

As you pulled away, gasping for air, you resettled yourself down with your ear right over Jake’s heart, your hand moving to idly rub over his belly as the two of you watched confetti fall over Times Square on the screen.

“Got any resolutions, babe?” you slurred.

Jake blew out a contemplative breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his fingertips teased up and down your arm. He clicked his tongue in thought, “Maybe presenting the suggestion to you that we take the square root of the year and do that many orgasms instead from here on out. That way in 2064, when we’re old and wrinkly, we’ve only gotta do eight. And in 2081, our frail bones can settle for nine.”

You laughed along with his warm chuckle that rumbled his chest and nodded. “Good idea, Jakey.”

Bonus A/N: My life’s dream is to drain Jake’s body like this. Thank you.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[kumkaniudaku]

First

Summary: Terry and Patrice take their relationship to the next level.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: Smut (18+)

For a breezy September Friday off the coast of an island, Patrice was dealing with a heat that was too sweltering to ignore. 

Initially, she assumed the sudden increase in her body temperature was the natural result of driving from the comforts of North Carolina to the muggy, humid haven the United States Marine Corps called Parris Island. It wasn't much of an island, according to Terry, as he talked a mile a minute during their Family Day gathering while she tried to focus on stabbing blanched green beans with her fork and not how his bottom lip glistened from water droplets reflecting the sunlight streaming through the window. But that didn't make much sense. Diedra spent the entire dinner complaining about the steady blast of frigid air blowing through the AC vent and how it was aggravating a shoulder injury sustained in a tennis match from her high school years. 

The next day, while dressed in their Sunday's best on Friday morning, Patrice tried to blame the constant waves of internal heat on a relentless South Carolina sun illuminating young men and women from every corner of the world as they transitioned from American civilians to the few and proud fighting force they'd been auditioning to join for 13 grueling weeks. While Terry received praise from his proud parents and excitable twin sisters, Patrice could feel sweat sliding down the valley between her shoulder blades. Her mind slowed to a creep with only thoughts of how good Terry looked in uniform. Starched blue pants highlighting long, muscled legs more typical of a Greek god provided a straight shot to a waist so cinched, Wilhelmina models would stare daggers and drop their jaws in envy and awe. 

A hug encapsulating 91 days of missed time and an hour-long ride back to their Hilton Head accommodation for the weekend cooled Patrice temporarily, nearly tricking her into believing her hypothesis was correct. Then Terry touched her too close to the part of her that hadn't quite met him yet. 

In the last row of his family's rented minivan, with twin ten year old's in minute ten of an argument about nothing important, mentally exhausted parents trying to play referee, and Terry's hand innocently resting on her leg while he scrolled through the playlist of missed releases she'd compiled for him on her iPod, Patrice's brain drifted back to lessons learned in Napheesa and Victoria's dorm room. 

Once Patrice's nails were painted Bubble Bath pink and nether regions were free from a near nightmare at the hands of Patrice and a bottle of Nair bikini cream, a crash course in fucking became little more than a glorified rehashing of sex education courses and giggling through dirty movies on Phee's laptop as a group. Patrice took what little valuable information existed in their makeshift classroom and tried to turn them into instructional videos in her mind. For research purposes, of course.

Vivid images of Terry on top, beneath, and behind her body completely overtook Patrice's brain, sending her body back into a sauna with her as the lone inhabitant. Patrice's heartbeat had gone south, creating an uncomfortable ache between her thighs that forced her ankles to cross in hopes of release. She squirmed in her seat and let her lips part to draw in a shaky breath. The world around her fell away. Thoughts of kissing, biting, and touching replaced tangible sights and sounds. She'd slipped into that special place in her dreams where fantasies were damn near reality. 

"You good, Treecey? Terry's voice alone slammed Patrice into the present and flushed her body with unbearable heat. She blinked twice and looked to her right to find her boyfriend looking at her. "I was talkin', and you didn't say anything. You alright? Need me to shut up for a second?" 

Patrice tried to quell Terry's bubbling anxiety by forcing a smile as she subtly threaded her fingers between his to give her senses a break. "I-I'm fine. I'm just thinking about how happy I am to have you back. Congratulations, TJ. I love you." 

"I love you more," He spoke against the back of Patrice's hand before gracing it with a kiss. "This B.o.B song sucks, by the way. Who the fuck is Bruno Mars?" 

"Ooooh! Mama, Terrence said a cuss word!"

The hotel room she shared with Zorah and Zanah provided temporary respite, shielding her from the sweltering heat of the backseat and replacing it with the heat of overstimulation. Twin girls fascinated by long box braids tugged at tender roots to practice their plaiting skills while a heavy, shaved head compressed vital nerves in her thigh. Terry had long allowed his first solo shower in months and a comfortable couch to lull him into a deep sleep, leaving Patrice to entertain her talkative inherited sisters until Deidra and Marvin stepped in to put her out of her misery. 

When she offered to end Terry's slumber prematurely, Dee politely waved her off. 

"No, no," Diedra conceded, still looking at her baby boy's chest rise and fall peacefully. A half smile graced her face as she shifted her focus to Patrice. "When he wakes up, give us a call. Marvin will come back and get you two. We'll have lunch near the pier." 

"I will?" 

Dee turned to her husband and lowered her glasses to reveal the fire dancing behind her expressive eyes. "Marvin James, don't make me get ugly. If my baby wakes up and wants to get to the beach, he'll get to that beach!"

Patrice couldn't believe her stroke of luck. She'd hoped and prayed for a sliver of alone time in the hours-long trip down South but never imagined it'd be presented to her on a platter without begging on her hands and knees. 

A resting boyfriend and unlimited access to the television should have been enough to keep Patrice occupied until hunger gnawed at her stomach. But logic left with the rest of the Richmonds to enjoy the sun and sand, leaving Patrice with an overactive mind and that pesky heat spreading from a pit deep inside her belly to the meeting at her thighs. 

She tried to ignore what she now knew as desire creeping in to act as the devil on her shoulder, reminding her of the opportunity literally resting in her lap. There were other entertainment options – other ways to pass the time until Terry had refueled his energy reserve and released her from her duty as a human mattress. Patrice gave them all a whirl. Text messages to Napheese and Victoria went unanswered. Random Google searches quickly ran their course. SpongeBob was never as funny as Junior tried to convince her, and a missing remote removed the option to seek another show to pass the time. 

A look down gave her another avenue to explore. Terry's eyes danced behind closed lids while his mouth hung open to sing a little tune of exhaustion. He looked so peaceful. Too peaceful. Boredom convinced Patrice to trail her index finger down the peak of his cheekbones, to the tip of his nose, and across his bottom lip. Her exploration briefly stirred Terry out of his sleep. 

"Stop, Z. Leave my face alone before I tell Mom," Terry grunted, chastising a ghost as he fanned a hand in front of his face. 

Patrice giggled. "There's nobody in here but us, TJ. They left us behind because you won't wake up."

"Well, you stop. Give me a few more minutes." Terry never opened an eye to acknowledge the frown on Patrice's face, instead choosing to turn onto his back and drape his legs over the arm of the couch. 

"You know there's beds in here, right? Why cram yourself on this small ass couch when you can sleep in one of them?" 

Terry shook his head to dismiss Patrice's comment. "I like sleepin' on you, though. Let me have a little longer, and we can go to the pool or something. Swear, baby."

Enlisting his secret weapon seemed to appease Patrice momentarily, judging by her sweet kiss on his forehead. He popped open an eye and found his reward in her beautiful face and grin. 

"Promise," Patrice questioned, her eyes glittering and hopeful as she gazed down at Terry. "I really want to spend time with you. There's something I think we should talk about." 

"Promise. We can talk about whatever you want in 10 minutes. Set an alarm and everything." 

Pressing up on his elbows, Terry sealed his confirmation with a soft peck to Patrice's lips before settling back into her lap. She took the kiss as a sacred covenant and allowed Terry to return to sleep without protest, hoping the twenty minutes would fly by like 20 seconds. In many ways, time obeyed her command for speed. Patrice barely registered the clock ticking away as she studied missed class notes shared in her American Government group chat. But, then, 10 minutes turned into 20 despite the alarm's trill ringing throughout the room, effectively demoralizing a young woman feeling a golden opportunity slip through her fingers.

Silence and the feel of thighs on his cheeks introduced Terry to a false sense of security that came crashing to a halt once Patrice lifted his head from her lap and carefully lowered it to the couch cushions to maintain his neck's integrity. Terry's eyes shot open in time to see Patrice searching for her flip-flops and beach bag. He rushed to his feet. 

"Woah, woah," Terry rasped, still trying to find his voice in a throat dry from deep sleep. Long strides helped him catch her before she could dash toward the door. "Where you going? I thought we were hanging out." 

Patrice shrugged. "It's okay. We can wait until tomorrow. I didn't realize how tired you'd be afterward, so my bad. Want some food from downstairs?" 

"No," Terry scoffed as if offended by the notion that he might want sustenance. "I want you to stay with me. Come here." 

A face once contorted into a despondent frown quickly morphed into one filled with immeasurable joy as Terry walked Patrice back toward the bedroom with his lips attached to her jawline. Half-hearted calls for him to stop tickling the base of her neck with his tongue went ignored, turning her into a giggling mess, excited for the affection she'd been craving. 

Blind steps and eager snogging held their undivided attention, leaving size 13.5 feet to fumble through a maze of small suitcases and discarded backpacks until the bed designated for Patrice provided a soft landing spot for two crazy kids slowly falling in love. 

Shared laughter mixed harmoniously once they hit the sheets with a dull thud. Patrice welcomed Terry's weight with her wrists crossed at the nape of his neck. He happily obliged her unspoken request, pressing his torso on the body he'd committed to learning every curve and contour. Simple, chaste kisses reacquainted their lips, each peck lasting longer than the one before. 

Patrice reveled in the attention, arching into Terry's embrace and giggling once he covered her face in intentionally messy love letters. 

"You so fuckin' cute," Terry mumbled against Patrice's cheek, punctuating each word with a kiss. He pulled away to tap her nose and grin. "Even prettier in person. My dreams weren't worth a damn. Motherfuckers had my brain scrambled from day one," he laughed.

"Drill sergeants were on your ass that bad?" 

"Hell yeah! I should've took my ass to school. Fuck football," Terry laughed.

In 13 weeks, the memories he'd conjured of her appearance day in and day out had missed so many wonderful details. He'd forgotten the beauty mark on her right cheek and how her ears wiggled when she spoke. He'd somehow forgotten how her eyes glittered in the sun and how her smell often entered the room before she did. That unique mix of sweet strawberry and the fairy dust naturally gifted to Black women awakened him like no drill sergeant ever could. Patrice was back in the flesh, tracing aimless patterns on his skin and absorbing warm sun rays like a goddess made exclusively for him. 

"You said you wanted to talk. What's up?" The question barely left Terry's lips before his nose was back against the crook of Patrice's neck while he focused on French kissing her collarbone. 

A rush of heat consumed every spot his mouth touched, turning thoughts into useless sludge milling about Patrice's brainwaves. She opened her mouth to speak plenty of times as Terry's fingers danced across her belly beneath her tank top in search of her bathing suit top. 

Patrice's breath hitched once Terry found his treasure, kneading the soft mound of her left breast before rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger. In their short sports of exploration, he'd become something of a master of touch. He'd learned when to graze his fingertips over her supple skin gently and when to grip or squeeze his favorite spots to elicit the quiet, heart-flipping whimper he'd seared into the ridges of his developing brain.

Any words she'd intended to share became a low moan as Terry turned all his attention to grinding his front against hers to meet the demand she'd silently set by doing the same. Thin blends of nylon and polyester covering their most intimate bits absorbed frantic friction as they drove each other crazy while fully clothed. Part of them braced for intrusion. On too many occasions, an interruption had robbed them of whatever existed on the other side of an unfamiliar coiling in the pit of their stomachs. Only Terry knew what might happen if they were ever allowed to carry out the full extent of their private experience. He'd felt the fruits of wrist labor once or twice when the house was empty and fantasizing wasn't enough for a young man entering a new phase of life. 

Intrusion, however, never came. They were free. Free of distractions, free of fear, and free to approach a volcanic eruption together. 

Strained sounds mixed with the cartoon theme song playing in the background as Terry built up a rhythm that creaked the bedframe. Patrice clutched the back of his Marine Corps t-shirt with both hands, her mouth opening to whisper "Oh my God" to the ceiling. Pressure corked inside her body bubbled to the surface. Her body tingled like some unseen force had gifted her superpowers. White hot flames warmed the blood pumping through her veins. 

"Terry, I…" Patrice started before the words became choked inside her throat. She took a deep breath and tried again. "I-I think…I think I'm ready to- to have sex." 

The part of Terry's brain he'd flipped off to focus on a new kind of romantic expression suddenly lit up like Christmas lights. He pulled away from Patrice's neck to look into her eyes. "What?" 

"I want to have sex. With you. If…if you want to have sex with me. You can say no. I won't be mad." 

Patrice's timid voice and shy eyes sent Terry's heartbeat into overdrive more than her admission. He gazed down at her and cleaned lip gloss from the corner of her lips with his thumb before answering. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?" 

"Yeah," Patrice whispered as the evil grip of shame began to creep in. 

"You sure you want to? Don't think you gotta -" 

A manicured finger placed light pressure on his lips to stop more words from coming forth. "I'm sure, Terry. I've been thinking about this for a really long time. I know what I want, and I know I want it with you." Patrice moved her hand to hold the sides of Terry's face and bring him to her lips for another deep kiss. She spoke against his mouth. "Please. I only wanna do this with you."

She drove a hard bargain. With a face like that and words so sincere they felt more like scriptures than a request, how could Terry deny her? Terry swallowed hard and nodded his agreement. "Yeah, me too. Only with you." 

Nerves gripped Terry in a spiral of fear as he led a fiery kiss to distract from the inevitable. He'd only mastered fondling and the mechanics of tongue hide and seek, not the assumed complexities of intercourse. Talks with his father, older cousins, and friends were only half the equation. The mechanics – the actual nitty-gritty application of the deed – were as foreign as Mandarin in his young mind. Logic told him to be honest about his novice status and save himself from embarrassment. Pride and ego told him to fake it until things made sense. He chose the latter voice as he left the familiarity of making out to stand in front of the first girl to ever get this close to seeing him naked. 

Terry tried to feign confidence as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor beside his feet. Step one was easy enough. Patrice propped herself on her elbows to watch him disrobe, barely concealing the grin spreading across her lips as Terry hooked his thumbs at the waistband of his trunks and pulled them down. 

Patrice didn't know what to expect. The only time she'd come into contact with anybody's genitalia but her own was via a screen when curiosity got the best of her and online websites answered questions she wouldn't dare ask aloud. She'd seen photos and diagrams galore, but none of her research could prepare her for seeing Terry naked as the day he came into the world. 

Her eyes traveled down his torso, made a pitstop at the part of him standing at attention, then back up to his shifty eyes to smile in appreciation for his trust. "Wow." 

"Don't make it weird, Patrice," Terry groaned. "It's already sort of embarrassing." 

"I'm sorry! I just…may I…touch you?"

Terry could only blink and nod to grant Patrice permission. His muscles, still sore from the 50+ hours of his training's culminating event, tensed as she stood to examine his body closer. Patrice started at Terry's chest, dragging her digits across the expanse of his broad shoulders before traveling below the navel. 

When her fingers teased the point of no return, Terry's eyelids fluttered closed as he let out a sharp breath. "Fuck." The harshness of his expletive became washed away by the gentle kiss on his jawline and the delicate care Patrice put into exploring new depths. 

She withdrew just as quickly as she'd made her presence known, leaving Terry aching for her touch again. Patrice stepped back and chewed her bottom lip before speaking. "I guess it's my turn." 

"Want me to look away?" 

"No," Patrice answered. "I'm okay. You let me look, so it's only fair." 

Terry stood awkwardly in place, watching with rapt focus as Patrice rapidly discarded her tank top and cut-off shorts. He fought to keep his eyes inside their socket once a quick tug at the string on her bikini loosened the garment enough to slide off her neck and pool where her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

For a moment, Patrice regretted telling Terry not to look away. He seemed to sense her trepidation and quickly softened his gaze. He didn't need words to convince Patrice to commit to what she'd started. With a deep breath, she moved her arms and let the swimsuit top drop to the floor. 

It was Terry's turn to voice his surprise. "Woah," he whispered, eyes locked on what he'd never seen up close. He quickly looked back up with a boyish grin to save face. "This is crazy." 

"I know, right?" Patrice giggled. Laughter helped lighten the mood, making the final stage of her exhibition the easiest. She stepped out of her bottoms and shrugged. "This is it," she joked. "The big reveal." 

"It's perfect. You're beautiful," Terry offered without hesitation. 

Patrice diverted her attention to her toes to hide her bashful smile. "Thank you."

"Of course." Terry slid his index finger under her chin and directed Patrice's eyes back to his. He leaned down to initiate a head-spinning, slow kiss. Pulling away left both teenagers breathless. Terry pressed his forehead against Patrice's and smiled. "Can I try something?" 

A bevy of outside influences and genuine curiosity led Terry's next steps. He guided Patrice to sit on the bed before he knelt at her feet. His lips started a slow journey at her left knee, kissing his way to her inner thigh like they had the luxury of time on their side. 

Patrice watched him under heavy eyelids as she ran her short fingernails across the top of his shaved head. Every lick and suckle against flesh untouched by another added to a feeling of weightlessness she wasn't warned about by her friends. Had they never felt this way? Was it new or wrong or only delivered to two people so energetically aligned their spirits transcended the physical plane of existence? Patrice pushed discovering an answer to the back of her mind once a lick at her navel brought her attention to the hazel and green eyes slowly descending to the apex of her thighs. He inhaled deeply before dropping a kiss where the fire burned the hottest. 

Terry had no clue what he was attempting. He only knew the carnal temptation calling him forth and chose to follow what his mind and body desired most. Teammates, family, and friends had warned him about what a taste of nectar might offer. Some asserted they were too macho to enjoy a woman that way, complaining about masculinity mumbo jumbo he only sort of believed. Others mentioned peculiar tastes and smells as deterrents, imploring him to keep the fun strictly body to body. Terry often pretended to agree but could no longer ignore curiosity or the cat. 

Hesitant licks around the area quickly introduced a young man full of questions to a world of confirmation he never knew existed. Whatever those other guys were talking about was bullshit. If they'd been in love, Terry thought, maybe they'd have thought twice before spewing nonsense into the world. 

Though Heaven and Earth were permanently altered for Terry, Patrice allowed her smile to drop into a grimace as she fought to understand what her body was feeling. Pain wasn't the correct descriptor. Every wet revolution of his tongue in unchartered waters felt silly at best. Quick shocks of pleasure crumbled into long spells of nothing but strange kitten licks, leaving Patrice to wonder if all she'd heard about the deed was a lie. 

"Oh, that's…alright," Patrice spoke through a breathy sigh as Terry briefly created a tingle in her toes but missed the mark on a second attempt. She attempted to wiggle her lower half into place, hoping her gesture would guide a young man trying his best to more favorable results. 

Hooking his hands around her thighs, Terry pulled Patrice closer and took a beat to speak. "Does that feel good?" 

"Um, yeah," she lied, half smiling, hoping he couldn't see through her facade. Quick thinking helped Patrice change the subject. "I want you up here with me, though." 

Terry's worry about his performance consumed him before Patrice pulled his face to hers and reignited flames almost snuffed out by fear. Their tongues danced together as skin-on-skin contact sent shivers down their young spines. 

Oxytocin flooded their systems equally, turning juvenile feelings into robust, full-grown bonds. Connections forged during intimacy too mature for their young minds to comprehend clung to them like quicksand, slowly clouding their judgment as Terry positioned himself between Patrice's legs. 

From Terry's vantage point, Patrice was a vision. With her dark braids spread wildly against a stark white pillowcase, he thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. His calloused fingers traced the perimeter of her face, slid down her graceful neck, and trailed her shoulder on the way to her forearm.

He smiled while adjusting her arms around his neck. "You nervous?" 

"A little," she answered, her voice growing small as she stared back at him. "You?" 

"A little," he chuckled. 

Patrice lifted her head to press a kiss to his lips. "You don't have to be scared of me. Let's just try." 

Their entire lives, trying meant final efforts. They'd never attempted anything. Expectations of perfection weighed on them as firstborns tasked with validating parental sacrifices and making entire lineages proud. Patrice wasn't allowed to simply try her best in school. Being top of her class was the demand, and she rose to the occasion despite an often fragile mental state teetering on collapse. Terry could try on the football field. Glory, respect, and champion status were requirements. When he didn't reach the goals set for him before he had any input, he was shipped to a government-sponsored finishing school to earn his stripes a different way. 

But in the relative safety of a mid-tier hotel room where no one but each other existed, they'd been permitted to give their best effort without fear of consequence. Terry felt his heart rate match Patrice's as the pulse in her wrist rested on the back of his neck. His eyes drifted toward the space where their hips met, hoping he wouldn't stumble out of the gate and ruin an otherwise perfect afternoon. 

One hand gripping his manhood guided him forward while the other held her hip steady. First contact felt like instant warmth in a shallow, heated pool. An untamed fluttering made Terry contract his stomach muscles and sigh as the unknown answered questions he never knew existed inside his mind. Slow, measured movements came with a prayer Terry knew he shouldn't have let cross his mind. He asked for protection, confidence, precision and–

"Shiiit."

Harsh curses pulled Terry out of his mental oasis to focus on Patrice and her face screwed in a mix of emotions. He stilled. "I can stop. I swear. I'm gonna stop." 

Discomfort like she'd never known took Patrice by surprise, tensing a body once loose with excitement and forcing out an expletive she hadn't intended to share. As Terry scrambled to pull away, Patrice tightened her grip to stop progress. 

"No," she exclaimed, not wanting the culmination of four years to end. Don't! I'm fine." She fought to even her breathing and display a calm exterior to quell Terry's apprehension. Turning her head, she kissed his inner arm three times and looked back into concerned eyes. "I'm okay. Go slow." 

More reassurance, presented as encouragement to continue, slowly coaxed Terry back into action. He watched Patrice's face with acute focus, taking in every wince and furrowed brow, waiting for what looked like pain to level into something akin to the bliss one feels after their first lick of ice cream on a scorching Summer day.

An anxious back-and-forth of hips far too tight for the moment remained slow and steady until Patrice's soft grunts of discomfort turned into light, breathy requests for more. More of what, she didn't know. More of the love surrounding them. More of feeling like the only girl in the world. More of having their bodies fit together like the final puzzle pieces, creating a beautiful portrait for them to carry into forever. 

Breaths shared in a rhythmic in and out that matched Terry's tempo helped them meld into one being, consumed by their carnal nature. For Terry, the shared energy felt ten times greater than graduating. He'd experienced the highest heights of satisfaction, but none compared to feeling Patrice envelop him in body and heart. 

The notion of a kismet connection crossed Patrice's mind as her body relaxed into the deed, and pleasure rushed in like high tide. Their bodies growing slick from sweat cooling limbs running hot under the burden of exertion rivaled fine silk rubbing together in her mind. She'd imagined the scene unfolding before her eye more times than she cared to count. Nothing compared to the high of loving and being loved. 

Moving his hand from her hip, Terry trailed his fingertips up the sheets to thread them between the gaps between Patrice's fingers. They locked eyes and giggled before separate, strong tremors turned joy into desire. He gently pecked her lips and nuzzled their noses. 

"You good," Terry questioned through heavy breaths.

Patrice gripped his hand tighter and croaked out, "Mhmm," before coiling in her belly stole an opportunity to say more. "Keep goin'."

Connecting physically was a drug worth repeatedly trying to determine if every high would feel this perfect. Sheets jostled around them as Patrick and Spongebob's idiotic chatter became background fodder. Even the sun seemed to burn hotter in reverence of their first foray into lovemaking.

Terry's entire body seized in response to immense, min-numbing pleasure. His breathing went ragged. The grip on Patrice's hand tightened as he rocked himself into her with hips stuttering out of control. 

Terry chanted a call to the heavens above while Patrice looked up in awe, snapping mental pictures of his uninhibited euphoria to take as a parting gift when the weekend and all its gifts were no more. Though her approach to the mountaintop was a less earth-shattering occasion, Patrice reveled in the tingles dancing across her body, and the barrage of kisses left on her neck and clavicle as Terry tried to regulate himself. 

Silence welcomed two young lovers to reality once Terry's back hit the space beside Patrice. Once they locked eyes, mirrored bright smiles slid across their faces in sync, making way for genuine laughter to bounce off decorated walls. 

"I guess that's it," Patrice surmised before presenting her palm for Terry to reciprocate a hi-five. 

Terry returned the gesture and shrugged. "We can go again. Maybe try something else?" 

"You know your mama is gonna come lookin' for us soon, right? She's probably on her way back to check on her Peanut right now," Patrice teased as she watched Terry scoot closer to her side and fondle both breasts to his heart's content. 

"You're probably right," Terry murmured with his attention elsewhere. 

"I'm always right. Don't forget it." Patrice's challenge earned a tickle attack on her rib cage before Terry used his strength to pull her body on top of his. Amorous feelings bubbled under the surface as quick kisses deepened into something sure to threaten their pact to end on a high note. 

Pulling away, Terry brushed a braid behind Patrice's shoulder and grinned. "I love you, P. Mean it." 

"I love you, too. Mean it." 

Realization slowly set in while they allowed intense gazes to communicate words too heavy and unfamiliar to share so soon. They'd done it. After years of friendship and the courage to push the boundaries of what they could be, they'd reached the point of no return. The possibilities of tomorrow felt endless, exciting, and overwhelming. They welcomed the challenge hand in hand.

A final kiss sent Patrice into the bathroom with her pile of clothing to follow the article she'd taken a picture of to the letter and send discreet yet excited confirmation texts to the two girls eagerly awaiting updates. Terry sat alone in a messy hotel room, smiling like he'd been gifted season tickets for life, contemplating whether a proposal without a ring was appropriate for a girl as great as Patrice. He ultimately decided against his rash decision and resolved to calculate how much a measly Lance Corporal's salary could afford before shooting his father a text. There'd be other opportunities. If Terry was sure of nothing else, he'd hang his hat on their union without a second thought.

By Sunday afternoon, the weekend was but a soul-stirring memory. The awkward nature of a first time under their belts created a newfound confidence that prompted perceptive parents to frantically try and fail to confirm the details of what they were sure was a relationship-altering experience. The itch to try again had attached itself to fated lovers left to their own devices in a cramped dorm room on North Carolina A&T's campus. 

Round two of Terry's deep sea dive proved more successful than the first. Patrice was suspended on a cloud while students in the hallway enjoyed their waning hours of freedom. 

"Mmmm. Right there, right there," she begged in a harsh whisper meant to conceal the inner workings of her room from the public. Terry pulled away from his work to look up for confirmation, prompting her to push his head back into action. "No, no, no, no. Don't stop. I'm close." 

Close to what, Patrice didn't know, but she needed to see the tightening in her abdomen to the finish line. Tears pricked her eyes as Terry lapped between her legs like a man with something to prove. Her body began to shiver. Her toes curled to the point of cramping. Colors danced behind her eyelids. This was what Victoria was talking about. This was the gold on the other side of the rainbow. 

Patrice gasped for air and moaned a throaty "Oh shit," not caring who could hear. She'd waited too long for her turn. Nothing could knock her off her wave. 

Except for the locked doorknob wiggling and her nice but overbearing roommate attempting to enter. Patrice whined and sat up to shoo Eni away. "Hey, girl, can you give me a few more minutes?" 

"Not really," Eni responded, her voice muffled on the other side of the door. "I forgot my laptop charger, and I kind of need it to work in the common area." 

"You can't wait a couple more minutes?" 

Eni sighed. "I've waited fifteen. If I keep waiting, I'm gonna lose my spot on the good couch by the window. You know I love to look at the trees while I study. It's calming." 

Terry quietly kissed back down Patrice's thighs before resting his chin on her knee to smile. "It's okay. Let her in. We can try another time." 

"I wanna try today!" Patrice's whining and pouting earned a laugh from Terry as he helped her back into panties he'd planned to keep in his pocket. 

"It'll be worth the wait," he assured once she was redressed and standing in front of him. He leaned down to kiss her nose before stepping back to adjust himself inside his jeans. "I'm a Marine now. I literally have to keep my word." 

"I'm pretty sure this is not one of the situations they trained you in." 

Their laughter prompted Eni to clear her throat and knock again. "No, seriously, Patrice. They're gonna take my seat and probably my laptop. Can I come in?"

Terry chuckled as Patrice groaned and trudged her way to the door. Both of them watched Eni's eyes grow wide once she saw her roommate's present distraction gathering his wallet and keys off Patrice's desk. 

"I'm sorry," she mouthed when Terry turned his back, receiving an understanding shrug from Patrice. 

"Eni, this is my boyfriend, Terrence. TJ, this is Eni." 

Terry presented his fist for Eni to bump. "Nice to meet you. Hopefully, I'm not intruding." 

"Intruding? What? No," Eni scoffed as if she hadn't spent the previous fifteen minutes locked out of her room. "It's me! I'm the intruder! You are just, um, you are…wow! Is it hot in here?" 

Patrice rolled her eyes at Terry's growing smile and began pushing him out of the room. "Terrence is leaving now, so it should cool down. Say goodbye, Terry." 

His farewell became lost in the rumble of voices filtering out of other rooms as she ushered him out of the building, away from prying eyes, and to his truck. Terry's hands found a home on Patrice's waist once they'd reached a safe distance from the residence hall He pulled her close to mumble against her neck. 

"I'm home for eight more days and then Quanitco for school. Let's figure something out. I'll take you on a real date and everything." 

He'd take her on the date. By Saturday night, Terry had planned that Patrice would have her last name changed by her college graduation. He only needed a loan from his parents and an opportunity to pop the question.

Patrice let his promise flow in one ear and out of the other as she cradled him closer and hummed her agreement. "I'll work on it." 

"Don't work on it, Piggy. Make it happen." A cheeky smack on her backside dissolved Patrice into a giggling mess, and she playfully slapped his broad chest. When they settled their loud laughter, Terry pressed his forehead against Patrice's and smiled. "I'll call you when I'm home." 

"And I'll answer," she confirmed. "See you later to finish what we started?"

"Plus a couple things we didn't." 

"I'm holding you to that," Patice giggled.

Kisses filled with the promise of next time kept naive eighteen-year-olds giddy as they parted ways, content with today and hopeful for tomorrow like soothsayers looking to a future only they could see. The horizon was stunning. Golden rays of sunlight illuminated everything the light touched. Beautiful treasure chests gleamed to invite them to claim the riches inside. Songs from angels on high welcomed them to a higher plane of existence.

But off in the distance, beyond where untrained eyes could see, unpredictable dark clouds ambling like a menacing force threatened to rain on a pretty picnic set for two.

------

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[poeticpoutk]

𝘋𝘢𝘥!𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

────── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──────

He’s sitting at the kitchen counter, still in his work clothes, dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, laptop open in front of him with half a dozen tabs up, some boring contract for a property redevelopment proposal. The house smells like toast and coffee and that lavender soap she always puts on Aspen in the bath. The sun’s pouring in soft through the kitchen windows, and for a second, everything feels still.

And then he hears the little footsteps.

Soft. Fast. Purposeful.

And then Aspen’s voice, right beside him.

“Daddy?”

He looks down to see her, barefoot, cheeks pink from playing, hair half-brushed, wearing one of her sparkly skirts and a t-shirt with a sleepy unicorn on it. Her eyes are serious in that way only little kids can pull off, the kind of seriousness that makes adults laugh without meaning to.

“Hi baby,” he smiles, already reaching down to scoop her up onto his lap. She crawls up like she owns him, because she kind of does. “What’s up?”

She blinks at him for a second. “Daddy,” she says again, like it’s very important. “I need some of your money.”

Rafe pauses, stunned for a beat. “…You what?”

She straightens a little taller in his lap, all business. “I need some money. For my school.”

“You need money?” He tries not to laugh. “What do you need money for, huh?”

“Because…” She draws out the word with a sigh. “Kindy has a lucky book sale. And it’s for a fundraiser. For the kindy. For the children.” She says the last part with this solemn, rehearsed tone that’s clearly something she heard her teacher say.

Rafe bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too wide.

“And they said we can bring our money in a bag. And buy books. Lucky books.”

“Oh, lucky books?” he says, voice full of mock wonder.

“Yes! Like—you don’t know what the books are! They wrap them up. And you buy one, and then it’s a surprise!” Her eyes are wide, sparkling with this magic only four-year-olds can see. “And it’s for the fundraiser,” she adds again, just in case he forgot.

Rafe shifts her in his arms so he can look her straight in the eye. “How much money are we talkin’, Aspen?”

She holds up her little hand and counts her fingers out slowly. “Maybe… three dollars. Or maybe six dollars. Or maybe ten, if I’m lucky.”

“Ten?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “You trying to buy the whole fundraiser?”

She giggles and buries her face in his chest. “Noooo,” she says. “Just the books!”

Rafe wraps both arms around her and kisses her hair, inhaling that soft baby-lotion-and-toast smell that always clings to her in the mornings. For a second, he just holds her there, all warm and sweet and small in his lap. She’s his littlest. His baby. And this is the first time she’s ever asked him for money in her life. The first time she’s said “I need money” without any idea that her dad could probably buy the whole damn kindy and turn it into a bookstore if she really wanted.

“Alright,” he says, whispering against her temple. “You can have ten dollars. But only if I get a big hug.”

“YAY!” she squeals, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking his laptop off the bench. “THANK YOU DADDY! You’re the best! I’m gonna buy all the lucky books!”

He laughs, pulling her in tighter. “You get one book, munchkin. Maybe two if you share.”

“I’m not,” she says immediately.

He can’t stop smiling. Not even when she scrambles off his lap, dancing across the kitchen with her hair flying, yelling for you to find her a little bag right now.

And when he glances up from his laptop, watching her spin in the sunlight, he just shakes his head with that soft, overwhelmed kind of love.

She has no idea who she is yet.

She has no idea how different her life is.

All she knows is: daddy has money, and lucky books are ten dollars, and the world is bright and magical and safe.

And Rafe?

He’d pay any amount of money in the world to keep it that way just a little longer.

[theaudientvoid]

I've talked before about how my mother is considered to be the "tech person" at her work, entirely because ten years ago I printed out the xkcd tech support flow chart and gave it to her. But what I haven't said is that this woman has never owned a personal computer in her life. Occasionally, if she absolutely needs to use a computer for something, she will bring her work laptop home and use that, but she doesn't like doing that. She does have an iphone, which she uses exclusively for answering emails. But otherwise, she uses computers almost exclusively for work. And yet she is apparently better at using computers than nearly all of her co-workers. And it's not like her co-workers are all old people; many of them are my age, and one of them I literally went to high school with.

Years ago, I casually showed my mother how to press control-f to search through text, which she then taught to her co-workers, and I'm told that this discovery "revolutionized" the workflow at her workplace.

[zephyrchama]

(Personal post here 👋)

TLDR: I don't have a computer with internet, so I'm gonna be unable to post for an unknown length of time.

Full story: I may be forced to go on hiatus due to not having a computer! I haven't had consistent computer access for a few weeks, and my only laptop with internet has now become completely unusable (it's stuck in an operating system repair loop as I type this on mobile).

My computers are both over a decade old (I have a Windows that doesn't get any internet and a chromebook that's now completely unusable). They have been used nearly every single day for over ten years so I think they're just worn down. I don't have the money to afford something new at the moment. I'm not very fond of writing on mobile, it's slow and autocorrect gets distracting. I did get a cheap used replacement laptop a couple of days ago, but that doesn't work for my needs (it had internet but didn't have USB or SD ports which I need for work) and the return needs to be processed before I can start looking at other options.

So I'll be roughing it like a troglodyte until I can get something usable! I legitimately don't know how long that will take. Just wanted to give an update so my wonderful amazing readers (I point at you) (hi) know what's going on and know that I haven't abandoned this blog if it takes a while to get another computer. Thanks for reading, both this and the posts I usually make! Hopefully things will get sorted out soon.

[writing-mlm]

maybe tim drake x male reader where tim falls back into his habit of just sort of studying people like he had batman and robin. he likes the reader but obviously tim has to analyze everything about him, his own habits paired with the suspicious nature instilled in him by batman wouldn’t let him casually take interest in somebody.

It's not stalking if we kiss

Summary: Tim can't process emotions normally and does everything wrong only... it works Pairing: Tim Drake x Male reader W.C: 4k a/n: guys I cant write Tim properly omfg I rewrote this a million times

People tend to forget that Tim is actually… kinda creepy. He is second on the stalker list, right behind Joe from You and now that he thinks about it, he might be better than Joe. For one, Joe is actually creepy. He’s a killer by choice, he’s the gross stalker. Tim is the informant stalker, considering himself more of a private investigator type of stalker. And, he’s not a stalker. He’s a detective who’s really good with technology. Everyone knows that. 

Admittedly, he’s tried to grow out of those habits in his recent years. After being confronted with learning every single member of the JLA’s schedules without any of them noticing, he realized he had an issue. He went to therapy— he slept on it and watched a couple of movies and changed. 

But man, old habits die hard. 

He doesn’t realize he's fallen back into his stalking habits for a long while, that’s how second nature they had become over the years. Some sort of natural instinct he had since birth to learn about people that were only made worse through Bruce’s training and his paranoid nature. It was the perfect concoction for someone like Tim, leading him down a near-irreversible path. 

Even now, as he’s watching the surveillance footage of you as you’re out on patrol several states away, he doesn’t realize it. His eyes flicker across the screen to find the street sign, Blecker Street, you’re seventeen blocks away from home and nearly three miles out from your patrol area. Having followed one of your old goons down to an alleyway before dipping into the restaurant they ran inside. 

It was a temporary stay, your old mentor was going to be away for some time and needed someone to watch over their city in their absence. Naturally, you accepted and set up back in your old apartment, it had never been rented out considering your mentor was the landlord and sentimental in that way. But that didn’t stop Tim from worrying. He’s seen reports from that city, and while it’s not as bad as Gotham, the city had aliens and metas. It wasn’t something Gotham had to deal with often, something you had definitely stopped being used to. 

Sipping his tea, Tim watches as you roll your neck and then your shoulder as you exit the restaurant with the goon in tow, it only tells him one simple fact; you’re tired. Probably another ten or so minutes before you called it a day and went back home. He grins, he prefers it when you’re home. Well, it’s not actually home, he thinks he should call it your place for the week instead. Your home is in Gotham now, it has been for several years now. He knows you've been neighbors for quite some time now. 

Sure enough, after ten minutes you’ve called it a night and head back to your apartment. Once he gets a visual of you entering your apartment safely, he closes out the footage tabs on his laptop and goes to bed. It’s nearly eight in the morning in Gotham and he’s been up for nearly two days. His old— according to Jason— body isn’t used to staying up for four days straight anymore. 

It sucks ass. 

As he settles into bed, he just has to double-check that you’re okay. He flicks through the cameras he’s hacked into, seeing that you’ve entered the apartment and from the home security your neighbors have, he hears the door lock four times. That’s the lock, the deadbolt, and two additional locks and it settles him enough that he’s pulled into a slumber by the fact that you made it home safely. 

—

It’s small things, at least that’s what everyone tells him. The small things matter and he wholeheartedly agrees, more often than not in crimes the smallest details could be the largest but he doesn’t know how that would apply to you. Why whenever he’d mention you to Dick or even Alfred, they’d tell him that. As if it was some major deciding factor in his friendship with you.  

Ever the genius, he doesn’t connect it when he remembers the last time he was in your boat you’d mentioned how you hated the fact that people could look inside. 

So, naturally, when he finds a one-way glass cover online, he just has to buy it for you. Never mind the fact that he installs it while you’re still out of the city and without getting any sort of permission from you. But he has a key for a reason. You clearly trust him. He doesn’t see why it would be a big deal for you. Maybe for others, but you’re different. You’re… well, you. 

He installs it and has Bernard test it out from the outside and it works. Not that he doubted his work would ever fail. He checks for himself and he’s pleasantly surprised that someone would only be able to look inside if they got within an inch of the window. And he thoroughly doubts anyone could even get that close to begin with. 

While he’s there, cleaning up the mess he didn’t mean to make, he notices that the fruits on your counter are going bad. It would be bad if you returned to a house of moldy food, so he throws it out and cleans the bowl before Tim decides he needs to make sure there’s nothing else wrong on the boat. 

It’s only nice. 

He ends up with a trash bag filled with nearly rotten fruit, an expired milk jug that only had one bowl of cereal left, some cleaning wipes, and a gross-smelling sponge. He knows you don’t live in filth, you hate dust and mold, so he figures the sponge had accidentally retained some nasty liquid that only got worse with your departure and subsequent lack of attention. 

Tim, knowing you well enough, goes back out to replace the sponge but he rationalizes that if he’s buying a sponge he might as well restock your home. It feels weird going to the store to pick up just one thing. He takes a list of everything you’re running low on or out of entirely and sets out for the second time that day. Never mind the fact that he had agreed to drinks with Bernard who was now forced to tag along if he even wanted to get a taste of drinks later that night.

He returns to the boat with Bernard deciding to wait outside, something about not missing another planned event, and puts everything into their rightful place. He knows where everything goes, the meticulous spots that you never change whenever you deep clean.

Should he deep clean for you?

“Good God! Let’s go!” Bernard yells after Tim has spent a whole ten minutes debating if he should deep clean the entire boat. 

“It’s not like you’re coming home with me,” He huffs, exiting the boat. Bernard raises an eyebrow and Tim raises his back. “You always go off when we get drinks— I’m just the wingman,”

“Yeah, a pretty shit one.” Bernard scoffs. 

—

“Hey,” He answers his phone without looking up from his current case. It doesn’t have his attention, it hasn’t since you left, but he needs to get at least a little work done. Even if he’s still riding out the splitting headache from yesterday. “How’s city-sitting?” He glances at the phone, making sure it was on speaker. 

“Calm,” You answer, crawling out onto the fire escape of your old apartment. “Better than Gotham— my place doesn’t move with the wind anymore, either.” You chuckle, now settled onto one of the old metal stairs. 

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of staying,” He frowns, taking the phone off of the speaker and pressing it to his ear. Now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind moving to your city. It’s nice. 

“Nah,” Your face scrunches as you say it. “It’s nice, but it’s too retirement home for me. I’m not ready to give up having a constant stock of bottled water and up-to-date gas masks.” You joke. 

“That’s good,” He stops himself from sighing. “My rent would’ve gone up.” He jokes, flipping through the pages of his files. 

“You’re rich,” You scoff, it’s playful. There’s no harm in it. “It’s crazy we’re paying rent to live on fucking water, though.” You add, leaning back on the stairs.

“Eh,” He shrugs, grabbing a pen and flipping it between his fingers. He’s sure somewhere in the galaxy someone is paying rent to live on air. “Capitalism will always be crazy.”

“Oh, by the way, the supermarket had a sale on those ice creams you like. I got you some,” He admits while putting the phone back on speaker. 

“Bitch,” You draw out. Tim hears your smile and softly smiles, now taking apart his pen. “I love you, dude. Oh my god, I’m gonna raw dog them once I get back.” You all but moan.

“…sometimes I wish you thought before you spoke,” He cringes, staring at his phone. Never mind the way hearing you say that made him feel things.

“Sorry!” You laugh. “But, thanks. How much do I—“

“I’m rich,” He reminds you, putting the pen back together. His phone beeps midway putting the ink back into the metal casing and he glances at his phone. It’s an alert that your mentor was spotted back in the city. He smiles at the alert, a part of his nerves calming immediately. 

Good, you’ll be back in two days. 

“I gotta go,” He lies knowing your mentor will be back within the next two minutes. 

“Ah, okay. Keep me updated about that case, I just know it’s that Elvis impersonator!” Standing up, you stretch and he nearly hears the pop of your joints. 

“It’s not, but okay.” 

He does very little in the window between then and your return, he’s mostly counting the hours and patrolling. It’s the usual for patrol, albeit a little boring without your chatter in his ear. He’s happy to report he didn’t get any major injuries in that time frame, though. 

When you finally return to Gotham, Tim waits for you on the deck of the boat. He’s pretending to hardly care, acting caught up in some footage he’s reviewing to notice you walking up to the docks. 

“Missed me?” You grin, stepping into the boat with ease. He remembers when you’d been so nervous to get on them before, fearing you’d fall into the nasty water below. 

He looks up, a grin across his face and eyes taking you in. You’ve tanned in your absence, although he supposed Gotham doesn’t get nearly as much sun as Florida does. 

“Hardly noticed you were gone,” He teases and closes his laptop. Rolling your eyes, you invite him inside. He takes the invitation with ease, slipping inside your boat as you scan around. 

“You cleaned?” You ask, the smell of his favorite cleaning products still lingering in the air. “Don’t tell me that the Tim Drake had a party in my boat house!” You gasp, looking at him. 

“Hardly,” He nudges you aside so he can sit on the couch bench. “You had some food going bad so I figured I might as well clean up.” He explains.

“Thanks, baby girl,” You draw out the girl, a southern twang coming through. Rolling his eyes, he watches as you kick your shoes off and toss your duffle bag into your bedroom before joining him on the couch. “How was the case?” Lugging your legs up to the spare room around you, you lay your head on his shoulder while he opens his laptop again and huffs. Not good, then. 

“It’s the Elvis guy,” You quietly sing as he’s watching the footage again; that alone answers your question. The case isn’t even close to being finished. Yikes. 

“It’s not him.” He insists, mindlessly scrolling through the stolen footage. “I’m starting to lean towards the woman I interviewed first, but I’m sure I’ll solve it before tomorrow.” As he speaks he’s biting back a yawn. 

“Wanna take a nap, clear your head and shit?” You ask as you stand up. It was a long drive from Florida to Gotham and you were honestly beat. Probably another hour or so before your body took over and you knocked out. 

“Of course,” He grins and you nod, taking a quick shower. 

Naps with Tim aren’t anything new. He falls asleep often (you think there’s something medically wrong going on but what do you know) and you’re not going to leave the perfect opportunity to get a little sleep slip right past you. So, he’s gotten accustomed to dropping on your shoulder and sleeping; which naturally progressed into the two of you napping on couches or beds together. But only if you were seriously beat. 

Joining Tim on your bed you find that he’s still awake but slowly falling asleep. Waiting up for you, his eyes peer towards the door as you enter and he lifts the sheets up for you. Joining him, you lay on your stomach, letting your body relax as he sleeps on his side, his back facing you. 

Rolling onto your back, you let out a small sigh and turn your head to look at him. 

“Stop staring,” He whispers, turning so now he’s facing you. With hardly open eyes, he stares at you, waiting for you to look away from him. Smiling, you make it a point to look away and turn away from him, raising the covers to your chin and trying to dig yourself deeper into the plush bed. Now he’s staring at you, almost pulled in towards you. 

Tim knows he likes you. He thinks he’s laying his hints down well enough, he thinks he’s being romantic with his actions. He’s so sure you know that you’re just waiting for the right moment to ask him. 

You aren’t. 

Because you don’t know. 

You’re not oblivious by any means, you know when someone likes you. But with Tim, that’s just how he’s always been. You’ve known him as the kid who found out Batman because he was an amazing detective, the guy you’d go to if you wanted to find something or someone. He always had those tendencies, so it didn’t make you bat an eye when you became his latest target. 

It was like his acts of service and who are you to question it? 

That’s not to say you don’t like him back. 

No, it’s not weird that you’re sharing the same bed, chest to back. Yes, there’s plenty of space around the two of you, but what’s the harm in being close? 

The harm is that Tim isn’t focusing on falling asleep. 

You’re sound asleep, blissfully unaware of his qualms but Tim won’t keep his eyes off of you. His eyes trace the strands in your hair, settle on how you’ve accidentally shifted the cover down to your stomach with how much you kick. How you hardly dried off from the shower, favoring the peaceful sleep you knew was awaiting you instead of enjoying the privacy of your bathroom. 

His eyes follow and trace your body again and he doesn’t do it with any intentions other than curious ones. 

He doesn’t know where that shirt is from, he’s helped with your laundry before and he’s never seen that shirt but it’s faded enough that he knows it’s old. The collar is stretched out and the tag is sticking out, the words all but faded. It’s old and well-loved. 

It’s probably one of the clothes you left behind in your old apartment. 

Sighing, he closes his eyes and flips to his back, trying his best to fall asleep. It’s normally not an issue for him, he can fall asleep and wake up on command most days but today is different for some reason. Maybe he’s missed you so badly that his body won’t let him sleep until it’s felt he’s had enough time spent with you to make up for the absence. 

“Can’t sleep?” You ask after he turns again, this time back to his original position. 

“Sorry,” He mutters the apology, doing his best to seem as though he was falling asleep. He flips onto his back to look at you, a tired gaze clouding your eyes. 

“It’s okay, I was hardly asleep.” You shrug and then make a face akin to a mischievous grin. “Wanna cuddle?” Looking at you, he tries to figure out if you’re joking or not. “But only if I’m a big spoon.” You add. 

“That works,” He nods and turns his back to you, awkwardly shuffling back as you shuffle forward. Humming, you wrap your left arm around him and settle your head on top of his, with your right arm acting as another pillow for his head. His hair smells like your favorite scent and you’re surprised you hadn’t realized sooner. But it is a little faint. 

“This good?” You mutter. 

“Mhmm,” He hums and you hum back, letting your eyes close again. 

—

Tim watches you as you work through the cameras; your day job is a normal, boring receptionist job at the hospital. You’re talking to a man while Tim is in the Batcave, his feet propped up on the desk and eyes strained to not blink. He’s thumbing through different angles and misusing Bruce’s tech to get information from everyone you talk to. All their records pop up to the screen on the left and he skims through them all. 

No one is dangerous so far, aside from someone who was recently treated for lice. It makes his scalp itch when he thinks about it for too long. 

“You should get a job,” Damian grunts from behind him. “This is creepy, even for you, Drake.” Tim waves him off, he’s not being weird. He’s just making sure you’re safe, that’s it. He also doesn’t care what the boy cleaning bloody swords has to say about his habits.

“I do have a job,” He mutters, switching the camera again. It’s time for your break and you’ll probably call soon. “I’m at Wayne Enterprises, running a team for the IT department.” The right screen switches to his work account where he’s running a code to fix his team's code. He’ll double-check it once he’s home. 

He watches as you fish your phone out and he prepares for the call but his phone remains uncalled. The screen is black and you’re clearly in the middle of a call, he squints and decides to check who you’re calling. It could be debt collectors or scammers, he’s just looking out for you. 

The number quickly runs through his database and he sighs, it’s fucking Bart. 

“-m, he won’t say no to you.” Bart laughs and Tim watches as you shake your head, leaning against the wall of the break room. 

“When you texted that it was an emergency, I assumed it was, you know, an emergency.” Oh, that makes more sense. Tim settled into his seat, you hadn’t preferred calling Bart over him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I think my fridge breaking is an emergency!” Bart shouts. “Please— ask Tim to buy me a new one! One with a screen and a double fridge. Please!”

“No-“ Bart groans loudly into the phone. “You’re not helping your case right now.” You chide.

“Frick you, man.” Bart hangs up and you stare at your screen before moving to call Tim. He grins, exiting out of your phone, and stares at his phone. It rings and he waits three whole seconds before picking up. 

“Drake is reaching new levels of creeper,” Damian tells Bruce as the older man walks into the Batcave. Tim pays no mind, walking away from the computer for privacy. “There are laws against these sorts of things.”

“Hey,” He ducks under Dick swinging around on a bar before messing with memorabilia on the shelves. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.” 

“You? Never,” 

—

You’re upset. Tim doesn’t know why but he knows you are. All of the lights are on in the boat and he can hear the bass in whatever music you’re playing. Had it been any louder it might’ve begun to rattle the windows. 

He knocks on the door for two minutes straight before he unlocks the door himself. You don’t notice, which is an issue in itself, but to your credit, you notice when he steps further inside. 

“What happened?” He carefully asks, the music lowering with several clicks from the remote. You shrug, not the worst sign of your mood, and shift over to invite him inside. “Work?” Nodding, he frowns. Of course, it would be the one day he couldn’t watch over the cameras that something would happen. 

“I got written up because I didn’t let this group of teenagers spit at me.” You explain. “You’d think working at a hospital they’d understand how nasty spit is. But apparently, they’re doctors, kids so it’s whatever.” Fiddling with your laptop, he catches the Job Finders tab hidden in a mess of random tabs. Good, he’s always hated that job for you. 

“Was it that manager with the yellow hair? Linny?” 

“It always is!” You exclaim, tossing the empty soda can into the trash can. “One more write-up and I’ll go on probation again.”

“You could come and work at Wayne Enterprises.” He offers, eyes rising slowly from the laptop to you... “I’m pretty sure I have an opening as a receptionist. Or other jobs… of course. In case you wanted a change of jobs.” You look at him, eyebrows raise and he offers a smile. 

“It is closer,” You trail off. 

“Benefits are great, too.” He grins. “And I’m not just talking about seeing me every day.” Pushing his arm, he laughs and closes your laptop. “I’m serious! You’ll get paid more, no one would yell at you because we never get anyone wanting to see us, and there’s sick time.”

“Okay, I’ll apply,” You give in and he cheers, holding you with one arm before shaking you. Laughing, you cover your mouth and push away from him. “But next week, I’m busy this week. You’ll put in a good word for me, right?”

“Of course, what else would I use my position of power for?”

“Let me shower and we can… watch a movie?” You ask and he nods, watching you leave. Once the shower turns on he fumbles with his phone. 

“B, can you give me a receptionist?… No, I know there’s no need but I kinda told (Y/n)—… Okay, and? Like you haven’t lied to anyone!… Please, I’m sorry. Just can you make that a job?… Oh, thank god!” 

—

A week later, Tim helps you send in a resume. Of course, since the official announcement of a new position, there have been dozens of applications. All of which Tim is in charge of reviewing. Not that you would know. 

You’re relieved when you get the interview— put in your two weeks when you’re told you’ve made it to the final interview stage— and sit with Tim while you’re waiting to hear if you got the job. 

Your phone rings as you’re pacing around the boat, second-guessing putting in your two weeks. Not really, though, because Linny had given you another write-up for clocking back in from lunch a minute late. You have Tim answer it for you and he puts it on speaker, watching as you hear the news you’ve gotten the job. 

“Okay, thank you so much!” Ending the call, you stare at Tim slack-jawed. “Tim, I could kiss you!” He stares at you for a moment before he shrugs. 

“Why don’t you?” He asks and you blink before licking your lips. His eyes follow before he does the same. “Not that you have to, because you got the job. I wouldn’t expect anything just because I put in a good word for you.”

“Of course,” You nod. “But is it weird that I still want to?”

“No,” He shakes his head, stepping closer. 

“Cool,” Tentatively, you cup his face and lean in. He meets you, eyes immediately closing as you kiss. His hands find yours, moving it down to his waist. He holds you there, relishing this feeling.

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [09]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: argument, kissing, slightly suggestive

wc: 6474

Chapter 9: Your mine

The hotel room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from my laptop screen and the faint glow of Milan’s skyline outside the window. It was around 6 PM, and I was nearing the end of my third day here. The same routine had played out every single day: checking up on the businesses, making sure the factories were running smoothly, handling emails, meetings, and reports. The usual grind.

I could’ve gone back to Boston today, but I decided against it. Another two days of peace, at least.

The hum of a Celtics game played in the background, but my attention was elsewhere. My phone buzzed, and an unknown number flashed on the screen, followed by a single notification: one image.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Probably spam. But something in my gut twisted, and before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the message.

My blood ran cold.

It was a picture of my fiancee, sitting on a couch next to some fucker at a party. 

Too many questions were running through my head. 

Who the hell is that guy? Never seen him before, and he was way too close for my liking. What the hello was she doing at a party? When was this? Where the fuck was she now. Why was she even there? She hates parties.

I didn’t waste a second. I pressed the call button.

One ring. Two.

Then the call connected.

"Hello?" Her voice was dripping with sweetness, fake as hell.

"Who the fuck is this?" I snapped, my voice low and sharp, the anger already bubbling inside me.

She let out a laugh, slow and smug, like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Relax, Chris. It’s Hailee."

Of course, it was her. Of fucking course.

I clenched my jaw so hard, it hurt, trying to hold back the anger that threatened to spill over.

"You’ve got ten seconds to explain what the hell you want before I block your number," I growled, every word coated in venom.

She laughed again, unfazed. "I just thought you’d want to know what your sweet little fiancée has been up to while you’re off playing businessman. Didn’t realize she was still so... friendly with old flames."

My stomach turned, an unfamiliar protectiveness taking over. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"You don’t know shit about her," I said, my voice low and lethal, each word dripping with warning.

"Maybe not," she purred. "But from what I remember... You don’t exactly like being made a fool of, Chris."

I scoffed, the anger inside me growing by the second. "Listen…" I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "We hooked up a few times. That’s it. It was nothing more than a mutual arrangement. I made it clear to you, Hailee. It was purely beneficial, and you know that."

“I'm just looking out for you, Chris,” she said sweetly. 

I didn’t have the patience for this. I didn’t need her twisted words any longer. Without another thought, I ended the call.

I threw my phone onto the bed, frustration coursing through my veins like poison. My eyes darted to the clock — it was nearly 6 pm in Milan, meaning it was noon in Boston. Aurora should’ve been awake by now.

I didn’t waste any more time. I immediately dialed Ana, the housekeeper. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello, sir?" Ana answered with her usual calm voice.

"Ana, where’s Aurora?" I asked, my tone sharp, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Sturniolo, she and her friend came in late last night, sir," Ana responded, her voice soft but respectful. "They’ve been sleeping since about 3 am, I believe."

I felt a wave of irritation wash over me. "So, they came back that late?" I pressed. "Was there any sign of her doing something... out of the ordinary before they went to bed?"

Ana hesitated for a moment before answering, "Not that I noticed, sir. They were both fine when they came in. I didn’t hear any disturbances."

I could feel my jaw tightening. This wasn’t sitting right with me. "And what about this morning? Did Aurora seem different at all?"

"She seemed... fine, sir," Ana said carefully. "I haven't spoken with her directly today, though."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to keep my cool. "Alright, Ana. Just... keep an eye out, please. Let me know if anything changes."

"Of course, sir. I'll let you know."

I hung up, still seething. Something didn’t add up. I had half a mind to fly back to Boston that instant, but I needed answers from her — real answers, not from some cryptic photo or Hailee’s taunting. I would wait until I saw her face-to-face. When I did, she’d be explaining everything. 

I paced the hotel room, each step making the tension in my chest feel worse. The anger was like a thick fog, clouding my mind and making it hard to focus. I hadn’t expected this. Not from her. Not from my fiancée.

The image of Aurora, sitting on the couch with some guy—someone I didn’t know—kept flashing in my mind. I didn’t recognize him, and it pissed me off even more. She looked too comfortable with him. She laughed. Her body language. It was too much.

I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second. I didn’t know who the hell this guy was, and frankly, I didn’t care. What pissed me off was that she was there at that party, out with someone like that while I was stuck here, doing work that was technically already done. The meetings, the reports, everything—it was finished. But I wasn’t finished. Not with her.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Lila, my assistant, barely giving it a second thought. The phone rang twice, and then her voice came through, calm and professional as always.

"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"

“Cancel everything,” I snapped. “I’m done here. Get me on a flight back to Boston, ASAP. I want to be home by midnight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Sir, but your last meeting isn't until—”

“I don’t care about the damn meeting. I’m done,” I cut her off, my frustration building. “Get me a flight. Midnight. No excuses.”

I could practically hear her sigh on the other end of the line, but she didn’t argue. “Understood. I’ll have the arrangements made.”

“Good,” I said, my voice sharp. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket.

I wasn’t wasting any more time here. Work was done. There was no reason for me to stay in Milan and brood over things.

I stormed around the room, packing my things quickly, as if the sooner I got on the plane, the sooner I could figure this all out. I didn’t even know what I was walking back home, but I had to get there. I couldn’t just let this go.

I couldn’t let her be out there, in a situation like that, with some random guy I didn’t know. Whatever the hell was going on, I was going to find out. And she was going to answer for it.

I headed for the elevator, the anger simmering inside me, knowing that when I got back to Boston, I was going to have one hell of a conversation with Aurora.

It didn’t matter if Aurora and I weren't in love, but it sure as hell mattered how we both acted if this engagement was to seem real. 

An hour went by in a buzz, and by 7:30 PM, I was seated in my jet and taking off. 

I calmed myself by letting myself believe Aurora had a rational explanation for all this, and praying that the photo of her at the party didn't get sent to anyone.

The jet touched down just after 1:00 AM Boston time.

By the time I made it through the airport’s private exit and into the black SUV waiting for me, my blood was at a full simmer. Every wasted minute between Milan and Boston had given me more time to overthink, more time to get pissed off.

The drive home was a blur. I barely registered the empty streets or the cool October air seeping through the cracked window. All I could think about was Aurora — and the fact that the woman I was supposed to marry was out at some fucking party, sitting next to some random guy, while I was halfway across the world.

The gates opened slower than I had patience for, but I forced myself to stay calm. I parked, grabbed my bag, and walked up the driveway. Every step felt heavier.

As soon as I pushed the door open, a soft glow spilled from the living room.

I stilled.

Someone was awake.

Quietly, I set my bag down in the foyer, shrugging off my jacket. My steps were soundless as I moved toward the light.

And then I saw her.

Aurora was curled up on the couch, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized sweaters she loved. A thick book was open in her lap, her hair falling around her face as she turned a page, completely unaware of me standing there.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

She looked so fucking innocent sitting there — like she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the emotion down. I couldn't afford to let her looks cloud the situation.

"Aurora," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

She jumped, her head snapping up. Her eyes widened when she saw me — surprise flickering across her face, then confusion.

"Chris?" she said, setting the book down. "What— you’re back?"

I nodded once, stepping further into the room.

"Yeah," I said coldly. "Trip’s over."

I watched her closely — the way she shifted, the way her hands nervously tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

"You didn't tell me you were coming back early," she said, her voice softer now, guarded.

"Didn't feel like there was a point," I replied, my voice sharp. "Seems like you were keeping yourself plenty busy while I was gone."

Her mouth parted slightly, confusion flashing in her eyes.

"Chris, what are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms, the anger barely held back now.

"You want to explain why I got sent a picture of you all cozy next to some guy at a party?"

Her face paled.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just waited, and the longer she stayed silent, the harder it was to pretend I wasn’t already pissed off beyond belief.

Her brows pulled together, genuine confusion flashing across her face.

"What guy?" she asked, her voice small but laced with honest bewilderment.

I didn’t move. My arms stayed crossed, my stare locked on her. "Don’t play dumb, Aurora."

She blinked, like she was scrambling to piece things together. "I... I was at the party with Jen ," she said slowly, searching my face. "We danced, we ate— I don't—"

Then something clicked. Her face shifted.

"Wait... are you talking about Mason?" she asked, like the idea was ridiculous.

Mason.

My jaw ticked. The name meant nothing to me, but just hearing another man's name come out of her mouth made something snap inside me.

I took a step forward, my voice low and sharp. "Who the fuck is Mason?"

Aurora’s eyes widened slightly, taken back by the bite in my tone. She held her hands up like she was trying to calm me down.

"Nobody," she rushed out. "He’s no one, Chris. Just some guy I used to know from high school. He sat next to me for like two minutes — that’s it."

"Used to know?" I repeated, my voice rising. "And he just shows up at some party you're at while I'm out of the fucking country? And you're sitting there with him, like it’s a damn reunion?"

She flinched.

"It wasn’t like that," she insisted, her voice trembling with urgency. "I didn’t even want to talk to him. He just showed up and started talking. I barely said anything back."

I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand roughly through my hair, trying — failing — to calm the rage boiling under my skin.

"You think that makes it better?" I snapped. "You think it looks better that you’re just sitting there letting random assholes get cozy with you while my back’s turned?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away fast, standing her ground.

"I wasn’t being cozy with him," she said fiercely. "I didn’t want him there. I didn’t even want to be there! Jen convinced me to go, and I was sitting alone when he came over. I didn't invite him!"

I stared at her, breathing heavily, Fuck…I didn’t want to be the reason she gets a panic attack. My fists were clenched at my sides. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so bad.

But that fucking photo kept flashing in my mind — her, looking too pretty, sitting there while some guy sat way too damn close.

"You shouldn’t have been there to begin with," I bit out. "You shouldn’t even have given anyone the chance to get near you."

Aurora’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself, swallowing hard instead. Her voice came out quieter. "I just wanted one normal night."

Normal. She still didn’t get it.

"You’re not just some rich girl anymore, Aurora," I said, my voice ice-cold, every word deliberate. "You’re mine, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or feel. To the world, you're already my fucking wife. And I’m expected to act like your husband, to handle you, to control everything about this — because that’s what they all see.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"You’re a grown woman, Aurora," I said, my voice laced with frustration, the tension still heavy in the air. "And I really fucking wish your father hadn’t put you in this position. But here we are." I paced, my hand running through my hair, the anger simmering beneath my skin. "I hate that it comes off like I’m trying to control your life, but the reality is, we have to accept this shit, whether we want to or not. This is our life now. And you don’t get to just ignore that."

Her face crumpled slightly, like she didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken.

But I didn’t back down.

Not this time.

Aurora took a shaky breath, stepping toward me like she could somehow make me understand if she just got close enough.

"I would never," she said, her voice breaking. "Chris, I would never do something like that to jeopardize this. Especially not with him. I hate Mason."

I didn’t move.

"I don’t care how it looked," she rushed out, desperate. "I wasn’t sitting there enjoying it. The second he came over, I froze up because I didn’t even know how to react."

That caught my attention. My eyes narrowed slightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fidgeted at her sides.

"I... I don’t want to get into details," she stammered, her voice wavering as she tried to backpedal. "Everything that has to do with him happened a long time ago."

"Tell me," I demanded, my tone cold and unyielding. The weight of the words hung heavy in the room, and I wasn’t giving her an inch until I had the answers I wanted. “I’m trying to understand”. 

I looked at the hesitance on her face, before she seemed to finally crack. 

"He’s not some old friend," she muttered. "He was cruel to me. He humiliated me... made my life hell back then. Seeing him again just brought it all back. I didn’t know what to say. I didn't even want to be near him."

Her voice cracked, and for the first time tonight, my anger faltered — just slightly.

But I still couldn’t erase the image from my mind.

"You could've left," I said coldly. "You could've gotten up and walked away."

"I know," she said quickly, her eyes pleading. "I know that. I just— I was stunned. I wasn’t thinking straight. And then Jen came back and I went to her. I didn’t stay with him."

She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to keep it together in front of me.

"You have to believe me, Chris," she whispered. "I don’t even look at anyone else."

For a moment, it was just the sound of our breathing filling the space between us. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles were white.

I stayed silent, my chest heaving, the war inside me tearing me up — anger, protectiveness, and something deeper I wasn’t ready to name yet.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.

"Why?" I asked, my voice low but sharp. "Why was he cruel to you?"

Aurora flinched like I’d struck her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller under the weight of my stare.

She hesitated, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "I... back in high school," she said slowly, her voice tight, "I liked him. Stupid, I know. He pretended to like me back. Asked me out in front of everyone. Told me to meet him at some restaurant."

She looked down at the floor, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"I waited for an hour," she whispered. "He never showed. And then some girls from school—" she choked out a bitter laugh, "they showed up instead. Poured coffee all over me. Laughed in my face. The next day at school, Mason told everyone it was a joke. That no one would ever actually want me."

Silence clamped down between us, heavy and suffocating.

I felt like something inside me cracked.

The image of her — younger, humiliated, alone — made my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I stared at her, feeling rage burn hotter in my veins than anything else tonight.

"It wasn’t just that day, there were several other things that happened with him, and you think I would ever even look at him that way?" she said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening. "I don’t care about him anymore, but it weighs on me, Chris, I hate him. I hate everything he did to me."

My jaw locked so tight it hurt. I didn't know whether I wanted to go find this Mason prick and beat the shit out of him, or pull Aurora into my arms and promise her no one would ever humiliate her again.

Maybe both, but I stayed where I was, my body rigid, my mind racing.

I didn’t have emotions. I didn’t feel comfortable. But hearing her say all that — seeing the way she shrank under the weight of it — made something deep and ugly claw up inside me.

"You should’ve told me," I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She shook her head quickly. "I didn’t think it mattered anymore. It was years ago. I didn’t... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Weak. Gosh, she had no idea.

There wasn’t a single thing about her that was weak.

I stared at her for a long beat, my heart hammering against my ribs, my anger still simmering just below the surface — not at her, but at the entire fucking situation. At that prick Mason. At Hailee. At myself for not being there tonight, for leaving her vulnerable to people who didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her.

"You’re not weak," I said, my voice low and certain. "Don’t ever say that shit again."

Aurora’s eyes widened a little, surprised by my tone. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then closed it again.

I took a breath, forcing some of the rage back down. I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t the time to explode.

"You’re not going to any more parties without me," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I don’t give a shit if it was innocent. I’m not letting some asshole even think he can get close to you again."

Her lips parted slightly, clearly taken aback by the sharpness in my voice.

Maybe it wasn’t just the tone that threw her off. Maybe it was the intensity—the raw possessiveness that I couldn’t hide. I was done pretending it wasn’t there.

She gathered herself quickly, her posture stiffening, as if trying to protect herself from whatever was swirling between us. “So what? You cut your trip short to come and talk to me about this party?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I shot her a glance and got closer.

“Yes,” I towered over her. “Yes, did.I may have not taken this seriously at the start, but one thing I take seriously is business, and you are very much my business, Aurora”. 

I watched her face redden and her pulse quicken.

“You still didn’t need to cut the trip short,” she said, her voice softer now. “I was doing fine.”

I scoffed, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “Yeah, clearly.”

She let out a long breath, her frustration palpable. “Who sent you the photo anyway?”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing whether I should tell her the truth. But what was the point in lying? I couldn't hold this back forever.

“Just someone I used to mess around with,” I muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Her brow furrowed as she processed the information. Her eyes flickered to mine, confusion crossing her face, before something seemed to click. “Hailee?”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze, my pulse spiking. “You know her?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

Aurora’s gaze softened, her lips pressing together in a thin line. 

“I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady, though a touch of something... bitter lingered in her tone. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised my eyebrow, “what did she say to you?” 

I watched as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but trying to maintain her composure. “I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something darker, something... bitter. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What did she say to you?”

Aurora hesitated for a moment, before looking back at me. “She just said you two used to be close.”

The unease in her voice was undeniable, and I couldn’t help but let a sly smile tug at the corners of my lips. I stayed quiet though, letting her finish.

She shifted, clearly trying to process everything. “I’m just curious,” she started, her eyes narrowing a bit. “You mentioned you don’t do relationships, but she said you guys had something going on.”

I stepped closer, closing the space between us. “I don’t do relationships,” I said, my voice low and firm.

Aurora’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed my words. She raised an eyebrow. “And your... relationship with Hailee?”

I paused, taking in the look on her face. There was something almost fragile in her expression, like she wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead. I watched her closely as I continued.

“It was purely physical,” I said, my voice measured, deliberate.

Aurora blinked, clearly taken aback. She looked genuinely surprised—though, there was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Oh...Oh, I see. Like... sleeping together?”

I nodded, watching her carefully. I could feel the tension shift in her. She was uneasy now, the energy between us was different than before. She was trying to process what I’d said, but something in her was rattled.

“Why does that bother you?” I smirked, sensing her discomfort, but enjoying the way her guard seemed to be slipping.

Aurora quickly shook her head, her voice quick and defensive. “No—no, I’m just asking.” She laughed nervously, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck.

I hummed in amusement as I stepped even closer, my hand coming to rest gently on the back of her neck. I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me. 

“You’re blushing, ma,” I said softly, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I closed the remaining distance between us.

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—something uncertain, but maybe something more. Something she wasn’t ready to admit, but I could feel it in the air between us.

“Were you guys really close?” she asked again, her voice a little tighter this time. “I mean, outside of… well, the bedroom, I guess.”

A teasing grin tugged at my lips. “Are you jealous, Aurora? Your cheeks are pink.”

She quickly looked away, her eyes flickering with something she was desperately trying to hide.

“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped, but the uncertainty in her voice gave her away.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a near whisper. “I don’t know. Maybe because you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I stepped in until her back pressed flush against the wall, her breathing shallow. The air between us practically crackled.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said, letting my gaze fall deliberately to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You think about it, don’t you?”

Her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her eyes darting to the side.

“Think about what?” she asked, voice soft — almost too soft.

“The kiss,” I muttered, my voice rough against her ear. “The way your body reacted to me. You think about it when you’re alone, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the edge of a nearby shelf. I caught the moment she faltered, the moment her defenses slipped — even if she tried to hide it by shooting me a glare.

“You’re not fooling me,” I said, my mouth brushing her ear, the words a low threat and a promise all at once.

She didn’t answer — she didn’t have to. I could feel it — the way her body leaned toward me without even meaning to.

I slid my hand into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to pull a gasp from her lips.

"You can pretend all you want," I murmured against her mouth, "but your body’s betraying you, ma."

The last shred of my self-control snapped when I caught the look in her eyes — wide, vulnerable, and begging without a single word.

Without another second of hesitation, I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her fiercely, claiming her like I'd been dying to. She gasped into me, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss, pressing her harder against the wall until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

My hand gripped her waist, possessive, grounding her to me as she trembled under my touch.

I didn’t stop there — I let my mouth trail sloppily down her jaw to her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. I heard her breath hitch, then a soft, desperate moan escape her.

"Chris…" she whispered, breathless, the sound of my name almost wrecking me.

My hand slid up, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. My mouth tugged at the V neckline of her sweater, my lips dangerously close to exposing more. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her chestline, the temptation gnawing at the last of my sanity.

I should stop. I knew it. But the way she submitted to my touch — the smell of her skin, like fresh roses — drove me insane.

Her small hand gripped my arm, grounding herself, but not pulling away.

I pulled back just slightly, searching her face. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her hair a beautiful mess, and her eyes — wide, vulnerable, uncertain — locked with mine.

I kept her pinned lightly against the wall, our bodies pressed together. “Did that feel like business to you, ma?” I asked roughly, my thumb brushing her waist.

The blush crept up her neck again, warm and unfiltered. She shook her head shyly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

I exhaled sharply, trying to reel myself back.

Reluctantly, I stepped away — but kept a hand on her waist, not ready to let her go completely. I dragged my eyes down the faint marks I'd left along her collarbone and smiled, 

“Go to bed,” I said, my voice low, a bit softer now. “It’s really late.”

She blinked up at me, still dazed, then nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah… it is,” she whispered, picking up the book she had earlier, clutching it tightly to her chest as she made her way down the hall.

But just before she disappeared, I called out.

“Aurora.”

She paused, turning back, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly.

“Yeah?”

I held her gaze, serious now, needing her to understand.

“To answer your question,” I said slowly, “just know... I’d never cut work short for her, or for anyone of that matter. So no, we weren’t close.”

I caught the realization flicker in her eyes — then turned and disappeared down the hallway into my room, needing a cold shower and my own hand to deal with the ache between my legs she left behind.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual — closer to eleven. I hadn’t gone into the office; as far as everyone knew, I was still in Milan.

Dragging myself out of bed, I expected to find Aurora in the kitchen, maybe eating a bagel or picking at something. Instead, I walked into the dining room to see both my brothers shoveling down the food my chefs had laid out.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “What the fuck are you two doing in my house?”

“Wow, real warm welcome,” Nick said around a mouthful of pancakes.

Matt snorted into his drink, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge.

“Heard you cut your trip short,” Matt said, taking a slow sip of apple juice. “Why?”

“Finished early,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Finished early? Since when do you not milk a whole week out of those trips?”

“Didn’t feel like it this time,” I muttered, popping the tab on my drink. 

Nick exchanged a look with Matt as I cracked the Pepsi open.

Matt leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the hallway. “Where’s your girl?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Mind your business.”

Nick smirked around a mouthful of pancakes. “Touchy.”

Matt grinned. “Didn’t say anything. Just asking where she’s at.”

“She’s sleeping,” I said shortly, popping the tab on my drink. “Or reading. I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “Just making conversation, man. You don’t gotta bite our heads off.”

Matt snorted into his juice. “Yeah, God forbid we ask about Sleeping Beauty.” 

I shot him a warning look, but before I could tell him to shut the fuck up, Nick leaned forward on his elbows, studying me way too closely.

“So you finished early in Milan?” he said, dragging out the words. “Didn’t feel like hanging around? Since when?”

I took a long sip of Pepsi, not answering right away.

Nick smirked like he already knew the answer. Matt raised his eyebrows, exchanging another look with him.

"You," Matt said slowly, grinning, "cut a trip short for a girl?"

I slammed the Pepsi can down on the counter a little harder than necessary.

"Drop it."

Nick held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smug look never left his face. “Hey, man. Whatever you say.”

Before I could tell them both to get the hell out, soft footsteps sounded from down the hall.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

Aurora.

Wearing a loose pair of light grey pajama set. Her hair was slightly damp, pushed back from her face like she’d just washed it, her skin fresh and glowing from her skincare.

As soon as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes landed on Matt and Nick — both frozen mid-bite, staring at her like they'd seen a ghost.

Aurora blinked, clearly caught off guard by their presence. She shifted her weight awkwardly, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Uh...hi, morning,” she said hesitantly, giving them a small, awkward wave with the hand not holding her mug.

Matt just blinked at her.

Nick nearly dropped his fork.

I bit back a smirk, watching the whole thing unfold.

She looked so damn cute like this — sleep still clinging to her, skin soft and dewy, voice a little raspy from just waking up. She didn’t even have to try, and somehow it made it even harder not to stare.

Aurora shuffled toward the coffee pot, her cheeks flushing slightly as she turned her back on them, clearly trying to pretend like this wasn’t awkward as hell. 

Nick leaned toward Matt and stage-whispered, "Is it just me or did Chris just smile?"

Matt answered just as quietly. “Real big. Like some Disney prince shit.”

I shot them both a death glare. Matt pretended to cough. Nick suddenly found the butter on his pancakes very interesting.

Turning back to Aurora, I kept my voice low, just for her. “You eat yet, ma?”

She blinked, a little startled by the nickname in front of my brothers, but shook her head.

Nick elbowed Matt under the table. “Ma?” he mouthed dramatically.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, flushing a little, and shook her head.

I pushed out a chair. “Sit.”

She obeyed without a word, sliding into the seat beside mine, her knee brushing against mine under the table.

Nick watched the whole thing like it was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen in his life. Matt, for once, had enough sense not to say anything.

But even I could see it written all over their faces: They were never gonna let me live this down, and for the first time, I didn’t give a fuck.

“So Aurora”, Matt started. “how are you?”.

I shot Matt a quick glance, narrowing my eyes slightly. What the hell was he getting at with his line of questioning?

Aurora met Matt's gaze, offering a soft smile. "I'm fine," she said, her voice gentle but steady. "How about you?"

"Good, good," Matt replied, nodding thoughtfully. "How are you finding everything here so far?"

Aurora’s smile never faltered. "Everything’s been okay," she said, her tone polite, as if carefully measuring her words.

Nick then chimed in, breaking the quiet tension. "You're a design student, right?"

Aurora nodded. "Yeah. I am."

A strange silence hung in the air for a moment, like everyone was waiting for something more, but no one quite knew what. The awkwardness was palpable, and I couldn’t help but find the whole situation oddly amusing. I leaned back in my chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, watching the way they were trying to make small talk, as if they weren’t fully sure of what to say to her.

"I have to get going," Aurora said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have some things to do. Enjoy."

She stood up from the table, her movements graceful but just a little too quick. I could tell she felt out of place—she didn’t like being the center of attention, especially under my brothers’ watchful eyes.

She glanced at me, a brief, almost uncertain look. I gave her a small nod, letting her know it was fine. Without another word, she disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later, I heard the soft click of her bedroom door shutting.

The second she was gone, Nick leaned forward, dropping his fork with a loud clatter against his plate. "Bro," he said, smirking. "She’s cute."

Matt snorted, reaching for another pancake. "Way out of your league, too."

I shot them both a dry look. "Don’t start."

Matt held up his hands innocently. "Just saying. She’s...different. Not what I expected when you said you were getting married."

Nick nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, like, she’s actually nice. Thought you'd end up with some stuck-up heiress."

I took a long drink of my Pepsi, ignoring the way they both stared at me like they were waiting for a reaction.

"Arranged or not," Matt said, nudging Nick, "you lucked out, man."

I stayed silent, my jaw tight.

Matt leaned back in his chair, eyeing me. "You like her," he said bluntly, like it wasn’t even a question.

Nick laughed under his breath. "Yeah, you definitely do. Never seen you look at anyone like that."

"Cut the shit," I muttered, tossing my empty can of Pepsi into the trash. "It’s not like that."

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Sure it’s not. You were basically eye-fucking her the entire time she was sitting here.”

I shot him a glare. "Watch your mouth," I said, my voice low, protective without even meaning to be. "I was just making sure she was comfortable. You idiots were making her uncomfortable."

Nick held his hands up, grinning. "Hey, we're just saying. It's new seeing you like this. Mr. 'No Relationships' acting like a fucking husband already."

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over my chest. "I’m being respectful."

Matt smirked. "Respectful? Bro, you looked like you were two seconds away from dragging her back to your room."

I gave him a sharp look. "Matt. Don’t talk about her like that."

Matt just rolled his eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. "Didn’t say anything about her," he said lazily, picking up his fork and poking at his pancakes again. "For an arranged thing, it’s not bad," he added with a shrug.

Nick nodded. "She's sweet. She didn’t even roast us for showing up uninvited."

"She’s used to it," I said without thinking. Then realizing how that sounded, I added, "High society bullshit. She’s been around it her whole life."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but still. She's... real. Not fake like the other rich girls."

"Don’t call her a rich girl," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Both of them froze for a second—then broke into matching grins.

Matt whistled low. "Man’s in deep already."

I shook my head, pushing off the counter. "You two need to get out of my house."

Nick laughed. "Not until you admit you like her."

"Not happening," I said, walking past them. "And wipe those stupid looks off your faces before I throw you out myself."

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: ya'll i think I should start with the mega juicy stuff soon. Hopefully new chapter soon! like & reblog. mwahh] – ceyana

[missmarveledsblog]

OH BOY (Dean Winchester x Reader) part one

Summary : a hunt brings the boys into a small town , one they've been in years previous and a face of the past is seen in dean life only more , her anger of the man being back lead them to more than just the hunt

warnings: angst , fluffy , goofy vibes throughout the series as well as monsters , cryptids and paranormal . strangers ( of sorts ) to enemies ( of sorts ) to friends to maybe lovers in the future , sort of oc reader . use of y/n

Morning chaos wasn’t a new thing more routine at this rate of day . receipt, tickets , lists for both shopping and tasks of the day clutched tightly in hand  while trying to get to work on time as people smiled and waved passing by . The heat created a sheen of sweat and when the diner door opened all eyes on the panting mess of a waitress . spewing apologies for the lateness as the boss waved it off and a quick “relax” added as she walked into the back not noticing or probably not caring about the green eyes that followed her every move from the other side of the diner  , the sandy haired blonde that arrived probably ten minute before she did . 

“ Hey, that girl look familiar to you ?” he asked head tilted  while his brother focused on the laptop in front of him back against the wall so no one could see what he was looking at , a lot easier than explaining what was on the screen . 

“ what girl “ his brown eyes scanning the area seeing no one in proximity to who remotely could be familiar. 

“ the waitress  far left serving the fossils “. 

“ nope never seen her .. anyways this says … dean where you going.. And he’s gone “ he huffed watching his older brother putting on that smile  now in a million years and good money he didn’t expect for the waitress face to drop or the glass of water to be splash in his brothers face  before storming off out back while everyone stood silent watching him slowly retreat back to the table . 

“ i think she might be familiar “ was all he grumbled sitting down using the napkins wiping the water away . 

“ i kinda gathered “ sam smiled keeping his eyes on the screen , “ do you even remember her name ?” he finally asked, 

“Nope i do not anyways let get back to work “ he scooped a piece of him pie before taking one look to the back . 

She felt sick , she felt dizzy and sick . all the anger  building up , all confusion and disbelief of that man . she knew him alright and knew the fake name he’d given her or the fact he was gone out of her life . she swore she would tear him a new asshole the next time she saw him  and best she could do was throw water … water in his face .  pacing back and forth trying to will herself to cool down knowing she needed the job and needed not to go to prison but shit she was so fucking beyond pissed why was he back . 

“ wanna explain what that was ?” lou  her boss looking at her arms crossed . 

“ just an asshole from the past look i’m sorry i know i shouldn’t ..” she sighed . 

“ that asshole the one got you in trouble “ the old phrasing of wasn’t lost on her , but she could say it outloud even now nearly 5 years later a small nod of her head to confirm . 

“ why don’t you take day off clear the head kiddo or maybe talk to the guy ?” he patted her shoulder as she smiled weakly .  

“ i gotta do few things this morning anyways might help “ she stood grabbing her things . 

“Gives me time to order some aprons for the customers “ he teased finally getting a small smile on her face .

“ thanks lou “ she hugged him before heading out the door , the back door to not further see that face again hoping  he was just passing through, maybe she could stay under the radar til they eventually left .  Another part of her wanted to speak with him , in fact it was the right thing to do  but it wasn’t the easiest, the man she met in a bar gave her fake name and well the situation she was left in .  so lost in her thought oblivious to the world around her she didn’t even realise she was colliding with anything or anyone til she fell back on her ass . 

“ woah shit sorry.. I take it back “ she hissed looking up to see those green eyes .

“ First you throw water on me , now you falling for me like a  rom com baby “ he winked , teasing and joking extending his hand out . 

“ don’t need your help,”she grumbled, pulling herself off the ground, wiping the loose gravel and dirt off of her .

“ oh you dropped this “ the taller one said picking up  the metal piece that feel from her bag , a flask something he recognised .

“ thank you “ she quickly took it from his hand, slightly embarrassed , it wasn’t like she was power housing it throughout the day it was something passed down to her from her father when he died which was a whole other story there. 

“ A bit early “ the blonde smirked. 

“ It belonged to my dad asshole i don’t drink in middle of day “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ hi i’m sam and this is .. “ 

“ look if this is another fake ass name, save it whatever scam y’all are trying here don’t , these people are good people” she stopped him hands on hips only for both their phones to go off . 

“ I gotta go “ was all she said further running to her car like her life depended on it and shit it meant more than her life . 

“ Well that was weird” dean brows arched . 

“ We gotta go, that was Michelle , something going on at  the elementary school “ Sam's face dropped as the two ran off just as fast to the impala . 

Every part of stomach felt sick , it wasn’t missed on her that a lot of missing people lately that old part of her life was calling but as much as she wanted to just give in she couldn’t .  The box always sat under the hidden compartment of her trunk and something in her gut told her to take it out  now . Like old instinct and new ones merging together pulling up, she could see the kids  , small town , small school and each of their faces look terrified but she couldn’t see the one she was looking for , the one that made her heart fall into her stomach .  Not a second thought did she have when she pulled into the curb  and heading for the trunk , tucking the metal piece in her bag and heading to the face she would get answers from only she wasn’t the only one . 

“ what’s going on … you “ the three stood looking at each other. 

“ it’s happening … he was … oh my god “ the woman cried. 

“ michelle were’s Mikey “ y/n  pulled the woman back to earth .

“ wait he was just here … i swear he was “ her face drained of more  color . 

“ He went into the school someone called him “ a little girl spoke up . 

“ you wait here we can get … and she is gone… who mikey ?” dean asked . 

“ her son … oh my god that thing is in there like a rabid animal we heard his screams and i got the kids out ” she whispered . 

“ We'll get them back “ Sam patted her arm as the two ran into the building . 

She  was fully alert , was she blind to whatever was going on .. not fully , she knew the monsters that parents told their kids were not just stories or villains of fiction . She grew up learning to send them back to hell  or so her father told them what they were doing . pulling the gun out making sure it was loaded she walked around opening her ears to everything and anything,  hearing the sound of the growl that emitted down the hall, she kept  watching her surrounding as well as classrooms  then the growl and a scream she heard before sending her running the fastest she ever ran into her life . stopping she saw it big and tall the matted fur scatted around its body  , clawing at the supply closet and a cry she soothed so many times behind the door .  

Whistling , she knew what it was , how dangerous this thing was and how fast the fucker can be but none of that mattered if it meant getting it away from that closet . 

“ hey buddy stay there ok , don’t come out til mommy says so “ she called eyes not moving an inch as she raise the gun shooting precisely as the thing roared or screamed mixture both as she emptied the chamber pulling the blade from her bag  watching it readying  to charge at her , moving just as it got close sending it into the wall disorientating it she pulled her apron quickly makeshift mask as she ran jumping on it back stabbing any and everywhere  til it threw her off it back making her roll land of her knee. 

“ Stay down “ was all she heard before shot followed and sound of glass smashing to see the creature gone feeling hand under lifting her off the ground barely looking to see who it was she ran to the classroom .

“ open the door “ she called 

“ you could trick me again “ the little voice frightened called, making her heart break but relief all over her body.  She let out a little whistle and instantly the door opened and the little body clung to her for dear life . looking in the room she could see the circle on the ground . 

“ Are you ok ?” she pulled the boy back, checking him over . 

“ i’m ok” he sniffled  little eyes still wide, that part of her that felt like she failed keeping him from her old life and yet  still happy she had him prepared . 

“ What the hell was that “ the voice called making her turn to see the two men standing there . 

“ a wendigo” she shrugged, lifting the little boy up carrying him passed. 

“ You're a hunter?” Sam spoke up . 

“I was not anymore” she shook her head heading out as she carried the boy only for the sherif to rush to her seeing her a little beat up .  “ He's ok “ she smiled weakly . 

“ you ok though let the paramedics check you over , that animal don't bite you or anything ?” he asked . 

“ no i shot it  ran out the window “  shaking her head as they walked to the EMT’S 

 Sam was quiet looking at the woman before him , the little sandy hair green eyed boy. Something about the boy so similar and familiar in his face it was like looking…

“ how old is he?” Sam asked seeing her visibly freeze .   

“ i’m four years old and nine months  “ the little voice spoke up . 

“ Right “ sam nodded slightly hitting his brother . 

“ good age “ dean smiled completely oblivious to the situation as the maths of it all wasn’t clicking . 

“ yeah it's a great age we gotta go “ she smiled weakly before the EMT Could stop her she was gone to her car and gone . 

“ When's the last time we were here ?” sam turned to his brother. 

“ nearly fiv…” the penny dropped as he turned to see her  car gone. 

“ definitely explain why she wants you gone” he mused . 

“ no it can’t be … we used … noo i’m telling you no “ dean shook his head as sam walked off leaving the man standing thinking over everything in his life including that night that was slowly in part coming back to him . “ oh fuck “ he gulped .

[effei-s]

so.... watch me, huh?

it's amazing (no) that it's been ten years and mafi still doesn't know how to make warner look good outside of BUT DID YOU KNOW ADAM SUCKS?????????? ADAM BAAAAAAAD! WARNER COOL!!! AND IF YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME THE FIRST HUNDRED TIMES WHILE JULIETTE COMPARED THEM, AND THEN KENJI COMPARED THEM, I'LL REPEAT IT A HUNDRED TIMES MORE WITH JAMES COMPARING THEM! SO! ADAM SUCKS! WARNER COOL!

GETTTTTT IT???????????? DO YOU GET IT?????????????

DO YOU??????????

i'm sorry warner is supposed to be mafi's best character, nevermind that that's THIRTY YEARS OLD MAN, and she still can't fucking let him stand on his own. someone always has to be on the side with a bright neon sign WARNER IS COOL! ISN'T HE THE BEST????? CLAP MOTHERFUCKERS! (and remember adam sucks!).

and... shit that pissed me off so bad i nearly threw my laptop against the wall:

oh, oh, i'm so fucking sorry james that adam wasn't a rich nepo baby of a fascist dictator who gave him the high-paying job and cool wardrobe and personal headquarters with hot water, so he would have the time to spend with you instead of dropping out of school and looking for any job he could so he could give you food and shelter.

the fucking AUDACITY to compare them. the NERVE. you fucking ungrateful asshole.

@cyanidesouffle is kind and cool. she won't call james an asshole. but i will. because that's exactly what he is.

@queenclacker i'm literally fucking speechless. i knew the book will suck ass, i wasn't even planning to read it. what i didn't expect is that i will hate james more than ella and aaron combined (!!!!), and one fucking chapter would be what did it. insane.

[hockeyboysimagines]

hi!! Can you do romance prompt for Arber #9 “However many years we have left, I want to spend them all with you.”

you write him so sweet🥹thanks in advance I can’t wait to read it!

Thanks for this anon! Enjoy🤍

“Hey babe? What do you want for your birthday this year?” Arber asked from behind the laptop. You would be turning 20 next month, thankfully on a weekend free of games and practices. It gave him a free and open 4 days to cram everything celebratory he could think of for his favorite girl. You deserved it and now that he knew how unserious you thought of your birthday, he wasn’t going to let you get away easy. He’s gasped and nearly had a hissy when he found out you didn’t celebrate and hadn’t for a long time, scoffing at the suggestion that you continue with that theme. “Uh. No.” He said holding up a hand to silence you “We’re celebrating your birthday.”

“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head “Come on. Don’t be like that. I can’t take you out at midnight, so you have to let me get you something or throw a party.”

You leaned around the doorframe from where you were folding laundry to smile mischievously “Even if I was old enough, you would take me out where? You barely make it past 8pm every night.”

You weren’t wrong.

It wasn’t uncommon for Arber to suggest watching a movie only for him to asleep within the first ten minutes of it. He still glared at you either way. You were always giving him shit for the gap between your ages, though it wasn’t huge. Arber however felt most days like he was 80 years old, and being held together with screws and tape. So while he was only 4 years older, the constant beating his body took made the gap seem wider.

“What are you saying?” He turned completely around.

“I’m saying there’s no way you’d be able to party till all hours. Midnight is way past your bedtime.”

His mouth fell open “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. Old man.”

You immediately regretted it because the ‘Old Man’ in question was out of his chair and across the room before you even had time to scream. In one swoop he had you airborne and then on the bed with a squeal with an “OOF.” As you landed and bounced.

“Take it back.” He said fingers digging in to your sides.

You screeched and started to kick“Never.”

An all out wrestling war had started and you were losing until you heard a loud crack.

He shot straight up eyes squeezing shut “Oh Jesus!” He yelled, chuckling as he held his lower back.

“Careful grandpa.” You gasped out as you started laughing “You don’t wanna slip a disk.”

“You-“ but you had already slid out from under him and made to run before he caught you again and pulled you down on top of him.

“Okay okay you win. You win. Oh god, I think I threw my back out.”

You started laughing and took a deep breath attempting to untangle yourself and sit upright to straddle him “So when you kick it are you gonna leave me all your stuff?”

He made a face and closed his eyes “You say the sweetest things to me.”

You gave a little giggle and reached a hand forward to rub his shoulders. He closed his eyes and groaned head falling to the side “Oh my gosh that feels fucking phenomenal.”

“Your pretty beat up here.” You said tracing a finger over the scar from his shoulder operation and the scattered bruises from the game yesterday “How many good years do you think you have left?” He smiled and let out a low chuckle, eyes still closed and rested a hand on either side of your hips.

“However many years I have left, I want to spend them all with you.” A bunch of tiny butterflies started flitting around in your stomach and you smiled very slowly as he peeked at you out of one eye “Pretty smooth eh?”

“For a guy who’s almost halfway to 50 it wasn’t bad.”

He gave your hips a squeeze “Just promise me one thing. If there’s ever a time when I can’t get it up put me out of my misery.”

You gave him a smack and then a kiss.

“Deal.”

[probablyintensemuses]

I need advice asap!

Im 21 years old and im a student in college. I work a coffee shop job. My boyfriend is 23 years old and works a full time job as a computer engineer for a company and makes 70k a year if not more. I’m considering breaking up with him, but before why, I’ll elaborate.

Me and my boyfriend live together.

His apartment burned down in late 2022, early 2023. Until he found a place he stayed with me and my family. When he got his place he asked me to move in on a few conditions: id cook and clean.

We have a dog. I handle most of everything for the dog except for maybe walking and play.

My boyfriend and I had a huge fight months ago, nearly a year ago, because when I wasn’t there, I was hanging with friends, he broke into my laptop and searched my messages and found old sexual messages between me and this girl and accused me of cheating. Yet he never broke up with me.

He hardly ever speaks to me and makes it seem like I’m an annoyance.

He doesn’t respect my boundaries and always pushes me

Now he wants me to quit my job and get a serving job so I can pay half the rent as well as my other expenses.

He wanted to visit his parent in Florida and drive using my car. Dealership said my wheels weren’t good and I needed them all replaced. He paid for it and told me I had to pay him back even thought I never asked. He drove my car down there and doesn’t pay shit on it! And is trying to do it again, but I said no this time.

He hardly interacts with my family.

He doesn’t help me financially but expects me to help him. The most she’s bought me is a few books and stuff. When I bought him a 1.2k dollar amp for his college graduation and I was broke, that came out my savings and it burnt in the fire.

I constantly bend over backwards for him and get hardly anything in return. I think our relationship has run its course I just have no idea what to do.

I just need advice I feel so stuck and stupid. Can anyone help me? Mg parents keep telling Me to come back home and finish school, save my money. But idk I’m afraid he’ll expose my sexuality to them cuz he said he would.

Two last things, this is more recent, my boyfriend is supposed to be going to Florida in a few days and I can’t afford to come —context it’s his brothers engagement party—I already expressed this. Not I mention it would be out 3rd anniversary while he is down there and he hasn’t said shit about it. Also instead of helping me he just sends me screenshots of flight costs and shit.

Another thing happened the other night. I got kind of drunk and was sitting on the couch. I wanted to talk to him and was begging for him to come talk to me and sit with me. And he got so annoyed and said he was tired and walked away and kept ignoring me even though I was calling for him. But had energy to play on the video game and laugh with friends and play with our dog not even an hour earlier. His response when i called him on that?

“I worked ten hours today. You didnt.”

Am I the asshole, what should I do?

[thiswasinevitableid]

Care taking (Jopzier)

Next in my @theterrorbingo row is "Babysitter AU"

Big thanks to @bellafarallones for playing in this space on discord! This fill is NSFW

Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier may have found his undoing.

It’s not his shaky, new-found sobriety. 

Or the fact he’s staying indefinitely with his sister, brother in law, and two nieces after things ended (again) with Sophia. 

No. The thing that is going to send him right over the edge is the fucking babysitter. 

When Claire offered to let Crozier stay, he told her he’d be happy to look after his nieces whenever needed as part of carrying his weight. 

“I appreciate the offer, but we’ve had a nanny for four months now who’s doing brilliantly.”

Crozier pictured an elderly woman tucking the wains in at night. 

What he got was a young man with eyes that seemed far older than the rest of him. And the rest of him is neatly dressed and handsome enough that Crozier has to look elsewhere whenever the lad bends over. 

“This is Thomas.” Ian, his brother in law, gestures to the young man helping the four year old Moira and the five year old Deidre put away their toys.

The dark haired man stands, and instead offering his hand, gives a little bow-nod, “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“You as well. Glad to know the family has someone helping with these two wild little things.” He waves at his nieces, who wave back with limited enthusiasm.

 He can’t blame them; Uncle Francis has been a sullen, perpetual drunk for the bulk of their short lives. He hopes the presents he brought them when he arrived might earn him some fondness until he can show them he isn’t a miserable bastard all the time. 

“It’s no trouble at all, sir. They’re a fine pair.” He smiles down at the girls, “provided they don’t stall on washing their hands so long that we only have time for lunch and not dessert.”

He gives Francis a wink as the girls scurry off to the bathroom.

When he and Ian are back in the hall, Francis murmurs, “Polite lad, that one.”

“You’ve no idea. Half the time he responds far quicker to Jopson, his last name, than to Thomas. Claire thinks he might have time traveled from Victorian London.” He smiles, “but the girls do like him, and listen to him, and he’s constantly trying to help around the house without us even asking. Swear Claire nearly chased him out of the kitchen with a broom so he’d let her handle the cleaning in there.”

Francis gives a sympathetic shudder; his sister, like his father and grandmother before her, runs her kitchen with an exacting system that only a fool would try to understand. 

“Does he live in town?” Francis stops at his room, hoping his laptop is charged enough that he can start on the speech he’s meant to give in ten days. 

“He may have, but we specifically requested a live-in, so he stays here.”

And stay he does. Around the girls as they play, at the edges of conversation in the living room, moving shockingly quietly through the estate. The trouble is, in the two weeks since Crozier arrived, the boy has been staying near him, too.

He wants to bristle; he has no need of a babysitter. He’s not a invalid, he’s not even a drunk anymore. He can care for himself quite capably. 

But he doesn’t have it in him to turn the lad away. Crozier didn’t come from money; It’s novel, nice even, to have someone appear at his elbow asking if he’d like more tea, or set an umbrella out for him without being asked.

His only chance is to keep his distance where he can. Not let himself form a connection with Jopson. Because if even the mildest intimacy forms between them, the dark-haired man won’t be able to walk a foot without Crozier kissing him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas has no illusions about his relationship to authority. It’s never come from some puppyish desire to be liked; it’s simply been that he needed to stay in the good graces of the men who ran the social services, the schools, the workplaces where his presence was so reliant on obedience and the charity of others. 

So he’s diligent, precise, takes care in his work and these days takes pride in it as well. He’s content to linger at the edges of the scene, only stepping in when needed. The Flahertys are good to him, and he’s fond of Moira and Deidre. 

He intended for his deference to and assistance of Mr. Crozier to stay in the same category. But he’s growing attached to the older man to a degree he can’t quite understand.

The girls are napping in the other room as Thomas finishes loading the laundry. As he walks back upstairs, basket on his hip, he passes Crozier’s office. 

“Goddamn buggering fuck.”

Try as he might to ignore it, Crozier’s gift for profanity amuses him. 

He sets the basket down and peers into the room, “Everything alright, sir?”

“Jesus!” Crozier jolts, “oh, yes, everything is fine. The damned router is out again and I really do need to record this video lecture. I’ll just reset the thing.”

“Allow me.” Thomas crouches, crawling under the large, wooden desk. Crozier’s time in the navy is obvious even here; his cords are actually organized as opposed to a tangle. 

“It’s really alright. My knees aren’t that bad.”

“I’m already down here, sir.” He unplugs the router, waits, then plugs it back in, back and hips at an odd angle all the while, “not to mention I overheard Mrs. Flaherty talking about how you injured one not that long ago.”

“Re-injured.” Crozier’s voice has gone a little gruff. Not unpleasantly so, “my own damned fault. And not half as worth it as the original. James always was a terror at making me rush up glaciers far too fast.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the fondness given to the name. He crawls backwards, sits on his heels, “Has that done it?”

Crozier clicks at the laptop, “Aye. Thank you for the help, lad.”

The former captain looks down at him, and Thomas is suddenly very aware that he’s on his knees with the expression of a man awaiting an order, and it would be better if he stood before Crozier thinks he’s offering something inappropriate. 

The older man tilts his own chin with a small smile, “Up you get. If my sister thinks I’m making you crawl about the floor I’ll get an earful and that’s for certain.”

Thomas stands, excusing himself with a reminder that he’s happy to help as needed, and leaves with the frustrating thought that he’d like Crozier to smile at him constantly. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crozier’s never been the most talented at hiding his emotions. He can manage a stoic or disinterested mask, but the truth tends to seep around the edges given enough time. Or booze. 

He supposes he should be grateful, then, that the errands Thomas is accompanying him on are brief and alcohol-free. After a month together, Crozier’s found that the sight of Thomas in well-fitting pants makes him certain he could rip the fabric with his bare hands. This is not helped by the fact Thomas is increasingly comfortable in his presence, and uses the time he isn’t watching the girls to help Crozier in his office, a task which somehow always involves him bending over or on tip-toe to clean, making Crozier painfully aware of an ass that would undoubtedly be pleasant to pinch.

“I think that’s everything.” Thomas looks at his phone as Crozier stands in the toy aisle of some big box store–he wasn’t paying attention to which–considering his next act of bribery. 

“I’ll choose something for the girls, then we can go. I’ve a better sense now of what they actually like.”

“They enjoyed the gifts you brought, sir.”

Crozier shoots him an amused look; they’ve both seen the things lying mostly untouched on the playroom floor. 

Thomas offers a smile of mild, deferential defeat, “I do wish you’d asked for my help choosing them.”

“I wasn't even in the house. Can't very well make you work for me before I'm even here. Really, you needn't be helping me now.”

“It’s my job, sir, and I’m grateful for it.” 

It’s a mercy Thomas looks so prim saying such things; if he looked even a little playful, anyone passing by would assume Francis was an old lech engaged in some kind of perpetual roleplay. 

He selects something called a “scribble scrubble” dinosaur set and a set of LEGOs themed to pirates. Stealing a glance at Thomas, he sees the younger man give him a nod. 

“They’re fond of playing arctic explorers, and have been since they overheard you telling your sister about your 2002 voyage.”

He raises a brow, “Are they making you play the put-upon captain? Or a polar bear perhaps?”

“No, sir. A penguin.” Thomas is doing a poor job of hiding his smile and so Crozier encourages it.

“Aye, that seems a finer fit. Upright and dapper creatures, much like yourself.”

Thomas blushes and ducks his head, pushing the hair that’s forever falling across his brow back into place. 

Crozier wonders what Thomas would do if he were to tuck it back for him. Perhaps he’d melt into the touch; the grasping hands of the nieces aside, the younger man doesn’t get much contact. That could make him charmingly responsive, let Crozier hear what he likes and just how much he likes it…

They really ought to head home. 

Thomas is watching him, clearly awaiting whatever order he sees fit to give. 

“How about we stop for lunch on our way back? I’m starving.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

Coats, sweaters, and button-ups hang in a neat row as Thomas shuts Croziers wardrobe. The girls have started at school, so he has more time during the day to tend house. 

More importantly, he has more time to see to Crozier. 

He knows the older man is still polishing his reputation back to the level it once was; captaining several polar expeditions as well as other fraught journeys in northern regions means he’s in demand for lectures, videos, and the like. The years of alcoholism mean those demands dwindled for a time. 

So Thomas refills his tea and tidies the office (once Crozier explained his basic system of organization, Thomas found it easy to follow). Familiarizes himself with which notes and books related to which topics and missions courtesy of Croziers practice lectures. 

He’s also a tad proud of himself for reaching a point where the captain calls him over to show him photos or artifacts; Crozier's speech is as companionable as his silence, and Thomas is glad for his growing number of excuses to seek out both. 

His employers are often gone in the evenings, working or networking and the kind of functions Thomas will only ever see from the sidelines. Crozier prefers to stay in his study, and if it’s just the two of them, once the girls are in bed (only after their uncle comes and reads to them) he’ll often settle in with a cup of tea in the same room in which Thomas is reading or mending (well-behaved as they are, his charges are still children and therefore masters of ripping seams, losing buttons, tearing blouses in new and exciting ways). 

Thomas usually turns in first, bone-tired. This has also become a way of preserving his dignity. One night he and the captain talked late into the night and so got ready for bed at the same time. Thomas, in the blue sleep pants and old t-shirt he uses for pajamas, wandered back out to retrieve his phone at the exact same moment Crozier stepped from the bathroom in only a towel. 

One brief “oh, excuse me sir” and then he was back in his room, wondering if the blush racing up Crozier’s chest looked beautiful on the rest of him, too. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------

Crozier knows he’ll get credit with Claire for being a good sport. This two day affair with her and Ian’s friends is, in her words, “the perfect chance to stop moping.”

She’s only scolded him about it once since they arrived. He decided it was best not to tell her what he was actually thinking of. 

“There we are, sir.” Thomas finishes brushing down Crozier’s jacket. Thomas has taken to helping him dress for events, and while it’s an odd thing to be fussed over Crozier isn’t about to turn down a chance to have Thomas touch him. 

“Not too much?” He studies himself in the mirror, the deep blue suit doing not unkind things for his coloring.

“I’ve seen what Mrs. Flaherty is wearing, this is very much a dress to impress occasion.”

“Two fucking days of one.”

“Just dinner tonight, then brunch and an early dinner tomorrow. It’ll be over before you know it, sir.” He can hear Thomas smiling at his grumbling. God help him, if the lad actually likes him even with his bristles up…

“We could just send you in my place. You’d make a far better fit at this kind of party.”

“You flatter me sir.” Thomas looks down, and Crozier wishes he wouldn’t; he’s very fond of his eyes. 

His self-appointed assistant frowns, “Sit on the bed.”

Crozier obeys as Thomas hunts through the dresser for something. 

“Do you have shoe polish, sir?”

“Erm. Somewhere. It’s in one of the boxes I haven’t fully emptied.”

Thomas tuts and leaves the room. When he returns, he kneels in front of Crozier without preamble.

“I’ve nothing for you to rest them on so-” he pats his right thigh, indicating that Crozier should set his foot on it. 

Heat moves from his collar to the tips of his ears in an instant, “Thomas, you needn’t-”

The younger man looks up through his lashes with a silent command that puts admirals to shame. 

Crozier lifts his foot as instructed. Thomas makes short, clean work of polishing each shoe. All the while Crozier itches to run his fingers through his dark hair, or cup his chin so he’ll pause his task long enough for a kiss. 

Instead he keeps his hands firming in his lap until Thomas is putting the tin of polish back into the box. 

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.” Thomas makes to stand but wobbles. 

Crozier steadies him at the elbow, sets his free hand on his shoulder, “Easy, lad. When’d you last eat?”

“This morning, sir.”

Crozier indulges himself and pats Thomas gently on the side, “then you’ll be sure to make yourself a nice dinner tonight, hm? Wouldn’t do to have you faint on me.”

From here, he catches how Thomas stiffens slightly at the touch, even as he stays practically in Crozier’s lap, “No, sir, it wouldn’t.” 

He murmurs some assent to Claire’s comment. 

She whacks his forearm with the back of his hand, “you weren’t listening at all.”

“I resent that-” He stops as he follows his sister's gaze to the far end of the room. 

“What is Sophia doing here?”

“That’s what I just said. I’ve no idea who she came with.”

He wants to turn around and hurl himself into the open bar. 

“I’m calling a ride home.”

“Francis, we can just-”

“It’s alright.” He kisses her brow, “I’m not ready to face her somewhere like this, not just yet, without some liquid courage I can’t let myself have. But I won’t spoil your and Ian's time either. If anyone asks, tell them an old sailors stomach like mine is prone to upset.”

She doesn’t argue, and Crozier manages to sneak himself and his overnight bag out the door without anyone commenting. 

Traffic means his ride gets him home close to ten p.m. The girls must be asleep, but soft music from the kitchen means Thomas is still up and about. 

Thomas is at the window, looking out into the garden, playlist drifting from his phone on the counter. There’s a bottle of dessert wine on the counter near a half-full glass, along with a cutting board containing some of the pricier snacks from the pantry. 

“Feeling peckish?”

Thomas jolts, whirling in place. He’s holding a jar of the spread Clair buys that’s just expensive  Nutella. There’s a spoon sticking from it, and his mouth is obviously full. 

When he swallows, it’s with genuine alarm in his face, “Yes, sir. I, the jar was nearly empty, sir. It’s all odds and ends, really.” He indicates the food. 

“Figured it was somesuch; you’re not a greedy one.” He shucks his jacket, tossing it on one of the stools at the kitchen island. Nearly laughs when he spies the affronted look Thomas gives the now rumpled fabric, “pass me some.”

Thomas slides the board closer. 

“The wine, too.”

He says it out of habit, realizes once he has that he would strangle a man for a drink right about now. 

Thomas studies him, hesitating, then moves the bottle closer to himself.

Crozier raises a brow. 

“She told me not to let you drink. And” he takes a deep breath, “and I won’t have you falling off the wagon on my watch, sir.”

A maelstrom of feeling whips up in his chest; annoyance, first with the lad and then himself, gratitude, exhaustion, and so much affection he’s liable to faint. 

“Sir?”

Of course. His default expression means that Thomas must think he’s about to be let go. Or slapped. 

He sighs, sitting heavily down on the stool, “She doesn’t pay you nearly enough to deal with me. Get me a glass of water at least, so I’ve something to keep in my hands.”

And so he thinks as Thomas turns and fetches one from the cabinet, I don’t put them on you.

Nerves are still clear in the younger man’s posture, so Crozier waits until he turns and sets the water on the island to set a hand on his arm, “You’re not in trouble, lad. Really I ought to be thanking you for saving me from my sorry self.”

“As far as I can tell, you did the hard part on your own.”

Crozier helps himself to a handful of almonds, “Suppose you could look at it that way. Though it has left me with more of a craving for sweet things.” He winks before standing and opening the pantry, “I swear she has more of those good truffles in here. And Iberico ham hidden somewhere. Stuff is a damn sight better than any of the sad stuff you used to get at Easter dinners, eh lad?”

“I’ve never actually had it. Not sure I’ve got much of a palate; it was mostly canned ham or bologna growing up.”

Crozier winces; of course, Thomas has mentioned his childhood was far from luxurious. 

“Well then, consider this as making up for lost time.” He finds what he’s looking for, brings the remaining ham out to join the rest of the counter-top meal and sets the chocolates in front of Thomas. 

They talk about what he and the girls got up to after school, and about the party, and Crozier finds himself relaxing as they do. This is helped by adorable intensity with which Thomas devours the truffles; he’ll have to keep that in mind come his birthday. 

“You’ve got some-” Crozier reaches out and brushes away the stray bit of chocolate at the corner of Thomas’ mouth. 

Thomas smiles at the touch, eyes closed, then turns his head and plants a single, small kiss on Crozier’s wrist. When his eyes open, he’s watching Crozier with quiet confidence. 

“Careful, lad.” Crozier draws his thumb down the curve of Thomas’ lower lip, “tease me too much and I might try something.”

In a flash, Thomas leans over the corner of the island and kisses him. It’s quick, far too quick, so Crozier grips his sweater, holding him in place. That decisiveness must have been what Thomas needed, as the last of the tension falls from his shoulders and he all but splays himself over the corner to press them closer.

He kisses with the earnestness of someone who does it well but not often, a theory born out as Crozier kisses down to his jaw, then his neck. The lad shivers like he’s in a polar storm, hands dropping to cling to Croziers belt loops. 

Then one sneaks into a pocket and palms him through it; sensitive but not a shrinking violet. Oh yes, Crozier is going to enjoy this immensely. 

When they break the kiss, Thomas looks at him with wonder, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. Crozier’s certain he looks the same. 

“So I wasn’t imagining those looks, hm?”

“‘Av’ent any idea what you mean, sir” Thomas grins teasingly. 

Crozier wraps his arms around him in reply, brushing their noses together, “The wains are asleep?”

“Tucked in and snoring for hours.”

“Good. Then up to the bedroom with you.” He pats Thomas on the cheek, and the lad is out of the kitchen without even pausing to tidy up. 

Crozier is flattered. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

And to think Thomas had been so certain the captain would be mad at him for refusing to pass the wine. 

Now they’re halfway up the stairs, Crozier giddier than he’s ever seen him and Thomas finding it hard to keep his feet with how often he turns to look at the other man. 

He stumbles and hand swats fondly at his ass, “Eyes front.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve the nice view ahead of you.”

“Aye, I do.” They reach the landing and Crozier catches him by the waist for another kiss. Thomas drags him through the door, only realizing he’s gone to his room out of habit until he’s flopped backwards onto his bed.

“We should switch, your bed’s bigger and-”

“Lad.” Crozier is halfway out of his dress shirt, “if you think I’m delaying any longer just to go where it’ll be harder to keep right on top of you, you’ve another thing coming.”

“Of course, captain.” Thomas pulls free of his sweater, and when he looks up Crozier is now standing at the edge of the bed beside him. He’s down to his undershirt and trousers, tattoos and freckled arms fully on display for Thomas to enjoy. 

“Think we’re well past honorifics.” He sets a hand on either of Thomas' shoulders, “it’s just Francis.”

“Francis.” Saying it feels more intimate than the kiss did.

“Thomas.” He bends and kisses him once, as if he’s something to be savored, something priceless that requires every ounce of his attention, “or should I call you Tom?”

“Only boyfriends ‘ave.” God damn it, that’s the second time his tongue has slipped. 

“Does that mean I’m allowed?” Francis is still smiling, but his eyes have gone sad. No, not sad, resigned. Like he already suspects the answer.

“Yes” Thomas is tired of so much distance between them, and so he pulls Francis down, landing them in a graceless pile on the mattress. 

“Now there’s fine news” Francis is grinning like a schoolboy on the last day of the term, straddling Thomas and kissing him. This interferes with Thomas’ ability to get the blue slacks off, and he can’t suppress an annoyed huff. Francis laughs and finishes the job for him. 

Thomas intends to get his first look at what was under that towel he’s been imaging for weeks, but he can’t bear to look away from Francis’ face just yet. The older man notices and raises a curious brow. 

“I like your smile.” Thomas reaches up, tracing a finger over his cheek. 

“Why I’ll never know. Has a gap in it the size of the Bering Sea.”

“It’s perfect.” Thomas kisses his lower lip, “really, sir, you should be kinder to yourself.”

Francis is too busy blushing to chide him for the formality, “I know what I look like, Tom. I’ve too many freckles and pale hair and a body that’s seen better days-”

“I disagree. And I” an idea flashes across his mind, sending blood south in a rush, “if you insist on continuing to speak badly about my boyfriend there will be consequences.”

“Oh?” Francis grins with amused excitement, “going to put my ancient ass over your knee?”

“As a matter of fact-” Thomas wriggles free, sitting up and rolling the eager man across his lap.

Francis only laughs harder after his first hit, “You’ll have to try harder on my leathery hide than that.”

Thomas slaps him twice more, then brings his hand down on the right thigh for good measure. That makes Francis groan, and so Thomas attacks the same spot with a flurry of slaps, spurred on when he notices the soft shape of Francis cock rutting against his leg

“Good goddamned christ alive.” Francis is still smiling, he can hear it, even as he fumbles for a pillow.

Thomas passes one to him, and is rewarded with Francis’ expression of half-lidded bliss as he looks back at him. 

“Can’t make too much noise; we wake the girls doing this we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Of course. Besides, this’ll keep you from continuin’ to argue with me about your looks.”

“Nothing keeps me from an argument if it needs to be had. Just ask James. Either of them.” The remark is muffled, as is the resulting yelp as Thomas lays into the left side of his ass and the thigh below. 

“You wouldn’t be sayin’ such things if you could see what I do. Never seen an ass look so fine all pink like this. It was made for this kind of treatment.”

Francis moans and Thomas pinches the reddest patch of skin until the other man cants his hips back, then glides his hand between his legs to tease at his cock.

“Mm, if I’d known you liked this, would have done this sooner. Never lay a hand on the girls, but you can be so stubborn at times a firmer touch is called for.”

“Wish you’d give it then.” Francis mumbles, cursing and laughing all at once when Thomas responds with the desired battery of slaps. 

His hand smarting, he rolls Francis onto his back, the man only half visible through the hair that’s fallen across Thomas’ eye, “Well? Learnt your lesson?”

“Thoroughly.” Francis reaches up, pushing the hair back into place, “though I may ask you for another reminder soon. And for…for more of those compliments you’re so eager to pay me.”

Thomas sits back on his knees, then leans forward to push up the white undershirt, kissing each inch of skin as it’s revealed, “I’ll give them everyday. I want to. God, fuck” affection for the man beneath him wells up and he pauses, resting his cheek on his belly, “want you so fuckin’ bad it ‘urts.”

A warm hand tenderly strokes his head, “Your accent’s coming out.”

“Happens when I get overwhelmed. Or drunk.”

“I like it.” Francis’ fingers are scritching his scalp now, “known plenty of men who took pride in it.”

“I…it was safer to learn to hide it. Growing up, I mean. Makes it easier to be taken seriously, and I needed to be to make things better for my siblings.”

“Fucking bullshit is what it is.” Francis coaxes him up until they’re face to face, “my dear Tom, always having to look out for or after someone.”

“I don’t mind it. In a lot of ways I like it.”

“I don’t doubt that, lad. But I think it’s high time someone looked after you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice is soft in Thomas’ ear as he kisses his jaw and nuzzles his cheek, “like your captain to take care of you?”

“Please. God” He gasps as Francis wraps a hand around his cock. It’s been half-hard since they landed in bed, and it only takes a few strokes before it’s at attention.

“Always so quick to cooperate.” Francis kisses down his face and throat. 

Thomas moans; he hasn’t had a date in a year, let alone a partner, and every small sensation sets him tingling. He hides his face against the captain's neck, savoring that he not only has his attention, his touch, but that he doesn’t have to stay in perfect control to keep them. 

A fond chuckle as Francis switches his free hand to stroking along his ribs and down his ass, “Some other night, when we’re not so tired, I think I’ll tie you down and see to it that you relax properly. Your handsome for me now, shaking like the prettiest leaf on the tree, I wonder how you’ll fare after an hour of being spoiled as you truly deserve.”

He cums without warning, mouthing at Francis’ collarbone as he moans in his arms. The energy draining from his limbs wars with the fanatical desire for Francis to make use of his mouth, his hand, ass, any part of him. 

The captain settles the fight for him. 

“That’s all for tonight, love.” 

“But you-”

“The damned thing isn’t as quick to rise as it used to be. And while the body wants to hold you down and show you exactly what I’ve thought of every time you bent over in my study” he smooths Thomas’ hair with his clean hand, “all the spirit wants is to sleep in your arms."

“I’d like that very much.” He murmurs.

They clean up quickly, and Thomas pads down the hall to check on the girls a final time. When he returns, Francis is naked under the covers, arms open as Thomas climbs under to join him. 

After a few moments of precarious cuddling, Thomas whispers, “any chance of that room change now?”

Francis kisses him, the kind that’s half-promise and half-reward, “Aye, good idea lad. Let’s go.”

[angelsdean]

turned on my old macbook for the first time in nearly ten years to see if it would work (and to save old funny videos of me and my sister that i never saved) and um. truly a time capsule. i had this laptop from 2009 - 2015. my pre-tumblr era up to 2011 was just me listening to music and making cringe "music videos" and making hour long "vlogs" for my friends just talking abt whatever random crap i was doing. i am SO glad i was a teen before tiktok was a thing. i think i posted these privately on facebook or something idk. then during tumblr era i used to do fic reading vids where i'd narrate fic and/or film my reactions. and make vids for mutuals. being a teen in the 2010s sure was something. but i also think, i am still the same person. like i've been thinking lately abt making like "journal flip-thru" vids. i nearly made a vid last month of me "quoting dean" during my rewatch. ur cringe teen self lives in you forever.

[veraarora]

The line I fall for

Previous: Prologue , Chapter 1

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Chapter 2

The Commission assignments were piling up on my table as I successfully managed to ignore them for the past three days.

Two coffees, one aggressive email that could be counted as a threat sent by my amazing boss, and a migraine in the back of my head.

Not bad, considering my situation.

I sat on the hard chair and flipped one of the documents to feel productive. Bad idea.

“Monitoring request? What am I, some kind of babysitter?”

Apparently so, because stapled to the assignment was a photo. Shit.

I aggressively snapped the file back on the table and—before I realized that snapping at my boss and basically storming into his office wasn’t a good idea—I was already on my way.

Not that he could even fire my ass anyway.

“What the actual fuck, Axel?!” I burst out before even stepping fully into the room. He looked confused for a brief second as his blue eyes looked up from his laptop with a lazy smirk, like my outburst was the best entertainment he’d had all day.

“Wow,” he said. “We’re not even at the part where you threaten to quit. Did you skip breakfast?”

“Did you seriously assign me Five fucking Hargreeves?”

“Technically, the system did. But sure, blame me. That’s more fun.”

“I’m not doing it,” I hissed immediately.

“Yes, you are.”

“I am not.”

“Vera.”

I stared at him. Conflicted.

What really was my problem?

I mean, yes, I often complained — but I did as I was told, and I did it well. But this guy? He founded this place. He was a fucking celebrity around here…

Over the last few years, I avoided the topic of Five Hargreeves as much as I could. Everyone here fucking loved him, idealized him and his actions — even more than our new handler, Mr. Perfect. Five was the only one. The only one above me. Not that I would ever show that it bothered me in any way and honestly, it really shouldn’t, since he’s no one now. No powers, no connections. He doesn’t even have a clue we exist anymore.

Anyway, that may not have been the entire reason for the avoidance. The truth was...

I was one of them.

Born on October 1st, 1989. Just like him. Like the others. Same day, same anomaly, same weird cosmic birth lottery.

I wasn’t adopted by some monocle-wearing maniac, though. I had a mother — for a while. But she didn’t stick around. After that, I was brought to the Commission, labeled a useful little anomaly, locked away like some kind of cosmic asset — and, on top of that, got stuck in my abnormally aging body.

Up here, in headquarters, where I spent most of my life, time didn’t work the same anymore. Too few agents. Too much work. And after the Commission nearly vanished from its already fragile existence, they needed to make some… backups.

Here, time stretches, bends, and folds in on itself until you forget how old you’re even supposed to be. People don’t age normally at the Commission anymore — if they age at all. It’s how I stayed the same. Still nineteen. Or twenty. Or however the hell old I’m supposed to be by now.

Honestly? I stopped keeping count a long time ago.

Still, every time I entered the handler’s office and saw that asshole’s photo on the wall — his shiny hair and perfect green eyes — I felt a twist in my gut.

He was a fucking genius. And I bet—

Well. What the fuck am I doing?

I snapped back into reality.

"Fine," I blurted, louder than I meant to.

“Fine? That’s it? Fine? You looked like you were about to kill me a minute ago.” He gave me a really concerned look and pushed his chair further from the table. Even sitting, I felt so small next to him... vulnerable, scared. Did he make everyone feel like this? Hardly anyone ever made me feel that way, but in Axel Moreau’s presence, I wanted to crawl into a ball and hide in the corner.

Recalling the events of the last ten minutes, in which I didn’t think through any of my actions — and judging by my next statement, I didn’t intend to start doing that anytime soon.

“Is that a problem suddenly? You want me to do this job, don’t you?” I fidgeted with the fabric of my black pants.

I acted stupid, and I knew it — so before he could say anything about it, I calmed down a bit and pretended like I didn’t just have a small breakdown about a guy I’ve never met.

“Why do we even care about him anymore? I don’t remember him being valuable to us in any way.”

“He’s nosy.”

“Nosy? That’s it? Oh my—Axel, really? What am I supposed to do, spank him if he misbehaves?”

“Well, if you would like that, then—”

I rolled my eyes and interrupted his words.

“I am not a babysitter. I am an assassin.”

“No. You work for the Commission. You do what I tell you.”

“Which is killing.”

“Not this time. And for God’s sake, just stop arguing with me already. Do you realize that if you were literally anyone else in this building, this would be unacceptable?”

I was quiet for a moment, noticing he wasn’t so sure about himself anymore.

“You’re not telling me everything,” I said flatly.

“Would it make you do your job better if I did?” He leaned back in his leather chair, making eye contact with me.

“Depends on what the truth is,” I said coldly.

“Go do your job, Vera.”

I bit the inside of my mouth and stood up, putting a hand through my long brown hair. I nodded.

“Sorry,” I breathed out.

“Hey. Look at me.”

I did as he said, his golden locks shining in the sun.

“Do your job, and do it well.” His tone wasn’t harsh — it was a reminder.

And it helped, because that’s what I did. Every day. Every mission.

This one won’t be any different.

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Chapter 3

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