#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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[aesfocus]

TW: ANIMAL DEATH

A tiny little celebration and recounting of this lil old lady, who passed away yesterday april 22 2024, 6 years to the day her adopted sister left the world.

Read on to learn about her adoption story and some of her fav things!

I made sure she had a comfortable lovely weekend, but she let me know it was time.

So who was Turtle?

In Aug 2010 I went to a local shelter and adopted 2 kitties. One a kitten we named Genki, and another a 1+ year old mystery owner surrender they named Hello Kitty.

She saw us and started yelling and slamming herself on the glass to show us how to pet her. She snugged onto my lap immediately in the little private room to meet her and I was in love instantly.

But back at home she was very scared. She hid under the couch for three days only peaking her head out to eat some food and then she went back in. This would be the last time in her life she would be shy, but I didn't know it so I named her...

Alligator Snapping Turtle; Turtle!

She quickly became my shadow. Clinging to me night and day. She would jump onto the back of my chair, lay on my back and slowly slide down towards my butt. She did this so frequently she managed to break the chair, eventually. After that all my chairs have been bought with more room for her to snug me. For a whole decade.

If someone visited, she would insist they hold her, or she'd sleep on them in their sleep. She once was held through a 3 hour long DnD session by someone she had just met; she loved people. Loved being pet, but above all, she adored me.

She had a specific meow for me, she spent every single night for nearly 14 years in between my legs, and unfortunately, as she got older she got separation anxiety real bad. She would cry and cry for about an hour each time I left. (I rarely do as I no longer work but even a trip to the grocery store did not leave her happy!) I know this because my husband had plenty of videos of her standing at the door hoping I would return.

No matter what I did in the house there she was.

But lets back up a moment, remember that bit about owner surrender? That intake form was interesting. with questions like "What is your pets favorite toy?" came answers like 'small glove'. She spent at least a year in someone with 7 children's garage. They fed her 'cheep food' and knew very little about her past other than they found her about a year prior. No judgements to them, but this girl was a lap cat to end lap cats. You would pick her up and move her to stand and she'd jump right back into your lap. She's dig her claws in if she thought you were trying to leave. She wanted the warmth god damn it!

Here is her on top my husband. Human's were good options.

Heat vent? Also a great option.

She would, when I worked, stay in bed in the covers right where I left her until I came home from work, all nice and cozy.

She loved it when my husband worked from home, gave her ample time to try and fry his laptop during his breaks or lunches.

But her fav place was on top of me. I set up my desk just for her actually! This big living room chair was purchased so she could always be near me.

Because the previous snug situation was not cutting it!

Here she is on the chair I bought for us.

She was never very photogenic, because she saw my hand and wanted pets. If I wasn't petting her she'd cry and show me how to pet her with her paws, or she'd flop around or rub herself on something and look up at me like 'come ooooonnn you know the good spots.'

Or she would do a 'turkey twerky'(where cats twitch their tails and step from foot to foot rapidly in excitement).

Her fav toy it turned out was not a 'small glove' but in fact the simple spring. Yellow was her fav color of the springs, but past that any small bit of plastic she could chase around and yell at was great. She was a very loud little lady!

I sang her a song daily for about ten years;

"Her name is turtle! and she's a turtle! And she's got a lot to say!"

after which she'd generally make a BIG meow and I'd give her tons of attention. Because she was my lil baby girl.

But her all time fav thing, beside me of course, was going outside. She didn't get to much as I believe in, and have, indoor only cats, but on special nice days we'd go outside and she'd gets some nice supervised time with the grass. (She made the other cats jealous because only she was let outside without a harness, but that's because if she wasn't in about a 2 foot radius of me she'd come back and yell at me to follow/I was able to out run her.)

Last year I had her shaved, because she was a fat cat who was struggling with cleaning herself so we were going to get on a rotation of shaving and baths and brushing to make sure she stayed nice and clean...

But unfortunately she began to drop in weight very quickly, the primary sign something was very wrong.

She was adopted on the same day as Genki, and six years to the day she passed on the same day as her sister. Genki lost a very long fight with a fungal pneumonia in 2018 and our hearts shattered and then yesterday they did it again.

If Turtle was my heart, my little shadow, then Genki was my husband's.

Turtle was such an amazing good friend, I have so many memories of her and it doesn't seem real that she's gone. But I wanted to keep this light, and positive, and so I will end it with, adopt.

Don't shop, adopt. You never know who is waiting for you in a shelter, what kind of very full wonderful life you can provide each other! Hello Kitty became Turtle and she knew that name, she'd come running any time I called, she was my very best friend and I miss her so fucking much.

[catrayz]

some fun facts about sev;

he’s spent ten years in prison collectively

although he’s got a spider tattoo he’s got arachnophobia. he just doesn’t like bugs/insects in general but spiders freak him the fuck out

he taps on things nearly constantly. sometimes out of anxiety, sometimes just because he has so much energy that he needs to channel it somewhere

poor guys had his nose broken MULTIPLE times

VERY good with technology although you wouldn’t think it since all he ever seems to use are burner phones and shitty cheap laptops

he’s a nail biter. like it’s constant. he’s got like nearly no nails left lmao

he collects little things like bottle caps, old broken lighters, old pieces of wire and stuff; he’s like a crow or a magpie

does NOT like being touched. will react VERY violently if you touch him. do Not.

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: emeto (vague)

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER

part six

❝ TIM DRAKE JR ❞

FRIDAY — JULY 20 — 8:01PM

WHEN DICK INSISTED HE HELP BENTLEY PACK FOR REDWOOD, HE WASN'T EXPECTING HIM TO PACK HIS WHOLE ENTIRE CLOSET.

“I’ve almost got it!” Dick exclaimed. Currently, a giant, old-style suitcase of Tim’s was sitting on Bentley’s bed, way too full to close, and Dick was sitting on top of it, bouncing up and down to try and latch the locks. “Any second now!”

Bentley had been watching him try to close it for the better part of fifteen minutes. 

He and Asten were leaving for Redwood tomorrow at eight in the morning — twelve hours exactly. To say Asten was excited would be an understatement. It was the downright happiest Bentley had ever seen him, ever, like Gotham was some big dark cloud that had been looking over his head since he got there. (Which Bentley wouldn’t doubt, since it was a little… sad.)

While Dick worked on the suitcase, Bentley was making sure he had everything he needed, like his laptop, school supplies, and so on, all packed in a backpack. Which hadn’t taken very long, so really he was just kinda watching Dick.

The closer Redwood got, the worse Bentley seemed to feel about it. He was still excited, but now that he was finally registered and obligated to go, being away from Bruce and Dick and everybody for ten whole entire months sounded kind of terrible. Not to mention that he was going to a brand new school with a bunch of new people again. He’d nearly worried himself sick the first time, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this time wouldn’t be all too different.

That’s why he was trying his best not to think about anything. Which was kind of impossible when Redwood seemed to be all everyone in the entire house wanted to talk about.

“-headmistress was… are you even listening to me?” 

Bentley glanced up at Dick, who still hadn’t gotten the suitcase closed. “Huh?”

With one final push, the latches on the suitcase clicked into place, and Dick hopped off of it. His blue eyes bounced around Bentley’s face for a few seconds. “What’s up, little B? You’ve been quiet all day. Having second thoughts?”

Bentley shook his head, glancing down at his socks. “No, I want to go.” 

“…But?”

With an exhale, he continued: “But ten months is a long time.”

He didn't look up until Dick’s hand landed on his shoulder, meeting his crystalline eyes. “You know you can change your mind, right? Asten can go, and we can find something better for you.”

“But I want to go. I really, really do. I just wish I would stop getting all scared right before I do something. It’s embarrassing,” Bentley said with a huff, crossing his arms. “I’m thirteen, but I still feel like I’m ten. I couldn’t even handle a broken glass at a gala.”

Dick sighed lightly, sitting down on Bentley’s bed so they were a similar height. “There’s no formula or rulebook for growing up, kiddo. Everyone does it differently, and it’s usually not something they choose to do, but… the environments they spent their time in that dictate it.”

Bentley tapped his fingers on his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Like… Tim and Damian grew up fast because it was best for them where they were. Tim had to care for himself. Damian had to act professional. I had all the time in the world to act like a kid, here with Bruce, and sometimes I still feel like one. Jason grew up fast out of necessity. Survival,” Dick explained. “But you… you’re different. You have a story unlike any of us. You only really started living your life three years ago, B. There are so many things you’ve had to learn and work through that you didn’t get for the first ten years. I’d say having a little anxiety about being away from your first real family is to be expected, and it doesn’t undermine the fact that you’re maturing and becoming an amazing teenager.”

Bentley didn’t say anything, but glanced down at his socks again. “But I feel so young when I’m with other teenagers. I don’t get what they’re talking about, I don’t understand what they’re laughing at. I noticed it with Asten and Nico when Nico lived here, but now that we’re older it’s… just getting worse. I always feel like I’m missing something, like they’re having to dumb down what they’re saying for me. Or they just give up and don’t try to explain it. I know I’m not dumb, at least with actual school stuff, but when it comes to, like, talking to people, I feel… really stupid.”

Dick nodded to himself. “Do you have an example?”

Bentley shrugged, sitting on the bed next to him with a poof. “Like, one time Asten said something about a one night stand. I didn’t know what that was, and I still don’t know what it is. Nico freaked out so it seemed like a big deal but they wouldn’t explain it to me. And the other day at the gala, the lady talking to Bruce was saying something that sounded… I don’t know, weird. So weird Bruce wanted me to leave, but I don’t know why. I thought about it for a long time and still didn’t understand it. But I’m sure Asten would. He always calls me innocent when that kind of thing happens, but I don’t even think I understand that right, because I thought innocent meant you didn’t commit a crime.”

Dick sighed heavily and put his hand back on Bentley’s shoulder. “Hear me when I say this, Bentley. You might not get what people are saying, and you might feel dumb, but being innocent is a gift. It means you haven’t been introduced to the same things other kids have — the things they shouldn’t necessarily have been introduced to yet. And being innocent doesn’t mean you’re dumb or socially inept or even awkward. It means you haven’t been in a place to be introduced to those things before you should. And I know someone else who is really, really smart that is also considered innocent in a very similar way to you.”

“Who?” Bentley questioned, glancing over at him. 

“Damian. The circumstances aren’t the same, but I can confidently say that he’s struggled with this exact thing before, nearly word for word. And I’ll tell you exactly what I told him,” Dick stated, smiling lightly. “It’s good not to be like everybody else. And you don’t have to understand all the jokes or do all the same things as other teenagers to be a perfectly amazing, maybe even better one yourself. I know for a fact that you can keep up with kids your age and older when it comes to things that matter. I mean, look at the things you’ve done, B. You’re more brave and loyal and determined than any kid I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. And that honestly can not be said about a lot of today’s teenagers.”

Bentley sighed, glancing down at his sweatpants with a little nod. 

“And I can guarantee you'll find kids with the exact same dilemma at Redwood. Probably more than you think,” Dick smiled, patting Bentley on the back. “But here’s the thing; if you’re really having second thoughts, don’t force yourself to go just to prove that you can. We will find something else for you if that’s what you want. In a heartbeat. We’ll tour campuses and look into homeschooling options for the rest of the year if you give us the word. We might have opinions, but you are the only one who truly knows what’s best for you.”

Bentley took a breath. He might’ve been a teenager in age, but in everything else, he was young. Too young. If innocence was a gift, why didn’t it feel like one?

He didn’t want to be innocent anymore, he wanted to be normal. No matter how many times Dick Grayson told him it was okay to be different, it would never, ever change the fact that all he wanted to be was a normal kid. He was so tired of not being normal.

If Bentley didn’t know anything else, he knew this: highschool was the best place to stop being innocent and start being normal.

“I want to go,” He stated with a nod. “I want to.”

“Are you guys coming, or what? We’re going to start King Fu Panda without you!” Asten’s voice bounced up the stairs and down the hallway.

Bentley and Dick shared a look, then small smiles.

“I love you, babybird,”

Bentley smiled. “I love you, too.”

—

Bentley didn’t like Kung Fu Panda.

Okay, he wasn’t really sure if he liked it or not, he didn’t pay very much attention. He was too busy thinking about being in Manhattan alone in the morning.

He’d have seven roommates. Not technically in the same bedroom as him, but in the same shared space, which was kind of intimidating. The Headmistress said they’d be chosen for them by age and personality, but Bentley and Asten both had very different ages and very different personalities. What if he was stuck with a bunch of sixteen year olds? Or what if Asten was stuck with a bunch of thirteen year olds? To be completely honest, Bentley thought he might die if he had to room with seven variations of Asten. Sometimes he could hardly handle the one. 

And what if they didn’t like one of the roommates? The video spoke about roommate changes, but that seemed complicated, and Bentley definitely wasn’t going to be the kid that requested one, then nobody would like him. What if somebody wanted him to leave? Or worse, Asten? What if he got left alone with all the strangers and Asten had to go somewhere else?

And classes. They’d filled out their classes at registration, but Asten and Bentley hadn’t picked all the same things. That meant they wouldn’t be together all day. Which was fine, Bentley could deal with that, he did it at Gotham Academy. But this time he’d be in Manhattan alone and he couldn’t just call Bruce if something went weird because Bruce was two and a half hours away and couldn’t come get him for something inconvenient. So if Bentley decided to have a panic attack, he’d have to interrupt Asten’s class and call Asten. Or worse, go with the stranger nurse. 

And the Redwood campus was massive. What if Bentley got lost? He already hardly knew the buildings from one another and they all looked the same and what if he couldn’t read the map? And Asten was going to a different class? Then he’d be lost alone, in front of a bunch of random people. And what did they do when he got sick? Did he get sent home, or did he stay in the nurse’s office until he was better? Because Redwood Academy was a boarding school, not a day school. 

And teachers — what if he didn’t like his teachers? What if they were mean? What if they didn’t like him? What if one of them ended up being a psycho scientist that was trying to turn them all into metahumans? Could that even work twice? Could Bentley even survive that twice? And he’d have to make friends, which wasn’t very easy.

So, yeah. He was pretty terrified. Pretty horrified. Pretty stressed out. 

Pretty stressed out and horrified and terrified enough that when it was time for bed after a few installments of Kung Fu Panda and a bedtime slightly past midnight, Bentley was a wreck.

(But did he tell anybody? In true Bentley fashion, of course not!)

He just sat in his bedroom to ride it out alone. After all, he was thirteen, he shouldn’t be doing this whole terrified anxiety thing anymore.

So for a while, he watched some nonsense on tv. He didn’t end up paying attention, so he did some nonsense on his phone that he didn’t pay attention to, either. He ignored the fact that his hands were shaking. He pretended his stomach wasn’t in knots and that he wasn’t one perfectly placed statement away from probably crying. (He shouldn’t be like this anymore, he shouldn’t. He was fine. He was thirteen and being anxious was embarrassing and he was fine.)

He continued to not watch tv and not play on his phone until his clock read 4:17am. Then he decided he should sleep, so he laid there and tossed and turned and tossed and turned until the clock hit 4:29am.

That’s when he realized his brilliant idea to ignore everything had become a pretty terrible one, because he was, in fact, not ignoring anything, and had instead been thinking about it nonstop for literally five hours.

With a huff of annoyance, Bentley sat up and grabbed an old, half-empty water bottle from his nightstand and took a sip, staring at his stupid clock.

And then it all went south.

As in, as soon as he swallowed the water, his anxiousness came with a vengeance and he threw it up again all over the hardwood floor.

For a moment, he was in brief shock and kind of pretty pissed about it. He hadn’t thrown up from being anxious since he lived with his father, and now this? This was what ruined him? School?

“Are you kidding me?” He whispered just soft enough that no one should’ve been able to hear. Any fear or uncomfortableness that came with puking left immediately, it’s place taken by utter and sheer annoyance.

With an eye-roll and a groan, he threw his covers off with a huff and stood up, flicking his lamp on. At least it wasn’t on the rug or his sweatpants, he guessed.

Why couldn’t he just be normal? Asten wasn’t in his room throwing up right now, was he? He was sleeping, like every normal person in the world. And Bentley was hopscotching over freaking puke.

It was four thirty in the morning, and he was over it. Over himself, over anxiety, over puking, over being awake, over being such a pitiful little excuse of a human that the prospect of school made him barf. Over feeling so bad and having his days ruined because he was so terrified over something that should’ve been exciting. Why did he have to be like this?

Deciding that he was wholeheartedly pissed at himself, he acted like it. He marched into the bathroom with as much of an attitude as he dared (lest some bat smell it), flicked the lights on, and grabbed some gray towels out from under the sink all angry-like. (Bentley didn’t do that much, and it felt kind of weird. But he was also freaking pissed, so the weird felt kinda good.)

He went back to the bedroom with a huff and another eye-roll (because it was kind of fun, and he didn’t dare do it to an actual person.), piling the towels on the puke and doing a very teenage-angsty job of cleaning it up. (Okay, he cleaned good, but he was angsty while he did it.)

Once that was done and he had some very dirty towels on the floor, he just looked at them.

If he left them in his empty laundry basket, someone would find them. Plus, they’d probably make his room smell. And then everyone would know he was pathetic and had puked over school. He could take them straight to the washer and figure out how to use it — but he’d have to be really quiet. It was risky, given that Tim and Damian were light sleepers, and they were right near him.

But he’d rather run the risk than have them find out in the morning.

So, with another huff of frustration, Bentley folded up the gross towels in such a way that he wouldn’t get dirty, gathered them into his arms, and made for the door.

He opened it real slow, and real steadily. (It squeaked if he went too fast.) The hallway was dark and silent. They hadn’t patrolled tonight, since it was Asten and Bentley’s last night in the Manor, which somehow only seemed to make things worse.

He stepped out into the hall and pulled his door almost all the way shut, that way only a sliver of light was peeking through. And after standing there for a moment to make sure he didn’t hear anyone, he made for the stairs.

The very first step squealed like a pig.

With a deep inhale and exhale that was him trying to not drown the entire house because he was pissed, (did he mention he was pissed, by the way?) he kept walking down the stairs.

And then he heard a door open.

���Bentley? What are you doing?”

He glanced back, and just as he’d expected, Mister Timothy Drake, CEO of life and smartest person ever, emerged into the hallway. He was wearing a red hoodie and some sweatpants that looked a little too big, and it didn’t seem like he’d been asleep.

Bentley quickly turned away, muttering: “Nothing.”

Bentley felt Tim’s eyes on him. “Are you doing laundry at four-thirty in the morning?” 

“… Maybe?” He muttered, staring down at the towels in his hand. “I… need it for school.”

He heard Tim’s footsteps come closer. “You need towels for school?”

Bentley huffed, feeling pretty dumb. “I’m gonna have to take showers.”

Tim’s footsteps got even closer, and after a second when Bentley didn't turn around (lest Tim see the grossness on the towels), he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Bentley snapped, turning to glare at Tim before he got his wits about him and realized that was rude. (He was on a freaking roll wasn’t he?) 

He sighed at himself, at life, at everything, turning and continuing down the stairs. Unsurprisingly, he heard Tim’s footsteps echoing at the same time as his own. 

“I’m pretty sure a super mega rich school like Redwood will have some towels,” Tim said from behind him. “Do you even know how to use the washer?”

No, he freaking didn’t, just another thing to add to the list of stuff that was currently making Bentley mad.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned at the bottom of the stairs and went toward the laundry room.

“Bentley,” Tim said again, and when Bentley didn’t stop, he sped up. “Bentley, hey, stop.”

Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around so they were face to face, his icy eyes bouncing around on the towels, and then on Bentley. “You got sick?”

“No,” Bentley replied, jerking his shoulder out of Tim’s hand. “Just leave me alone.”

“So then you spilled a bunch of soup in your room at four thirty in the morning? There aren't a bunch of cover story options here,” Tim suggested, and instead of replying, Bentley turned and continued down the hall to the very dark end where the laundry room was. Blinking. Breathing. Ignoring the fact that he was starting to hear water in the pipes. (Tim’s footsteps kept following him, despite his valiant efforts at willing them away.)

“Bentley, just stop. Stop for a second,” Tim suggested. Bentley didn’t stop until he made it to the laundry room and dropped the gross towels in a basket, cringing at them.

He turned back to Tim with a defeated look on his face, crossing his arms over his chest. He only looked at him for a moment — the front of Tim’s black hair was hanging down toward his icy eyes that somehow looked shiny and dull and young and old and tired and awake all at once. Bentley was almost as tall as him now — maybe only a head shorter. He sighed lightly, looking down at the cold tile beneath his socks.

(This was so embarrassing.)

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tim questioned, shifting his weight to one side.

Bentley sighed heavily, again. What was the use in trying to hide it if Tim already knew?

He drew a line on the floor with his toes. “I did. Get sick,” He mumbled sheepishly, nearly inaudibly. “And I’m so mad about it. Mad that I can’t be normal, that I’m always terrified about everything that isn’t even actually scary. And now you know, and then Bruce is going to know, and then everyone’s going to know Bentley was so freaked out about school that he freaking puked in the floor-“

“Hey,”

“-I feel so dumb and stupid all of the time around everybody and all this anxiety just makes it worse and worse. Like I’m some kind of baby. And I’m not a baby, but I really freaking feel like it. And now I’m just mad, and I don’t want to be mad, I just want to be asleep, but no, can’t do that, my body’s going to make me puke instead like some puny little kid. I hate being terrified every time something big is happening. It’s all stupid and irrational and dumb but I can never stop thinking-“

Tim stepped forward and hugged him, very suddenly, which halted Bentley mid-sentence.

For a moment, he just kind of blinked.

Okay, so, yeah, this wasn’t very Tim-like behavior. But it was… well, it was kind of nice, so Bentley decided to let it slide.

“I just want to be done feeling like this,” He muttered, sounding awfully young, finally bringing his arms up and hugging him back. “How did you stop feeling like this?”

He felt Tim’s hand move, resting on the back of his head. “I didn’t.”

“Hmm?” Bentley hummed.

“Wanna know why I wasn’t asleep?” Tim questioned. “Because I have a presentation tomorrow afternoon in front of some very important investors. Couldn’t sleep. I thought about it the whole time we were watching Kung Fu Panda, too.”

Bentley snickered lightly. “I guess we’re gonna have to watch that some other time then, huh?”

Tim snickered. “Guess so.”

For a moment, they just stood there. 

“Just so you know, anxiety doesn’t just go away. And you’re not failing or backsliding because you have it. That’s something I had to work through when I was your age, too,” 

Bentley exhaled, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder. “It feels like I am. Failing; backsliding.”

“You’re not. You’re not letting it change your decisions, no matter how anxious you are — and that is very important. I’m proud of you for it,” Tim explained, rubbing his back lightly with one hand. “When it starts going wrong is when you start letting it dictate your decisions.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay…” (He was pretty sure that, besides the pep talk, Tim was also working to put him to sleep. Because he was suddenly pretty tired and this hug wasn’t exactly keeping him awake.)

Oh, well. He’d done it to Tim before, too.

Tim patted his back with a snicker. “We should probably go to bed before the sun comes up.”

“Probably,”

Tim pulled away from the embrace and smiled lightly at him. “You can come to my room, if you want. Might be good for us both.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay.”

The two of them began to venture back toward the stairs.

“And Bentley?”

“Hm?”

Tim smiled. “It'd probably be in your best interest if you stopped getting more and more like me.”

(He never put the towels in the washer.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld ❤️

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[cdelphiki]

A Rock in a Weary Place excerpt

I haven't done a WIP Wednesday in forever. It's almost Wednesday so here we go. A Rock in a Weary Place is part two of my Clark-adopts-Billy AU and I am so excited about it. I've finally gotten some good work done on it, but since it's a long one-shot (I don't actually know how long, but I wouldn't be shocked if it exceeds 10k) it'll be a while before its done. So here's an excerpt!!!! Of course any and all of this can change between now and posting the final.

-

Clark felt… lost.

For as long as he’d been planning and scheming on how to get Billy Batson off the streets, he hadn’t fully realized what taking a kid into his home would fully entail.

Because, for all the talk about how he’d be more like a roommate to Billy… he also realized that he couldn’t be just a roommate.

He was the adult. He had to be— the adult. And Billy was the kid. Clark was providing for Billy, and that was that.

Which meant, Clark had to cook food.

A lot.

He’d never really cooked before, when it was just him. He ordered food, usually. Or just ate something microwavable. Ma would be upset, if she knew that.

But she didn’t know, so she couldn’t be upset.

If she found out he fed Billy, a “growing boy,” primarily greasy take out and cheap microwave dinners… Well Clark wasn’t sure he’d find a place on Earth safe from her wrath. And since he was Martha Kent’s son, he did know how to cook.

So that’s what he did.

A lot now.

Breakfast and dinner every day, and lunch on the weekends too. Although there had only been one weekend with Billy, so far. Five days in total.

How did five short days feel like an eternity?

“Smallville,” Lois nearly sang, “Yoohoo, hello? Is anyone home?”

Clark looked up from his laptop screen and smiled sheepishly at Lois, where she was leaning over his desk almost between him and his computer. He’d been zoning out a lot recently. “Sorry Lois,” he said, “what did you say?”

“What is up with you,” she exasperated, sitting back down into her chair, across their back-to-back desks from him, “you’re so…. distracted lately!”

“Oh nothing,” Clark said, as he leaned back in his chair, trying his best to give her his undivided attention, “just a lot on my mind.”

“Such as…” she prodded, leaning forward further into his personal space. When Clark didn’t reply other than to offer another sheepish smile, she let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Okay fine, I’ve got a new story for us. You won’t believe it, but there’s competition for Superman.”

“What?” Clark asked.

Lois grinned.“You know that guy from Fawcett? Captain Marvel? He’s been spotted in Metropolis this week.”

Clark resisted a laugh. He had known that, of course. “Really?” he asked anyway.

“Yes, and this morning, you’ll never believe it,” Lois said, as she went ahead and fully sat up on his desk, her arms moving all over the place as she spoke, “I was walking from the garage when this kid walked right out into the road without looking, and Captain Marvel swooped in and grabbed him before he got hit by a car. It was incredible! And I got to see Captain Marvel close up.”

“Did you now?” Clark asked with a grin.

“Yes, and let me tell you, he’s handsome. Superman has some real competition there.”

Clark… wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Billy was just a child. A ten-year-old boy. But Clark couldn’t tell Lois that. How would Clark even know that?

He just hoped he never had to have that conversation with Billy, either. Adults shouldn’t be looking at him as if he were an adult.

But.

That was a concern, wasn’t it? Billy had said so himself. Sometimes he wasn’t a kid. Half the time, Billy was an adult. In form, at least.

They definitely would have to have a conversation, wouldn’t they?

Clark… Clark had no idea how to go about that.

“We should do some scouting this evening. Listen to the police scanner and see if we can catch Captain Marvel, just like we used to do with Superman, remember?”

He nodded absently. That had always been… interesting. Having to come up with excuse after excuse to slip away for a moment, all while Lois was trying her best to see Superman.

No matter how fun that had been, he couldn’t do that again. Because. He had to go home and feed Billy.

Also, Billy probably wouldn’t go out and about that time, anyway. He usually did his work during the daylight, and stayed in at night. Clark hadn’t seen him out at night much at all, not even before he came to live in Metropolis.

“Smallville,” Lois snapped, “Clark. Tonight. Scouting. What do you say?”

Clark looked back at her and tried to look regretful as he said, “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t?” she exclaimed, scowling hard, “Why not?”

“I have plans,” he said simply.

Because he did. Feed the kid.

“Plans with who,” she demanded, “You haven’t been available all week!”

He spluttered and held his two hands up in surrender. “It’s not like that. I’m just busy. Besides, has Captain Marvel been seen after dark much anyway?”

Lois narrowed her eyes, but then sat back as she clearly thought it over, then muttered, “Hm. I wonder if he gets his strength from the sun or something.”

“Hey, maybe,” he said, as he pushed his chair back and stood up. He shut his laptop and slipped it into his bag before he grabbed his coat and said, “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk more about this new hero tomorrow.”

He felt mildly bad he’d blown her off three times already. He’d only had Billy for five days, and three of those days he’s had to blow Lois off.

They used to spend almost all day together, weekends to. Clark already missed that…

“Yeah, yeah,” Lois said, as she slid off his desk and returned to hers, “go do whatever. Tomorrow we’re scouting for Captain Marvel, Kent, don’t forget it.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA

so me (enby 18) and my mother (f60) were going to an event at my college. over the years, it's felt as such my mother has had to get herself involved in my life in school. sometimes it's been good with bullying situations, but not so good when she was calling the counselor about how i didn't make the top ten at my school and how it was deliberate on their parts (tldr bunch of bad blood with school - corrupt fucks in southern us). so with me starting college, i was finally hoping that i could get some independence on my own, even if i'm not living on campus for money reasons (broke pls i want scholarships so bad). like maybe i could do things without her involvement, maybe i could use my pronouns and name (not violently transphobic but does not approve and does not know of, only friends online that she also doesn't know about and few irl), maybe i don't have to restrain from acting as myself.

except she is still getting involved, she's called the dining people about my meal plans and even called one of my professors to ask about what kind of laptop i would need if i got a new one, note i have one but it's a few years old.

with this event (god i went off topic but yall need some context on this and i don't feel like i'm giving NEARLY enough) we said that mom could go in and check in and she could go hang out somewhere else. that she doesnt have to stay. i thought that was the plan.

then we go in there and she's not. and i'm a bit embarrased since i'm one of the few people with their parent there so i'm standing away from her while trying to figure out how to tell her i don't want her in here (due to the whole repression thing, just immediate discomfort and pressure with her here)

then after a few minutes i talk to her and try to do it softly with that she doesnt have to stay but she got it that i was telling her to leave. then she left, discomfort away but guilt set in. spent the rest of the hour and half i spent there trying not to feel guilty and not feel worried when i come back.

THEN i come back and she's not upset but you know the vibes are fucking off. and i'm trying to get her to just be upset with me and tell me how she's feeling by asking her, but she is just not.

then later i finally manage to get her to open up and she says how i put her in a bad situation there and made both of us look bad (okay that i admit). said i didn't talk to her about this beforehand (which i'm pretty sure we did) and how i left her with nothing to do while i was there (made me feel worse and guiltier than before). said she wasn't mad (even though she is clearly not acting like herself, wouldn't even face me when i came in to talk to her) but chalked it up to immaturity and not being good with socialness (neurodivergent + hermit)

i get how i could of handled the situation better, but AITA for wanting to have anything to myself? (sorry for the essay)

What are these acronyms?