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dreamesamu · 11 months ago

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THE THINGS HE TAKES FOR GRANTED

in which he takes a moment to justify himself after never noticing your little crush for him

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader

genre(s): angst to fluff, (super, like-) long scenario

warning(s): none, i think so? except for clueless keiji and not proof-reading

author’s note: akaashi is just a major green flag in this (every haikyu!! boy is 😭) i feel too bad to write them red-flag-y.

choose your character: m. atsumu | k. akaashi

you’ve known akaashi for quite some time, starting from your last year of fukurodani academy and then serendipity brought you both ended up being each other’s classmate at a same college/university. bokuto kotaro was your best friend, the little owl introduced his favorite setter to you and the friendship of three gradually become established, and as if it can not be any more inevitably, you eventually developed a secret admiration for the pretty setter when you three have been closed enough. however, graduating separated ways, kotaro pursued his journey to become professional in volleyball while keiji, once said to you he wanted a place in the literature department.

truth be told, even if you promised each other you would still keep in touch and plan every weekend friend group meeting online or offline, you’ve never expect you would share every class in higher education life with your crush, the akaashi keiji. the great thing is you both are paired up for an presentation assignment in the major you and him pursue, you do have plenty of time to stay close and grab his attention from making gestures that he usually failed to realizes.

here you are again, happily humming your favourite song while carrying a box wrapped with a small detailed towel, some big rolls of assignment paper stuck underneath your arm as you make your way back to where you both planned to finish the project - the library.

“keiji, i’m back!” you set your things respectively on the table, and akaashi nods with a smile on his face in acknowledgement.

“oookay, so here’s your today’s snack, I hope you’ll like it” you grin, tapping on the box before pushing it to his side as he receives it and casually opens it while speaking.

“hmm? are those sketches of our poster? you can always edit them on the computer, why the effort?” he chuckled softly before completely unwrapping the bento box.

“I’m not good at designing and stuff. I may draw as I like and you’ll be the one to edit it on the computer.” you puff your cheek out, hands resting on hips as you watch his reaction to your delicately decorated sweets in the box made for him.

“this looks amazing.” he smiles upon seeing the pastries you made, decorated beautifully with different kinds of fruit as each pastry has different flavours, you probably did not stay up so late last night just to make all kinds of flavours for him to show how much you like him. yeah, probably not.

"oh, it's nothing, I just hope it doesn't taste bad" you chuckle nervously while scratching the back of your neck, letting his praise send you up to cloud nine.

your actions falter when you see akaashi put back the box's cap on, set it aside as he leans over to reach the posters you drew.

"now then, can we start working on the project?" he spreads out the piece of paper, glancing at you as you stand there awkwardly, prefer him taking a bite to look through all of your efforts than just shrugging it off and go straight to the main part of your study session.

"what...? oh- um..." you trail off, a bit embarrassed. "wouldn't you like to try one out? it won't hurt to just have a taste of it..."

"maybe later, y/n. we have other things need to be done right now." he merely states, eyes study the poster in front of him, unknowingly sinking your heart.

"yes, right." you shift slightly, taking the sit by the opposite of him, trying to catch up with him on the progress.

you let your mind wanders off how many times you've lost count already while akaashi quietly focused on scribbling something in his notebook, every thoughts you have are always about keiji, your feelings and the stare you give him thinking it's discreet. what's stopping him from trying my tarts out? and how does he feel being around me? or is that his way of rejecting something without making that person feel bad? flooded your mind.

"y/n?" you realize his faint voice ringing somewhere "y/n..." the voice becomes clearer. "earth to y/n, you're staring." awh, snap. right.

you blink, startled before clearing your throat, mumbling a small apology as you try to get yourself busy with the work underneath you once again.

but akaashi just chuckles, his voice calm and reassuring.

"hey, you seem off today. it's lunch break, please make yourself comfortable." you fumble at his words, it's noon already? as he collects his books and tidy it up at one corner of the table before speaking again.

"yuri satsuki is inviting me to have lunch with her. would you like to also join? i think she wouldn't mind." he kindly offers, probably not knowing the words struck you shocked.

you know satsuki-senpai, she's a year older than you and has been a social butterfly ever since you set foot in student life. she is a nice person, you conceived, but not until you found out that she has a huge crush on your akaashi keiji, her behaviour in your eyes became somewhat annoying. in return, she did realize she had a rival to win over him, you acknowledge that through the smug look she gave every time akaashi was around her instead of you, that is how the tension gradually builds up between you and your pain-in-the-ass rival.

and now she's even invited keiji for lunch? you feel an uncomfortable twist in your belly, screaming that if you do not take further actions, you lose akaashi to her. but his way of discarding your hard work, also known as an attempt to get his attention earlier discourages you hastily. this comes to a realization: ever since he start hanging out with satsuki-senpai, he has never touched one of your cooks once.

"no, i'm fine staying here. you go" you force a smile waving him goodbye. he hesitates upon seeing the downward trend of your mood as well as the strange attitude every time he brings up yuri.

"what are you waiting for?" you scoff, trying your best to make it sound not so bitterly. he nods quietly before ruffles your hair, thoughtfully remind you to get something to eat before start working again, and he'll be back with you soon.

you groan for the nth time in thirty minutes since his last leave, deciding not to eat anything at all after you laugh bitterly to yourself seeing the bento box laid cold by his stuffs which corrects your thoughts that he is not going to appreciate what you did for him.

the chair scraped the floor when you stand up, attempting to compose yourself when you feel your brain need a break from overthinking such situations.

on the way out of the library, your eyes meet yuri satsuki's, assuming that keiji is just somewhere around here as his lunch break partner is the person you least excited to bump into.

"well, well. isn't that the girl whose best friend choose to hang out with me instead of her?"

excuse me?

"don't get too ahead of yourself, satsuki-senpai. just a friendly reminder" your tone evidently irritated as you flash her an unamused smile, trying to avoid her as soon as possible.

but the radio scene of her voice replayed all over your head, your mind goes muddy despite the fresh air you're trying to take in, you let out a shaky breath, tears brimming out.

maybe, he doesn't quite noticed the things I did for him after all...

---

"you're back. where were you?" akaashi worried tone surprises you after a quite fine time of trying to find you because your study desk in the library was empty.

"i was... out for fresh air. why?" your voice is off and he noticed that. he always knew when something is bothering you, and right now he definitely know that something is wrong.

"after i finished my lunch i got yours, 'cause i know when i'm back you would still hadn't eaten anything." his brows slightly furrow seeing your avoiding attitude.

"thanks, keiji." you said briefly, take the package from his hand and sit down on your seat, never forget to notice the pastry box still intact.

your strange attitude didn't just stop there, it confuses akaashi for a more couple of days of your avoidance, he dislike the way you put a small distance between you both in study sessions, you flinch and tense around him more often, your answers and conversations are brief and sometimes awkward as you seem to be more preoccupied and attentive rather than to communicate with him.

"good morning, y/n." he smiles, your state has been bothering him for days as he is paying attention to your fade grin and a small "hey" as a greet back.

then he fumbles. something is missing...

oh. but then, realization sets in him quite quickly: you didn't bring any homemade sweets today.

"y/n..." he hesitates, meeting your eyes as you lift your head up from the notebook you're scribbling on. "does your home perhaps... out of ingredients or something?"

you are stunned for a moment, knowing exactly what he was trying to imply, scared to look at him directly in the eye as you shift your gaze elsewhere, pretending to have forgotten.

"oh... you mean the pastries... I forgot to do it. I was busy yesterday"

lies. he see through it, you know that, but you can't just blurt it all out that you're heartbreaking because of his indirect rejection that never says he doesn't like you, but makes you feel like it did.

"hey... i know something is wrong, can you tell me what it is?"

there it is - the worried look on such handsome face that never fails to make your heart flutter. but you know, that is just his nature of being an attentive and thoughtful person, not just for only you, but for everyone in his orbit.

so his question remained unanswered.

akaashi has been extremely distracted due to the sudden lack of your affection on him. it's just doesn't feel the same. even if he refuses it but deep down, he misses your midday snacks, your bubbly laugh around him and that flushed cheeks you wear every time he caught you staring. it has been a whole week since, and the fact that you didn't join the friend group video call with bokuto last sunday was his last straw.

he misses you, dearly. and if he doesn't do anything now before your project is finished, he might find it difficult to approach you even when you are his best friend.

and then, on an another lovely morning in the college's campus, an emotion he thinks he's aware of stirring in his stomach at the scene of you handing out a bento box wrapped with the same detailed towel, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as the other boy laughs lightly, scratches his neck, sending regards with a polite bow before making his way back in the classroom, akaashi doesn't like what his eyes have witnessed, so when he met yours, the bitterful look sends shivers down your spine.

you turn away, begin to walk, you do not want to deal with your bothered heart right now, not if it has anything to do with him, with that thought, you choose to neglect it because it is just your one-sided feelings for him.

but you hear footsteps behind, next is a small "wait" escaped from his lips when he managed to catch up and hold gently on your arm. that stopped you midtrack.

"please. can we talk?" he pleads.

---

you find yourself trapped by his presence in a corner of the school's library. there's no point in avoiding now.

"i'm sorry." he states. "i like you, i should've known."

your eyes widen. why- all of a sudden?

akaashi glances at you, softly sighs before bring your hand up to his face and kiss your knuckles gently.

"i understand now, i was clueless, you have the very right to be mad at me." each sentences he speaks crack your heart, but at the same time, they give you hope.

you neither know how to react, nor what to say, you just stand there, completely speechless, it encourages him to continue his speech of pursuing you.

"the last time i went to have lunch with satsuki, she confessed to me." he stopped, watching your expression. "but i turned her down, then, she got angry and started to brag about you. i did not like what she said, so i got quite defensive and... that was when i realised."

"i didn't know when it started. i just knew that i didn't feel very comfortable seeing you bringing your pastries that was meant for me to someone else, and more it's because i didn't appreciate it."

he squeezes your hand, afraid if not, you'll slip from his grip and become somebody else's apple. he certainly dislikes the thought.

"i want your pastries back, i love them as much as i love you. please let me correct such a terrible mistake."

---

"yes, hello. i've received the box, thank you, my love."

akaashi spins his office chair slightly, softly speaking to the phone stuck between his cheek and shoulder with a smile while unwrapping a huge warm box of freshly baked tarts.

"keiji, bad news, i'm out of powdered sugar after that batch." your voice echoed on output, he chuckles.

"are you free after work? we can visit the supermarket to purchase some. i'll drive, consider this a date with me, 'mkay?"

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aakeysmash · 7 months ago

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cw: toxic relationship. sukuna x f!reader. angst. suggestive. no happy ending. unedited because i can't be bothered.

it’s been years since you last heard his name.

it happens randomly. it's cold outside, your breath forming little clouds near your mouth, making you look like a smoker. you're walking inside a cafè after a long day, trying to warm up your hands and face, when, suddenly, you hear it.

a couple just exited from the door you were about to enter in. you don’t know why you stop to look at them, but you do. they're a bit awkward, averting their gazes, and you don't think the cold is the reason why their cheeks are reddening. fingers fidgeting, mouth gaping before closing suddenly.

"i had a really nice day," murmurs the girl. one of her hands is scratching her ear, the other beside her mouth to warm it up. "wanna do it again?"

"i work tomorrow," responds the guy. a wince. a glance to her lips. a subtle half step to get closer to her.

"oh," her face falls. she retreats on herself.

“but we can still see each other,” he rushes out.

a hopeful look. another subtle half step, from her this time. "where do you work?"

"sukuna's corporations, you know, down the street?"

sukuna. your eyes widen. your breath stops. a chill runs down your spine.

the outlines of the couple and of the café blur. suddenly, you're thrown back in time. you see your face in front of you, but you look weird. younger. innocent.

you’re ten. books are all scattered around you, a big red imprint of a hand on your cheek. your mother is high, tumbling over her words and tripping over her feet, screaming at you in the library. everyone is watching, but you don’t shed a tear. you’re so used to this. security comes, just like last week, and the one before that. a boy a little older than you pushes your mother away, offers you a hand to get up from the floor. you notice him: smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, pink hair, black inked bands on his outstretched wrist, probably done by himself without any parental agreement. let’s get you out of here. i’m sukuna.

the scene changes. you’re sixteen. your left ear is bleeding, but a hand reaches out to dab a cotton piece on it. a whisper. an attempt to comfort you from behind you. you try to turn around but you seem to be unable to. it's okay, baby, you look so much hotter like this, i promise. his voice is all around you. condescending, like he always was. more mature than the last scene, almost as if he developed. he’s eighteen, of course he developed.

the scene changes again. you’re outside of a club, he’s coughing blood. he just got out of a fight, you think. you’re crouching to give him a napkin, your hand on his back to reassure him. he grins up at you, red staining his usually pearly white teeth. your breath gets caught again. did his eyes always look so void? i love you, baby, you know that, don’t you? a lie. a smile. a kiss that tastes like iron.

then, the scenes in front of your eyes blur, like a massive sped up version of your last decade.

a cat on the street, you scratching its furry chin, looking up at the man behind you. it reminds me of you when it purrs, sukuna. a bored look. your smile dropping. a fake smirk, his fake kiss on your cheek. you're so cute, i love it. another lie.

his first car, you in the passenger seat, his hand on your thigh, a song playing in the background. i feel like this is our song, baby. a laugh. a kiss. you two fucking in said car, his breath on your ear, your moans in his. never cum like this for anyone else, do you understand? a nod. i love you, sukuna. he doesn't answer.

him moving in with you, buying you flowers every monday, because you told him you love flowers. you're everything, sukuna. tongues swirling. one of his hands grabbing your left boob. i'll always care about you, baby. a bite on your neck. insincere words floating too high for you to see them.

drinking coffee on a snowy morning, him working on his computer, getting snappy when you ask what he's doing for the third time. i'll be big some day. not like you. your gasp. his indifference.

you and him on a jog, him forgetting you’re there, flirting with a girl that passes by. your hurt look. a sorry, whispered on your lips with a flower behind your ear ten minutes later. i only have eyes for you. your faith in him. his averting gaze.

a man groping your ass. his fist colliding with the man's jaw. never touch my fucking girl again. happiness on your face. his arm draped over your shoulder. him massaging your calfs when you get home. you're mine only. forever. don't forget that. his kisses. his possessive hold on your hips when you sink on his cock.

him wiping your tears. him making you cry. him making you laugh about something stupid on his phone. more tears. love letters on your kitchen counter, signed with his name. glasses rimmed with lipstick in the sink, but you don't own that color. messy sheets after you fuck like animals on his birthday. the house empty on yours. his things gone. no texts. no calls. no signs that tell you he's been living inside your house, your head, your heart for 15 years. your fingers frantically pressing his phone number on your keypad for a month straight, going to voicemail. can you come home? did i do something wrong? please, sukuna, i'll be better. i'll never complain about anything ever again. i promise. just come back to me. you're all i want... you're all i have. i'll be whoever you want. whatever you want. please.

your gaze focuses on the café in front of you again. the couple isn't there anymore, and it makes you wonder how much time you spent out here, freezing. it looks like he made it, at the end. you ignore the poster with his company's name near the street you came from.

it happens randomly.

you put your feet one after the other, entering the café.

randomly.

#cw toxic relationship #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk angst #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x oc #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen angst

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zkaus · 1 year ago

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At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #the vampire lestat #louis de pointe du lac #interview #tw: sucidal thoughts #mental health #writing

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ceyanabbiolo · 1 month ago

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CONTRACT // C.S [15]

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

Warnings: kissing.

wc: 5734

Chapter 15: I Wanna Be Close To You

It had been a week since we left Greece, but the ease of that quiet escape still clung to me like the scent of saltwater on my skin. Back in the city, everything moved faster—emails stacked up, meetings ran long, and the winter chill had fully settled in, sharp and unforgiving.

The glass walls of my office overlooked a steel-gray skyline, the clouds thick and heavy as if mirroring the pressure inside this building. I sat behind my desk, a blazer tossed over the armchair hours ago, sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping mindlessly against a closed file.

Work demanded my attention, but my mind refused to stay here.

A soft knock at the door pulled me back to the present.

“Come in,” I said, expecting one of my assistants with another update I didn’t ask for.

But it wasn’t an assistant. It was my fiancé.

Aurora stepped inside, her presence so effortless, so grounding, that I felt the breath I didn’t know I was holding ease from my chest. Her hair was half-tucked into the collar of her coat, cheeks flushed from the wind, and she had two warm drinks in her hands.

“I figured you might still be alive in here,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she closed the door behind her.

I stood slowly. “Barely. This place doesn’t exactly inspire rest.”

“Good thing I brought reinforcements,” she said, holding up the drinks.

She crossed the room and placed one on my desk before sliding her arms around my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was because she belonged here, with me, in this life.

“I missed you today,” I murmured, dipping my head so my lips brushed the top of her hair.

“You saw me this morning,” she laughed softly into my chest.

“I know,” I said, eyes closing for a moment. “Still.”

I pulled away from her reluctantly, already feeling the loss of her warmth as I moved back to my desk. But the moment was over, and work was still calling. I couldn’t ignore the pile of documents and emails that needed my attention.

Aurora settled onto the couch by the window with her drink, her legs tucked beneath her. I couldn’t help but glance over now and then. She always managed to make even the simplest moments feel easy, and there was something so calming about her presence. She picked up a magazine from the table and started flipping through it, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I buried myself in paperwork again, but the sound of her gentle humming reached my ears, and I felt my focus slip.

“What are you doing over there?” I asked, still facing my computer, my voice curious.

She glanced up, grinning. “Just browsing.”

“Browsing for what?” I asked, turning around to see her staring at her phone now, tapping through something. “You seem pretty into it.”

Aurora made a small, almost embarrassed noise. “I’m looking for photographers.”

“Photographers?” I raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

Before she could answer, the door swung open without a knock. I knew that sound.

Matt strolled in, acting like he hadn’t just interrupted the one peaceful hour I’d had all week. Papers under one arm, coffee in the other.

“Traffic was hell,” he said casually, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “And I stopped at that French bakery you like. You’re welcome.”

“Appreciated,” I muttered. “But next time, knock.”

Aurora giggled softly from the couch, and I immediately forgot Matt existed. I turned back to her. “Sorry, baby, you were saying?”

Aurora smiled softly but seemed unfazed by Matt’s sudden appearance. “I need a photographer for my fashion show,” she said, her voice calm and determined. “It’s next month, and I want to make sure it’s perfect.”

Matt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned against the doorframe, clearly interested now. “You need a photographer, huh? I know someone who could be perfect for it,” he said, coming to sit on one of my chairs.

Aurora’s gaze shifted to Matt, curious. “Really? Who?”

“I’ve worked with her before—she’s good, and she’s got an eye for design,” Matt said, a grin creeping onto his face. “I can get you in touch with her.”

I shot Matt a smug look, I knew this girl he was talking about. I didn’t question him at the moment, though.

Aurora thought for a moment before nodding. “That sounds great. Thanks, Matt.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t just come here to steal my fiancée’s creative team.”

Matt gave me a look.

Matt held up the folder with a lazy grin. “I’m here for the shareholder agreement. You know why I’m here, you just forgot.”

Right. I did forget. I’d been too wrapped up in everything else lately—Aurora, work, Greece... her in Greece.

Aurora sat up straighter on the couch. “Wait—wait, what?” she blinked. “You’re becoming a shareholder?”

Matt gave her a half shrug. “Yeah. Started the process a while ago.”

Her brows shot up. “Whoa, that’s huge.”

“Wait, I thought you were a model?” she added after a few seconds.

He smirked. “I mean, I still model here and there—but I’ve been focusing on some other projects.”

“Like?” she pressed, clearly intrigued now.

“A car line,” he said, looking back over at me. “The one with Porsche. We’re launching something next year”.

Aurora blinked again, her surprise still all over her face. “Okay, I didn’t expect that. Good for you, though.”

Matt gave a small smile, the cocky kind only he could pull off without being annoying. “Thanks, Aurora.”

The two of them moved to the small table across from my desk, where the documents were spread out. Aurora helped him stay organized—because, let’s be honest, Matt could get distracted by a paperclip if left alone too long. For the next half hour, they went over contracts, signatures, and a few financial overviews that I only glanced at. I was still on my laptop, answering emails while half-listening to their banter.

Eventually, Matt stood, stretching his arms and yawning like he’d just run a marathon instead of signing papers.

“Alright, I’m out. Call me if you want to test drive that Porsche prototype,” he said with a wink to Aurora, who just rolled her eyes.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the office quieted again. Aurora stood and dusted her jeans off.

“I should head home,” she said softly, walking toward my desk. “I have some editing to finish—and I want to sketch out a few more designs before I lose the idea.”

I turned in my chair to face her fully. “You sure you don’t want to just hang out here a little longer? Be bored with me while I stare at spreadsheets?”

She leaned down and kissed me, her hands on either side of my face. “You’ll be working for a while, and I’m just going to end up distracting you.”

I smirked. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“Chris,” she said in that voice—the one that was half stern, half teasing.

“Fine,” I muttered, standing up and kissing her again, slower this time. “Text me when you get there.”

She smiled up at me. “Always.”

I watched her leave, then went back to my screen, sighing at the list of tasks still waiting. I barely made it through two emails when my office phone lit up.

It was Victor, from building security.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Mr. Sturniolo, you’re gonna want to come down to the security room,” he said. His voice was low, clipped. Seriously. “We’ve got an update… on the money trail connected to your uncle.”

I sat up straighter. “What kind of update?”

“Location. Some movements flagged the system. It’s coming from a property registered under an alias. Looks like a warehouse or office on the edge of this like…sketchy part of Boston.”

My heart dropped.

“I’ll be right there,” I said, already leaving the room.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual, the hum of the floors passing only making my thoughts louder. My jaw clenched as I stepped into the dimly lit security office. Victor was already there, standing in front of a bank of monitors, his arms crossed and face unreadable.

He turned when he heard the door shut. “Thanks for coming down so fast.”

“What’d you find?” I asked, moving beside him.

He pointed to one of the main screens, then tapped a few keys. A paused feed appeared: a blurry image of a dark brick building with rusted metal siding and a barely legible sign that said Fenwood Storage & Freight. The timestamp was from earlier this morning.

“This place popped up after a flagged transaction was traced here,” Victor explained. “One of your uncle’s shell accounts made a deposit two nights ago. Small enough to fly under the radar, but consistent with previous laundering patterns.”

I narrowed my eyes at the grainy footage. “Where is this?”

“Just outside Dorchester. Pretty run-down industrial area. Mostly storage units and shipping companies. Half of them are probably empty or abandoned.”

I exhaled sharply, my fingers dragging through my hair. “Have we confirmed the properties linked to him?”

Victor nodded. “Not directly. It’s under an alias—J.R. Management—but the account that paid for it ties back to a business your uncle once listed as a silent partner on. It’s all buried in layers of fake owners, but we’re peeling it back.”

“Damn,” I muttered.

This was more than breadcrumbs—it was a full trail.

“I’ll send someone out to do a quiet sweep,” Victor added. “Unmarked, no alerting anyone. But I figured you’d want to know first.”

“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Good.”

For a moment, I just stared at the screen. I didn’t like not knowing how deep this ran, or how long it had been going on under my nose. If this place really was connected to Michael… it might be our first solid shot at exposing everything.

Victor shifted beside me. “You want me to notify the board or wait until we’ve got more?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Let me handle it.”

As I left the room, my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket—Aurora. A simple home safe text with a little white heart. My chest softened for a moment.

I liked her message and put my phone away.

I didn’t wait. I didn’t even tell anyone I was going.

By afternoon, I was behind the wheel. The further I drove, the more the polished buildings turned into cracked sidewalks and rusted-out signage. The kind of place people forgot existed just outside Boston’s heart.

I pulled up to a storage unit, or what was left of it. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched in a decade. The lot was half-filled with busted crates and rusted containers, some tagged up, some just rotting. A chain-link fence surrounded the building, the padlock half-broken.

I parked along the side and got out, keeping my hood up and my jacket zipped. My footsteps echoed against the concrete as I approached a side entrance, the door slightly ajar like someone had forgotten to lock it, or wanted it that way.

Inside, it smelled like mold and oil.

I walked slowly through the dusty corridors, my phone ready in my pocket just in case. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, and shipping containers lined the back half of the warehouse. What caught my eye was the small side room with a cracked window and a faint light on.

I opened the door.

A desk. A laptop. A receipt printer was still warm, and a stack of papers was shoved into an old filing cabinet with a sticky note that read JR Transports—Q4 Accounts. The names didn’t matter—but the account numbers did.

I recognized one of them.

It was one of the accounts I’d flagged two months ago—the ones I thought had just been outdated corporate ghosts.

This place wasn’t abandoned.

It was very much active, and Michael had kept it quiet until now.

I snapped a few photos with my phone, heart pounding in my ears, then backed out of the room, careful not to touch anything else. If I stayed longer, I’d risk being seen—or worse, tipping someone off.

Back in the car, I sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, staring at the cracked windshield of the warehouse office.

Uncle Michael wasn’t just laundering money. He was using one of my company’s shell accounts to do it. Quiet. Strategic. Hidden in plain sight.

This wasn’t just betrayal.

This was war.

I started the engine and peeled away from the lot, the warehouse growing smaller in the rearview. My jaw clenched as I reached for my phone, ready to call Victor.

If this was the first layer, I needed to know how deep it went before it got worse, but that was a problem for my security team.

I stepped through the door, the familiar scent of home grounding me for a moment. It had been a long day—longer than most. The drive back from that sketchy part of Boston was quiet, but my mind hadn’t stopped racing since I left the security office. There were too many unanswered questions, and I hated not having control.

I loosened the buttons at the top of my shirt and set my keys down on the counter.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the TV. Netflix was still running — some movie playing quietly in the background. And there, curled up on the couch like she didn’t have a care in the world, was Aurora. Sound asleep.

Her head rested against the throw pillow, one leg tucked under the other, hair slightly messy, and lips parted just a little. She had a blanket half-on, half-slipped off her legs, the remote loosely in her hand, like she was trying to stay awake.

I paused in the doorway, something in me settling just looking at her. I didn’t want to wake her. She looked peaceful. She deserved that peace.

Quietly, I walked over to the linen basket and grabbed the big cream blanket she always liked. I unfolded it gently, then leaned down and draped it over her. She shifted a little, murmured something under her breath, but didn’t wake.

I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, just lightly enough so I wouldn’t disturb her, then straightened up. My chest felt tight. Not in a painful way. Just... full. The weight of the day mixed with the softness of this moment, and I didn’t know where to put it all.

I needed air.

I stepped onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind me. The city stretched in every direction, lights twinkling like everything was fine. But it wasn’t. Not for me.

I pulled a cigarette from the pack in the drawer we kept by the grill and lit it, letting the first drag burn in my lungs before exhaling slowly. I didn’t smoke often now, only when I was extremely stressed.

Michael. Money laundering. Secrets. I hated this. Hated that there were things I couldn’t tell her yet. Hated that the people closest to me were the ones stabbing me in the back.

By the time the cigarette burned down to the filter, the night air had cooled my nerves just enough. I flicked the stub into the ashtray and stepped back inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind me with a soft thud.

Aurora was still out cold, curled up like she hadn’t moved an inch. I gave her one last glance before heading into the kitchen. I grabbed a cold can of Pepsi from the fridge, cracked it open, and took a long sip — the carbonation biting just enough to keep me grounded.

I made my way toward my home office, needing to clear my head before tomorrow’s meetings. The moment I sat down behind my desk, a knock echoed at the door. I glanced at the time. Almost 8 PM.

“Aurora?” I called, assuming she’d finally woken up.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t her. Ana stood there, her expression unreadable, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said gently, “but there’s someone downstairs in the lobby asking to see you.”

My jaw tightened. “Who?”

“Thomas Devereaux.”

The name hit like a weight in my gut. Of course. The one person I didn’t want to see tonight.

“Tell him to leave,” I said flatly, turning slightly in my chair. “I don’t want him here.”

“Security already tried,” she said carefully. “He’s... refusing. Said it’s important.”

I let out a slow breath, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen.

“Let him up,” I muttered finally. “Might as well get it over with.”

Ana gave a small nod and quietly stepped out.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping from the can again, jaw tense. I didn’t know what the hell he wanted this late, but I wasn’t naïve. It wouldn’t be good.

A soft ding echoed through the apartment.

I stood and walked toward the front of the penthouse, just as the private elevator doors slid open.

Thomas Devereaux stepped out like he owned the place — pressed suit, slicked-back hair, that same calm, entitled air he always carried. I didn’t offer a handshake. Just turned.

“This way,” I said, voice clipped, leading him toward my office.

I stepped into my office, the quiet click of my shoes against the hardwood floor echoing in the space. The second Thomas crossed the threshold behind me, a knot formed in my chest. My mind immediately flashed to the last time he stood in this very room — to the sound of his voice raised, to the way Aurora’s face crumpled just seconds after he struck her.

My jaw clenched instinctively. I hadn’t forgotten. I never would.

I stayed standing, hands tucked into the pockets of my sweats, posture rigid.

“What do you want, Thomas?” I asked, keeping my tone even but firm.

He took his time, slowly wandering toward one of the chairs across from my desk like this was some casual drop-in, like he hadn’t crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. His presence alone made my skin crawl.

“I heard you and my daughter went on a little vacation,” he said, settling into the seat with a smug smile. “Greece, wasn’t it? How... romantic.”

I didn’t sit. I didn’t smile. I leaned against the edge of my desk, arms folded across my chest, staring him down.

“Cut the bullshit,” I said coolly. “You didn’t show up here unannounced to talk about Aurora’s vacation.”

His smile faded slightly, but he kept his composure. That was the thing about Thomas — always polished, always pretending he was three steps ahead, even when the ground was cracking beneath his feet.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t.”

“Then get to the point,” I snapped. “Because the last time you were in this office, you acted like an asshole, and I haven’t forgotten.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn’t flinch.

“That was... an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“No,” I cut in sharply, “it was fucking abuse and you’re lucky she asked me not to press charges.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the tension thick between us. My hands were balled into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to stay steady.

“So, again,” I said, voice low. “What do you want, Thomas?”

I didn’t move from where I stood, my arms crossed tightly across my chest. The tension in the room was thick, like a storm just waiting to crack.

Thomas leaned back in the chair across from me, legs crossed like he owned the place. Like he hadn’t disrespected everything and everyone that mattered to me.

“I’m here to make amends,” he said finally, his tone calm, rehearsed — too polished.

I didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, waiting.

“I know things… got out of hand,” he continued. “What happened here, It wasn’t right. I was angry. I let things escalate, but I’ve had time to think.”

I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head once. “You hit your daughter and then acted like it didn’t matter.”

His jaw twitched, but he held his fake composure. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You don’t get points for admitting it, Thomas,” I said, my voice sharp now. “You think coming here and saying a few careful words is going to undo shit? You’ve hit her for years. So don’t fucking tell me your sorry”

He raised his hand slightly, like he wanted to ease the tension. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I know I have a long way to go. I just thought… Maybe it was time I started. And I figured the first step was coming to you. Man to man.”

“Man to man?” I echoed with a dry laugh. “You laid your hands on Aurora. I don't think we’re anywhere near ‘man to man.’”

His expression stiffened. For the first time, the cracks showed.

“I love my daughter, Chris.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I muttered.

Thomas looked up at me and blinked.

“What?” I spat.

Thomas looked up at me and blinked slowly, like he was watching me closely, measuring every breath I took.

Then he said, calm as ever, “Do you love my daughter, Chris?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

I stared at him for a second, caught off guard — not by the question itself, but by the nerve of him asking it. After everything he’d done, after the way he treated her. He had no right to ask me that.

But still, my jaw tightened.

“I care about her,” I said firmly.

Thomas tilted his head slightly. “That’s not what I asked.”

I let out a low breath, jaw still clenched. “Love isn’t something you say, just to say it,” I replied, voice low. “It’s what I do. I’m here. I show up. I protect her, even when it’s from you.”

His expression shifted — not surprise, not regret. More like irritation veiled behind politeness. “So you’re saying you don’t love her.”

“I’m saying I’m not going to stand here and spell it out for a man who hit her,” I snapped. “I don’t owe you that.”

For the first time, Thomas didn’t have something smug ready. He just stared, lips pressed into a tight line.

“She trusts you,” he said finally. “That’s… rare for her.”

I leaned forward a little, voice razor sharp now. “Yeah, and you broke that trust when she needed it most. You’re lucky she even speaks to you.”

It was clear I resented Thomas. He knew it too.

Thomas stood up slowly, smoothing down the front of his expensive coat. “Maybe I am. But I’m still her father.”

I stood too, taller, my voice calm but solid. “And I’m the one who’s going to marry her.”

His eyes flicked to mine — there it was, that brief flash of resentment. Then he masked it again.

I let out a sharp breath, jaw clenched as I stepped back toward my desk. “You’ve said whatever you needed to say. Now get out.”

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and gave me a slight, smug smile. “Alright,” he said, turning toward the door. “But just remember, whether you like me or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re marrying my daughter, Chris. That makes me family.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. The thought alone made my stomach twist.

He opened the office door—and right there, standing just outside, was Aurora.

She looked surprised, almost frozen, like she hadn’t expected to see him.

Thomas’s expression shifted in an instant. “Aurora,” he greeted smoothly, voice warm, familiar—too familiar. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Aurora blinked. “Hi… Dad,” she said quietly, her voice cautious, uncertain.

His smile widened. “Did you have a nice vacation? I heard Greece is lovely this time of year.”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It was.”

“You look well,” he said, his tone too casual, too forced. “Busy with your fashion show, I imagine?”

“Yeah… I’ve been working on it,” she said slowly, eyes flickering between him and me, clearly trying to read the tension in the air.

Thomas gave a small nod, then turned to me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Take care of her.”

He walked past her, brushing her shoulder ever so slightly as he exited. I watched Aurora’s face shift—confusion, unease, that flicker of old wounds resurfacing.

I crossed the room and gently touched her arm. “You okay?”

She nodded slowly, still staring at the now-empty doorway. “What was he doing here?”

My jaw tightened again. “Trying to play nice.”

Aurora didn’t respond right away. She just leaned slightly into me, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Because I knew, deep down, both of us were thinking the same thing: Thomas Devereaux never just “played nice.”

“Did you smoke today?” she asked, gently pulling back, her nose scrunching just a little.

I glanced down at her. “Yeah? Why?”

She hesitated. “Oh… I thought it was my dad. He always reeks of cigarettes—tries to cover it up with cologne, but it never works.”

I nodded slowly. I remembered how much she hated that smell. Without saying a word, I shifted back, putting a little space between us. Her nose twitched again, and I could tell she noticed.

She looked up, her voice quieter now. “You don’t have to move away.”

Almost under my breath. “I don’t want you flinching every time I’m near.”

“I like hugging you though”.

I kept my chin resting against her head, arms loosely wrapped around her waist, when I murmured, “Have you eaten yet?”

Aurora pulled back just enough to look up at me, her expression soft. “No, not yet.”

I gave her a look. “You’ve been home since noon and didn’t eat?”

She shrugged with a guilty little smile. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier…But I am now.”

“Alright,” I said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s go out. You wanna get dinner?”

Her eyes lit up a bit, and she nodded. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Good. Go get ready, baby.”

She turned toward her room, and I headed to mine. I didn’t waste time—showered fast, got the smoke off me, and changed into something clean. I wasn’t about to sit across from her at dinner smelling like her worst memories.

Twenty minutes later, we were in the car, Aurora in the passenger seat, humming quietly to a song playing on the radio. She looked relaxed, her fingers tapping along to the beat on her knee.

“Where are we going?” she asked, glancing over at me.

“You’ll see,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Is this one of your surprise places again? Because last time you took me to a steakhouse even though I said I wasn’t in the mood for meat.”

I laughed under my breath. “No, don’t worry”.

I pulled into a quiet side street and parked in front of a warm, cozy Turkish restaurant tucked between a bakery and a flower shop. Soft golden lighting spilled from the windows, and the scent of grilled spices drifted into the night air as we stepped out.

Aurora paused, then turned to look at the sign. “Wait… this is that Turkish place you said you’d never try.”

I smirked. “Yeah, well, I’ve watched you order Turkish food often a week for months. Figured you’d like this place.”

She blinked, a slow smile forming. “You remembered?”

I just chuckld, softly.

Her smile widened as we stepped into the restaurant. She didn’t say anything, but the way she leaned into me just a little more said enough.

The inside was pretty packed, but we found a booth at the far back, away from everyone.

The restaurant was bustling, the warm lighting and soft chatter wrapping the space in a cozy atmosphere. We managed to find a booth tucked in the far corner, away from the noise and close enough to the windows to catch a bit of the streetlight outside.

Aurora carefully studied the menu, pointing things out to me and giving her honest reviews—what to avoid, what was worth trying. I didn’t bother picking for myself. I just let her decide. She knew what she was doing.

Once we ordered, we sat back and waited. She looked at me with that familiar little smile, the one that made everything else fade for a moment.

“I swear, you always know when I need to get out of the house,” she said, her voice soft but amused.

I leaned back, eyes still on her. “To be fair, I needed it too. But if I don’t say anything, you’ll go all day and forget to eat.”

She laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… that’s true.”

The food arrived not long after—steaming plates of Turkish manti, chargrilled kebabs, and warm, buttery flatbread. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach growl.

I took my first bite of the manti, then glanced over at Aurora. “Okay,” I said, pointing at my plate with my fork. “This? This is really good.”

She grinned, already halfway through a skewer of lamb. “Told you.”

“I might need to come here without you next time.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I chuckled, then caught her watching me. Her fork had stopped mid-air, and she was just… staring.

“What?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

She shrugged, smiling gently. “Nothing. I’m just…really happy.”

My hand paused on the table, and I tilted my head slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

She shrugged, smiling softly.

“I don’t know…I mean, I have good food, good company…it feels calm. Like my heart isn’t racing for once. I think I feel at peace for the first time in a while.”

My chest tightened a little, but in a good way. I didn’t say anything right away—just watched her for a moment, the soft restaurant lighting catching in her eyes.

I cleared my throat and smirked. “Well, not everyone agrees I’m good company. You might want to keep that to yourself.”

She laughed quietly, leaning back in her seat. “That’s their loss.”

I continued to watch her eat, wondering how the hell I had convinced this woman that I was some sort of sweetheart, when no one else except my mother, would describe me as such. Though even my mom only said it cause she was my mom, I doubt she mean it.

When we got back to the penthouse, the place was still and quiet, the kind of calm that only settles in late at night. Aurora looked drained, her steps slower, her voice soft as she murmured something about changing before disappearing into her room.

I slipped off my clothes, leaving just my boxers, and sank into bed. The weight of the day pressed into the mattress with me. I stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the silence wrap around me, until I heard the soft creak of my bedroom door.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her—fresh out of the shower, skin dewy from her skincare routine, her long hair braided over one shoulder. She wore one of her usual nightdresses, simple but elegant, the kind she always wore to bed. Familiar. Comforting.

She stepped into the room with a teasing smile. “Put some pants on, sir,” she said lightly, her tone playful as her eyes flicked down at me.

I didn’t bother moving, still lying out against the pillows. Instead, I reached out my hand toward her and gently tugged her down, pulling her into my chest like muscle memory. Her body fit perfectly against mine, warm and soft, and I held her there without saying a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Our bodies rested against each other, comfortably entangled in the quiet of the night. With Aurora, it was never about needing anything physical—just having her close was enough. The warmth of her skin against mine felt like something sacred, like her place had always been right there, beside me.

I ran my fingers through her braid, gently unraveling a few strands just so I could twist them around my fingers. It was something I always found myself doing when she was near—soft, absentminded, tender. There was a kind of peace that only came with her. A kind of closeness that made everything else fade.

Aurora shifted beside me, settling into the space between us until we were facing each other, just inches apart. Her eyes flicked down to my lips before meeting my gaze again, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

“Hi,” she whispered, almost shyly.

“Hi,” I murmured back, closing the short distance between us.

Her lips were just like I remembered—soft, warm, a little hesitant at first. Kissing her always felt like pressing pause on the world.

“You know,” she said gently, pulling back just enough to speak, “you were my first kiss.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”

She giggled at my reaction, biting her lip. “Yeah… that day in my studio. When you kissed me. That was my first.”

A strange weight pressed down on my chest—guilt, maybe. The memory of how I’d handled things after that kiss came rushing back, the way I shut her out, told her it was a mistake, when all it did was scare me.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

Her brows drew together. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I didn’t know. If I had… I wouldn’t have acted like that. I wouldn’t have been so cold.”

She reached for my hand, her touch light. “It’s alright… it was a different time. We were different then.”

If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be this invested in a woman, I’d have called them crazy. Especially if they said she was Thomas Devereaux’s daughter. Here I am, holding Aurora close like she’s my whole world—like protecting her is all that matters. In this moment, I understood that I wasn’t the same man I used to be. Not anymore.

“What have you done to me?” I teased softly, brushing her hair with my fingers.

I waited for a response, but none came. Looking down, I saw her eyes gently closed, her breathing calm and even.

A smile tugged at my lips as I carefully tucked us both in, placing one last kiss on her forehead.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: who's telling Aurora she ain't going to be at peace for long. Also, who got the trope hint to the Matt fic, tee hee. Thank you for reading, everyone. Your comments motivate me. Like and reblog. mwah] –Ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @mattsfrenchtoast @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @emeraldsturns @mattscore @chriss-slutt @chrissturniolodailysluts @pip4444chris @oopsiedaisydeer @y3sterdaysproblem @sagesturns @prettyingreen4chris @ilovenicksturniolosblog

(To be added to the taglist, comment on this post, or message my inbox.)

#ceyanabbiolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #fanfic

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dragonmarquise · 1 year ago

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How to Deal with Windows 10/11 Nonsense

This is more for my own reference to keep all of this on one post. But hopefully others will find this useful too! So yeah, as the title says, this is a to organize links and resources related to handling/removing nonsense from Windows 10 and Windows 11. Especially bloatware and stuff like that Copilot AI thing.

First and foremost, there's O&O Software's ShutUp10++ (an antispy tool that help give you more control over Windows settings) and App Buster (helps remove bloatware and manage applications). I've used these myself for Windows 10 and they work great, and the developers have stated that these should work with Windows 11 too!

10AppsManager is another bloatware/app management tool, though at the moment it seems to only work on Windows 10.

Winaero Tweaker, similar to ShupUp10++ in that it gives you more control over Windows to disable some of the more annoying settings, such as disabling web search from the taskbar/start menu and disabling ads/tips/suggestions in different parts of the OS. I think ShupUp10++ covers the same options as this one, but I'm not entirely sure.

OpenShell, helps simplify the Start Menu and make it look more like the classic start menu from older versions of Windows. Should work with both 10 and 11 according to the readme.

Notes on how to remove that one horrible AI spying snapshots feature that's being rolled out on Windows 11 right now.

Article on how to remove Copilot (an AI assistant) from Windows 11. (Edit 11/20/2024) Plus a post with notes on how to remove it from Windows 10 too, since apparently it's not just limited to 11 now.

Win11Debloat, a simple script that can be used to automatically remove pretty much all of the bullshit from both 10 and 11, though a lot of its features are focused on fixing Windows 11 in particular (hence the name). Also has options you can set to pick and choose what changes you want!

Article on how to set up Windows 11 with a local account on a new computer, instead of having to log in with a Microsoft account. To me, this is especially important because I much prefer having a local account than let Microsoft have access to my stuff via a cloud account. Also note this article and this article for more or less the same process.

I will add to this as I find more resources. I'm hoping to avoid Windows 11 for as long as possible, and I've already been used the O&O apps to keep Windows 10 trimmed down and controlled. But if all else fails and I have to use Windows 11 on a new computer, then I plan to be as prepared as possible.

Edit 11/1/2024: Two extra things I wanted to add onto here.

A recommended Linux distro for people who want to use Linux instead of Windows.

How to run a Windows app on Linux, using Wine. Note that this will not work for every app out there, though a lot of people out there are working on testing different apps and figuring out how to get them to work in Wine.

The main app I use to help with my art (specifically for 3D models to make references when I need it) is Windows only. If I could get it to work on Linux, it would give me no reason to use Windows outside of my work computer tbh (which is a company laptop anyways).

#Microsoft #Windows #Windows 10 #Windows 11 #computers #general resources #computer resources

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kivino · 8 months ago

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PROBLEM I || HIGURUMA HIROMI X COWORKER!READER

sum. You have quite a crush on your coworker, but don’t know how to approach it. The opportunity to do something presents itself when you both get invited for drinks after not-so-voluntary overtime.

tags. Suggestive themes, so MDNI; Canon divergent; Higuruma and reader work at a law firm; Japanese work culture is a warning in itself; Reader is a foreigner in Japan but it’s a little glazed over; fluff; cigarettes; alcohol consumption, obviously; Higuruma is a lightweight and a dork, I stand by that.

w.c. 3.4-ish

a.n. I’ve been having this Higuruma itch that needed a scratch (save me overworked lawyer disappointed in the justice system, save me), so I wrote this little fic! Plus forced myself to omit all the Japanese honorifics used cause apparently you kids find it cringe (/lh). Enjoy, and please, reblog/leave a comment, I really want to know what you all think and if I should continue writing for JJK. I’m planning to make a part two for this, so stay tuned!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You feel completely lost. Not even lost, abandoned by your consciousness. And not in the tall pillars of paperwork on your desk, that threatened to fall over with a single blow of air from the AC blasting over your desk, as you should be. No-no-no, you’re lost in Hiromi’s deep, almost pitch-black eyes, so mesmerizing that you felt like you were falling right into their endless, warm void. Well, you were not supposed to be calling him Hiromi, it was Higuruma for you. “For now.” – you encouraged yourself. You’ll get there with him. Eventually.

It only occasionally occurs to you that you were behaving like a dreamy-eyed middle-schooler…again. All that development of your frontal lobe goes right smack-dab into the trash when you notice those tired eyes stop on you for a split second as Higuruma gives you a polite nod with his lips twitching upwards, almost attempting a smile. Even in spite of the sheer exhaustion he is exuding all around.

You don’t even have to look at him to notice how tired the man is – when you come into work, fifteen minutes earlier, just like everyone else in your firm, you see him sitting in his chair already, reading endless police reports, typing away on his computer, arranging for meetings with witnesses or clients. Even when you are heading for the elevator, calling out “Good job today” to the last people left in the office, hurrying for your last train home – Hiromi is glued to his visibly uncomfortable chair, his head almost bumping into keyboard as he wrestled with the sleep clouding his eyes. And even if you don’t see him around his desk – he is probably out somewhere, hounding for evidence on the case.

Or in the smoking room. God, after you realize where Hiromi spends at least thirty minutes a day, you consider picking up smoking just to have an excuse to get to know him better. He’s definitely a bad influence on you.

But how can he not be? You physically can’t stop yourself from staring at him when you see him through the glass door of the smoking room, leaned on the wall, droopy half-lidded eyes looking up at the ceiling, dark long lashes pretty as a picture. You can’t help but imagine these puffy eyes tearing up or rolling into the back of his head along with his mouth falling open in a delicious silent plea; or looking down on you with mad fixation that would make liquid heat pool between your thighs.

And you won’t even get started on his nose. The graceful arch of it, the perfect angle to…You stop before you stray too far, instead letting your mind wander to those beautiful eyes once more, intense and overwhelming, picturing desire clouding them until there is nothing but scorching fire burning up your skin, accompanied by Hiromi’s soft sighs, raspy whines or gentle praise, with those incredible voice cracks he would develop when he was oh-so-exhausted after a long day… you wonder how he would sound, as you grasp and store away in your memory each time your name is called by Higuruma.

Your eyes find your coworker once again at his desk, his deft hands are typing something out on the computer. You can see the way Hiromi’s fingers move, and your thoughts immediately settle on the image of them gently running over your thigh, hooking at the belt loops just to pull you into his warm, frail, charmingly pathetic form. You сan practically melt into a puddle, when your mind gets to his warm, large palms settling on your hips, setting electric currents running right to you brain, when the object of your fantasies suddenly catches your eyes on him. You can feel your heartbeat fall down somewhere to your feet – you’ve been caught! But before you can see how Higuruma reacts…

“Ah, Shimizu! Well done today!” you say with a polite nod to your coworker who emerges right in front of your desk, visibly ready to go home after yet another day’s grueling overtime – cute, mindful bag in her hand, work costume wrinkled after hours of sitting in one place; interrupting your session of staring at your higher-up. Which is probably for the best, you think. You are new compared to everyone else, you are supposed to be working twice as harder, not dedicating your time to undressing the poor, exhausted Higuruma with your eyes. All of a sudden, you feel shame burn at your cheeks. Just a tiny little bit.

“Oh, not at all, you’re too kind!” Shimizu denies the praise with the dismissive wave of her hand, but you can see that she’s just being polite because you don’t know each other too well. “Yet” – You add in your mind. You’ll be accepted here, you just need a little time. “How are you settling in? Everyone’s nice to our cute kouhai I hope?”

“Oh, yes! Everyone’s very kind! I’m looking forward to working and getting along with everyone in the future!” You say and add another small bow for emphasis – even though you are already hired it was instrumental to make the right impression on your coworkers.

“That’s great to hear! About that actually…” You tense up for a moment, already running millions of possible scenarios through your mind. Did someone write you up or complain? That would be very typical for what you were used to here – no direct confrontation with you, instead an anonymous complaint made to HR and you’re out of here faster than you can apologize. Or maybe it’s a complaint from Higuruma himself, fed up with being stared at like he was a piece of meat, by “the foreigner” of the firm no less. You can feel your legs shake under a flimsy desk. “We’re going out for drinks! You’re going, right?”

Okay, false alarm. You are prepared for something like this. Shimizu was obviously putting you in a position where you’re not supposed to decline…But you were so tired, and the workload this week was just horrible, along with all the hours of overtime you did-

“Oh, and Higuruma’s going too.”

Come to think of it, you actually feel pretty energized and ready to go. You don’t catch the cheeky smile Shimizu sends over her shoulder to the previously mentioned man, and the most precious, thankful look he gives her in response.

“I-I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...” you mutter, trying your hardest not to seem as desperate as you are in actuality, to have an opportunity to finally get to know Hiromi somewhere outside work. This work crush has been driving you up the wall for too long, might as well start acting on it, if it’s here to stay. Maybe you’ll get to be friends with Hiromi, and that will resolve your yearning for him. It always dissipates when the person you desire is right by your side.

However, you don’t get an opportunity for a one-on-one with Higuruma that you hoped for until much later in the night. You caught stray looks from him multiple times, but each time Hiromi met your eyes he would look away in an instant, with his neck turning so hard you were half-sure you could hear it crack. It felt pretty discouraging, looking at him silently pour the drinks down the hatch from the other side of the table, without even attempting to talk to you, while others were trying their best to make you feel welcome. Hiromi just made you so…confused.

So, you decide to step out for a moment, lost in your thoughts. Lo and behold, there is the man of the hour himself, leaned up against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. You are surprised at how he can stand up straight, after all these drinks he consumed without eating anything (and you’re pretty sure you didn’t see him eat lunch either), but you just settle on the fact that Hiromi might just be like that – a mystery to you. His face is barely illuminated by the low light pouring out of the windows of the izakaya, a slight flush on his tan cheeks making your mind travel places.

“Can I have one?” You blurt out, before you can stop yourself. Oh, this is so stupid. You can feel your face heat up, and not even a gentle autumn breeze is able to cool you down at the moment. Oh, you were so about to screw up all of this. Nevertheless, you slowly approach him, as Hiromi’s head slowly turns to you and you can see a corner of his mouth twitch when he registers it’s you speaking. Huh. Interesting.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Hiromi mumbles, taking a pack out of his pocket, clumsy fingers struggling to pull out a cigarette for you. Well, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you smoke, since you only did that if you were drunk or stressed out. “I never saw you in the smoking room. Though, saw you pass by. Quite a lot.” Higuruma continues rambling, his head tilted forwards, eyes unsure and watery, staring up from under his eyebrows, focused solely on you. You can practically feel yourself getting hypnotized by the absolutely charming puppy dog eyes Hiromi is giving you, to the point of not noticing the man offering you the cig you just asked for a couple of seconds ago.

“Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged.” You chuckle, not finding anything better to say, as you gently take what you’re offered. The silence falls over both of you, as your lips squeeze the “cancer stick” between them, Higuruma now fumbles to find a lighter. Well, it’s your chance to talk, but you, sadly, find yourself lost for words.

Hiromi, much like yourself, cannot find the courage to speak up, as his eyes keep trailing back to your face, now more stunning than ever, surrounded by the blue air of the night instead of synthetic fluorescent lights of the office that rarely do justice to your beauty. He definitely overdid it with the liquid courage. Now he can’t muster up a thought to strike up a conversation with you. And it was supposed to be a chance for him to get to know you better, in an informal way. Way to go, you absolute nutjob.

“You seem to be a very hard worker, Higuruma. I thought you’d stay for overtime instead of going out for drinks.” You finally say what’s on your mind, when you see Hiromi can’t seem to find the lighter he’s been looking for, for the past minute, maybe.

“Well, first I was staying so long because of work, and now it’s because of you.” Hiromi blurts out with his eyes looking right at you. When the man finally realizes what he just said, his eyes are immediately drawn downwards, avoiding yours.

“What?” You look at him, for a moment thinking that your hearing gave up on you. Higuruma didn’t just say what you heard him say, right?

“What?” Hiromi’s tone is neutral and even calm, but behind it he was panicking. Why in the hell did he just say that?! He definitely weirded you out and now everything will fall apart, all thanks to his absolute inability to handle his liquor better. “I mean, you need someone to look at while you work, right? Might as well be me.” What was he talking about? If you weren’t standing right in front of him, so perfect and beautiful in the dim lights, with your hair exquisitely disheveled, and his eyes getting drawn to your figure in all the right places, his hands would definitely fly up to his face in exasperation at his sheer stupidity.

“You’re funny.” You finally chuckle out in a hushed tone, like you were saying something absolutely scandalous, and not just bashfully stating your opinion.

“No, I’m just drunk.” He states rather bluntly, and you’re taken aback for a moment. “I’m actually a lightweight. Without...” Higuruma makes a vague gesture with his hand, which you take as him referring to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his blood at the moment. “…I’d be too scared to talk to you.”

“Huh? Why would you be scared to talk to me?” You respond with yet another breathy laugh, feeling an incredibly strong surge of confidence, hearing that the whole time this grown man was scared of approaching you – polite and shy newbie, deeply infatuated with…everything about him. Which, Hiromi was so luckily and obviously unaware of.

“You’re just…” The unintentional pause is much shorter than it feels like, as a sudden hiccup interrupts his heartfelt confession. “Very…gorgeous. But uh…in a professional sense.” You can hear an uneven crack in Higuruma’s voice, and if for someone else it would’ve been a turn-off, you can already feel how breathing suddenly becomes a thing you need to be aware of. “Or whatever.”

“Or whatever?” You echo, with an amused smile tugging at your lips, as an idea dawns on you out of the blue. “Higuruma, could you…” you trail off, immediately bringing his attention to whatever you were about to ask of him. Oh, he was ready to do anything you’d ask. Jump? With pleasure. Drop down to his knees? Gladly. Kiss you? Please.

He freezes in place, as you lean closer to him, a surge of previously known, but supressed feelings rising with a tremble in his chest. The end of your cigarette touches a little burning cherry at the end of his, your eyes slowly drift up to his own, producing an incomprehensible, fiery spark when your gazes meet. Higuruma almost thinks the ground disappeared from under his feet right that moment, because in little less than a second of staring into your eyes like that, alluring, precious gemstones pulling him in with a siren’s song, he’s falling. Hard.

Hiromi’s face doesn’t hide even a sliver of what he’s experiencing at the moment, as he looks at you in awe, half-way sure that his heart is about to burst in a million of pieces while you’re lighting your cigarette with his. He wishes this moment would go on forever. He wished you’d reach out to him, throw out the damn cigarettes, close the miniscule distance that felt like kilometres and kiss him, so hard he’d surely loose his mind for you completely.

The seconds feel like hours, electricity and warmth bouncing inside of him, while cold air blows on his skin, failing to cool him down from the mad high he was experiencing just from your presence, so distant and at the same time, close.

“Thanks.” You mutter a short response, tactfully making a point not to mention the way his face got even redder (which you didn’t think was possible, yet here you are). Your lips wrap around the cigarette, inhaling the smoke, the slight hit of nicotine dulling your senses for a moment making you flutter your eyelashes in pleasure.

“You’re always…a problem.” He responds, quietly, and you arch your brow at his strange response. Higuruma immediately looks horrified as it dawns on him just what exactly he said in his…rather unsuccessful attempt to articulate his thoughts, as you mumble out an unsure “excuse me?”. Hiromi’s hands fly up to meet his face, exasperated sigh leaving his lips. Why did he always had to be…like this? He was confident and easily able to keep a cool head in the courtroom, faced with people representing and facing justice. Why, why was he losing face in front of you of all people? It was frankly frustrating, and he…

“Ha-ha-ha…I am, aren’t I?” You return playfully, seeing the sheer distress on Hiromi’s face and deciding to play off his probably unintentional slip-up as a joke. He didn’t, couldn’t mean what he said, right? He was always friendly (even if a little distant, but who weren’t like that to new, unfamiliar people, right?), polite…Unless?

“No! No! That’s not what I was trying to say…” Hiromi immediately corrects himself, a little too eager to fix the mistake he’s sure might cost him your precious attention at the moment. He can’t lose it. He absolutely cannot wait until the next drinking party to get close to you. It already feels like too much - keeping himself in reigns, containing the burn that threatens that spill over from the mere gaze that felt too intimate for his drunk consciousness.

Well…not that you aren’t an actual problem. It’s hard to concentrate whenever you are in the room. Higuruma’s eyes would inevitably drift over to you, observing every motion of your form, desperate for any sliver of attention from you. Didn’t matter if it was a polite nod, a quick half-bow or a smile, he always felt a dull ache in his chest, because that was not enough to satiate the hunger for you, cramping up in his insides, making him feel like he was utterly starved. And he definitely was. For affection, for gentle touch, for a soothing hand and for tenderness that came with it. Yeah, you were definitely a problem. One that needed an immediate solution.

“I was trying to say that…you’re always welcome and it’s not a problem. At the same time.” He finally managed to mutter out, explaining himself. A smile grazes your lips at that, and he can’t help himself but think how he wants be graced by the beauty of that smile first thing when he wakes up the morning. That would make going to sleep at night so much easier.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t think I’m a problem then.” You say with a tiny laugh. Well, Hiromi didn’t exactly say that, but….

“Of course not. You’re…” Higuruma stops for a moment, before a sudden hiccup shakes his form. You stifle a chuckle from how cute for some reason it was, to hear a frown man hiccupping much like an overfed kitten. “Very hard-working. A good addition to the team.” He gives you a verdict with a nod, further solidifying his words. At that point, he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about, but that’s the first chance he ever got to talk to you informally, and by God, he’s going to make use of it. “If you ask me, you’ve got what it takes to be a great permanent addition.” To him, a sudden thought rushed through his mind, but he managed to keep his lips sealed.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Higuruma.” You say with another one of your pleasant smiles and nods to him, taking another drag of your cigarettes and blowing the smoke out to the side, blissfully unaware of how Hiromi’s droopy, desperate eyes fixated on the pout of your lips. You were truly thankful he had this opinion, but life-time contracts? Here? As a foreigner? It would be easier for you to get to the moon and back, than receive an offer like that.

“You know you can just call me Hiromi, right?” He almost whispered, not daring to meet your eyes after such a bold move on his part. You felt your heart leap inside your chest. If you weren’t right in front of the man, you’d start kicking your feet, giggling, then you’d scream in a pillow, run a couple of laps, high-five yourself and finally face-plant into the asphalt victoriously, but you were a responsible adult, so you had to keep those teenage-esque urges inside of yourself. Despite how much you wanted to let them out at times.

“Alright then…Hiromi.” You knew what you’re doing to him. You had to, right? Because how can your voice can get so alluring and sultry all of a sudden while saying his name? Why did you whisper it, rolling it around between your pretty lips, almost like you were tasting a candy? Higuruma was a goner, that’s for sure.

Higuruma can’t help, but look into your eyes, marvel at you smile and the way your eyes glimmer in the low lighting, how the perfect curve of your lips calls for him, and how your hips beg to rest his hands on them. In that moment he only can think with nothing but his heart, that keeps shoving the thought that rest like honey on his tongue.

He needs you. Utterly and completely.

“So…do you want to have another drink? On me, of course.”

Hiromi takes his shot, and he’s not going to miss it.

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #higuruma hiromi #hiromi jjk #hiromi x reader #higuruma x reader #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jujutsu kaisen higuruma

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mylasteverlution · 2 years ago

Text

Disco Elysium has a lot of fascinating fictional technology but I have been rotating the radiocomputer in my mind for months now. From what I can gather, they operate in a way very similar to modern cloud computing. It doesn't seem like the mainframes we interact with have any processing capability. Instead, they use antennas to process "on air":

SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER - "Alright, well... All radiocomputers perform operations up on air, so in order to gain more processing power you need to invest in a *good antenna*."

The only information we get about what "on air" really means is from the same conversation with Soona:

YOU - "Wait, what's 'on air'?" SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER - "On the *front*. The unified front of radiowaves, licensed and controlled by Lintel in the East-Insulindic region." SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER - "It's all around us," she waves her hand, "that's what 'on air' means."

The nonspecific language used here really invokes cloud computing to me. I think there are two main possibilities for how this could work, one being much more likely than the other.

The more likely answer is that information is sent to and from the in-game equivalent of data centers, which would host massive computers with processing capabilities. I'm not sure what their processors would look like, but they'd almost certainly be analog (the lost Feld tape computers are most likely the in-game equivalent of early digital computers).

The significantly less likely (but more interesting) answer is that in-game radio waves are somehow capable of processing information on their own. I have no idea how this would work, and as far as I know there's no real-world analog. But it's clear the world of Disco Elysium has some crazy things happening with radio waves (see how they interact with the pale), so I'm not ruling it out entirely.

The filament memories are like hard drives, but my guess is they would function more similarly to an optical disc (CDs, DVDs), which use patterns in the disc to encode information that's read using lasers or light. The filaments glow inside the mainframe, so it's not a huge leap to assume they're read using light.

The amount of thought put into radiocomputers is so fascinating. As far as I can tell, their version of the internet has been wireless from the get-go, which makes perfect sense! Antennas and other wireless radio technologies would have to be pretty damn powerful to communicate across and force dimensions on the pale. And you have to assume huge amounts of government money has gone into funding their research and development for those purposes. The technology of radiocomputers is so tailored to the world of Disco Elysium, and it's been a lot of fun trying to untangle how exactly they would work.

#i would loooove to hear other people's thoughts on this!! i tried to find conversations abt it and didn't come up with much #also if anyone wants me to elaborate on the feld tape computer thing lmk... its a long post so i didn't want to go into more detail #but i do have Thoughts about it #cyan.txt #disco elysium #disco elysium meta #soona the programmer

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ominous-faechild · 5 months ago

Note

Hey how do you do the color gradient thing for your dialog tags?

Assuming you mean these things, I've actually been meaning to make a guide of my own for a while lol.

For one, you can only do this on computer/the website of Tumblr! There's no option to select this stuff on the app.

STEP 1: CREATE A NEW DOC / GO TO SETTINGS

It opens a dropdown menu/whole screen full of options!

From there, select the "text editor" dropdown, which starts as displaying "rich text".

Select "HTML"

And it should change how the entire post looks!

STEP TWO: CHEAT

Yeeeeeaaaaah, so I use a website for this lol

I inserted my colors for faeries (#30853C) and Cloud (#6DC1B4) for my example of "these things" earlier. To make this easier, I most often have two windows open at a time while working on uploading my scripts to Tumblr.

To get colours to insert into the Text Colorizer website, you can use any kind of hex color picker or even this one website I've used to yoink "thematic" colors from photos!

Personally, I've developed a massive library of colors over time for this exact purpose lol. Using my old colors as a "base", I can change it accordingly to the kind of "new color" that I want for a specific character or thing!

(I'll use the website to also make gradients for "in-between" colors lol)

STEP 3: INSERT TEXT / DESIRED COLORS

To make Nova's gradient, I start with #A600D9, my color for Magic, and end with #F56745—their individual color. However, being as it's short, I'll use a quote from them instead lol.

Once you've inserted your text and colors, you will click in the text box I highlighted in red, ctrl+a and ctrl+c to copy it all, and go back over to your new tumblr post tab!

From there, you'll ctrl+v to paste the entirety into the HTML area, which pastes the code into your post!

AND VOILA!

You have gorgeous gradient text!

However, I want to give a fair warning and a bit of advice! If you didn't notice wayyyyyyy back when...

Tumblr warns that this all can break your formatting!

It doesn't do it too often, but take it from someone who does an obscene amount of formatting... it's 100% true.

STEP 4: CHEAT SOME MORE!

For this reason, I personally have a whole separate draft post full of my characters' colors (and names lol) that I use to copy-paste them in from rather than using the "html" text editor on every post!

I mentioned earlier I often have multiple windows open while editing? Here's what that looks like!

Additionally, I'll use a separate tab off on the left (my "current wip post" side) with the "html editor" enabled for me to copy-paste stuff!

(Also here's yet another example of how many colors I have)

Once again, you can ctrl+c these things to paste them into another tumblr post with the correct colors!

And it's ONLY possible to do on the website!!!

EXTRA INFO!

WARNING:

Tumblr will only allow each "paragraph's html to be so many characters long, so you can't have too big of anything in a gradient!

And by "anything"... I mean you really can't have that big of a gradient in general. RIP lol.

It straight-up won't save the post so long as you have that "overflow" in the character block! MAKE SURE YOU'VE FIXED IT, OR YOU CAN AND WILL LOSE ALL PROGRESS ON YOUR POST!

SINGLE-COLOR TIP:

You don't need the website for a single color! If you'd like, you can just change the "color code" within the html editor to change specific colors!

MAKE SURE COLORS CAN WORK ON DIFFERENT BACKGROUNDS!

On desktop, you can use shift+p while not on any sort of textbox to change the color pallet! I always do tests to see which colors work best before settling on any!

(Tho, the blue background SPECIFICALLY is nightmarish to work around. So if that's the ONLY thing I can't make work, I often ignore it and let you guys who use it suffer lmao)

(Hopefully this'll give you guys some respect for me and how much I do to make my posts aesthetic af lol)

Also hopefully this all helps???

divider by @cafekitsune

#the faechild speaks #asks #guide #aesthetic #tumblr guide #art guide #tumblr tutorial #gradient text

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kings-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Focus On Me

—————————————

Summery: NightOwl doesnt like the games you play

Fem-leaning reader x Nightowl

CW: possessive Nightowl, jealousy, and you getting your back broken like a glow stick ft. some pet names- both degrading and praising.

Word Count: 2,191 words

Note: IM REPOSTING THIS BUT IT WAS PRETTY POPULAR IM SORRY 18+ MDNI

—————————————

Nightowl…well..he isn't happy.

Not. One. Bit.

You two have been together for two years since the server and living together for one when he ran into a small problem.

You pay attention to these dating sims more than him.

To you this is exaggerative, since you spend quite literally every second with him when he is home with you between your jobs, but to him? This was mutiny!

Why was he upset thought?

Let me tell you, dear reader.

He had walked in, expecting your presence after a long day at work to kiss him as per routine- one he looked forward to, mind you- and you weren't here. It had been your day off and though he doesn't mind how you spend your time, he is getting increasingly pouty at the new hobby you have developed over the last couple of weeks- one that has him hearing you squeal and fawn over almost exclusively.

You got your hands onto some dating sims.

Now typically he can reign in the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue, usually being dispelled by cuddle sessions and kisses that make him feel like he was in cloud nine, but you haven't noticed the pouts, the dramatic, exasperated sighs, not even the childish whine of your name got your attention. What was a man to do?

When you finally grace your forlorn boyfriend your attention, you smile, your eyes lighting up as you turned your computer screen to him. On screen was a game you spent most of your days on, Andromeda Six, and you excitedly prattled on about a character he cant recall- not when you looked absolutely awestruck by the roguish good-looks of some blue-eyes assassin in the game. The green-eyed monster in him that was supposed to be kept back broke off its leash.

He will show you who deserves your attention more.

Nightowl stepped to you, unusually quiet, not that you noticed. Too sucked into your explanation, you didnt notice the dark look in his eyes, the set in his jaw and the furrow in his brow.

You didnt notice, that is, until his fingers brought your chin up, your cheeks flushing at the dark look in his eyes and he noticed when you rubbed your thighs together, a low chuckle on his lips. What happened to your boyfriend?

His fingers ran over your jaw and up to your hair, which he ran through before pulling you closer to him, lips brushing against yours.

Oh did you fuck up if ever. You liked it.

Your shaky breath landed on his lips, eyes going from his to his own lips and back, liking this side of him.

“You are mine- and I thought you knew I don't like to share.”

Before you could respond, his lips were pressed to yours, lips moving against his in slow movements. His hands dipped to your waist, a possessiveness in the way he grips you tightly, pulling you in close. He was always selfish with you- wanting your attention on him at all moments, and you were always willing to give it to him.

He backed you up, cornering you into the wall and pressing you against it, your hips pressed against the wall and your head falling back with a dulled thud, not that you minded. Not when your boyfriend’s hands felt so good against you, leaving a trail of goosebumps down your back.

He pulled back, panting against your lips as his brown eyes warmed you up, setting your cheeks red hot from the glint there.

He pulled you to your shared room, pulling at your shirt the entire time. As he backed you up against the door, he pulled you back into a searing kiss, hands wandering over your body. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the ways to get you weak and muddled in seconds, and today he wanted you desperate.

He opened the door and you two stumbled across the bedroom to your bed. The heat in the room was rising fast, yet the shudder when he pulled back felt cold without him there. He scooped you into his arms, gently tossing you onto the bed, in which he joined not even a minute later, straddling your waist and pushing up your shirt. His hands were warm tracing down your stomach, and the need knotting in your stomach is making you more than a little impatient.

Nightowl constantly complimented you, was never one to leave you without a kiss and a compliment coming off his lips, and even now his habit continued.

“You’re beautiful..” His brown eyes were softer, his voice a breathy whisper as he scanned over your face, his hands never stopping their traveling across your body.

You were a sight to behold to him- cheeks pink, eyes wide and glassy when he stared into them, body reactive to his warm touch- you were a dream come true to him. As his hands trailed lower, over your lower stomach and over where you needed him most, thighs squeezing his hand.

You were finding the feeling in your lower stomach was warming you, electric feelings shooting through you and stealing your breath. How could he manage to get you like this so easily? The way he stares at you, almost like you were nothing more than the tastiest dish he was ready to devour, and you were so into it.

Nightowl pushed off your shirt, licking over his teeth at the expanse of skin he was going to mark up, marring the skin with his teeth, his fingers, all to prove you were his.

His lips brushed along your jaw, the heat of his breath on you making you shiver, eyes fluttering shut as a noise left your throat, earning you a deep chuckle from him.

“That’s my good girl- go ahead. Let them hear.”

You are sure by now your thighs were soaked.

His lips pressed against the skin, sinking down to your neck, to which you felt the scrape of his teeth and you couldn't stop the stutter of your breath, caught by his ears. A smirk formed against you, teeth nipping against the expanse of your throat, small sucks and marks littering the unblemished canvas before him. His hands racked over your jeans, a trail blazing over you wherever his hands went, and you couldn’t focus on either, allowing yourself to press against him, desperate. You needed more, you needed him.

“Nightowl- please, don’t tease me like this.” Your voice was a hoarse whisper, one that was filled with need, and as he pulled back, he watched you with half-lidded eyes, raking over your flushed form.

“I don't know, princess. I will see if you really deserve it.”

He went back to leaving a trail of marks, undoing your bra and tossing it somewhere in the shared room, not thinking twice about it.

His lips went straight to your nipple, tongue lathering the bud and teeth grazing the skin, a hand cupping the other one, thumb running over it. Your breathing picked up, chest pressing up to him as your hands raked through his hair, pulling him as close as you could. When he pulled away, you whined, which pulled a wolfish smirk to his lips.

“Don’t worry, pet, I’ll make sure you feel good..after all, this body is all mine, right?”

The nod you gave him made him chuckle again.

He pulled back to take off his shirt, the dips of his chest making you lick over your lip, wanting to leave a few marks there yourself. You couldn't think anymore, however. Not when his fingers teased its way to unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down, your thighs clamping shut at the exposure. You felt shy, like it was your first time.

“No, no, my pretty pet..I don't think so.” He taunted, voice like silk as he parted your legs, kissing along your thigh. Your fingers twitched, at first lying uselessly at your side when he sat up, before finding its way back to his hair, your breathing ragged and pulling him closer, letting out heavy pants. He was teasing you, you were sure of it.

He pulled back to peel your underwear off, the cold air hitting your wet core making you shiver. You watched him as he looked over your naked form, his eyes dark in want and possessiveness, a look you usually never see in him, but one that had you wanting more of it.

He placed himself on his stomach, lips lining up and pressing them against you, causing you to suck in a breath. Your chest rose and fell with your pants, and they picked up as you felt his lips, his tongue pull out high whines and cries from your lips, each breathy as your hips pressed up to him, pulling him by his hair.

He let out a low groan, eyes closed as he ate you out, almost like he was a starving man and you were the very definition of ambrosia if he could ever describe one. He has spent many a time between your legs, enjoying your helpless cries as you got pushed further and further over the edge. He loved the feeling of your hands in his hair, the desperate rolls of your hips, the way you look so thrown into pleasure because of HIM. He made you like this- he had you begging with stuttered breaths and wanton cries, and he knows he could bring you over the edge over and over so easily. Not today however. Today he will show you how good he could make you feel.

You whined when he pulled away, hips twitching from how close he got you so fast. You could never deny he made you lose your breath so easily when he ate you out like that, how good he was with his tongue, and it has had you in the throws of pleasure so frequently.

He sat up, your hands running over his chest before stopping at his pants, quickly unbuttoning the last few layers that kept him from being bare in front of you, your hands shaking as you sat up and helped him out of the heavy material. He pushed down his briefs, kicking them off and pinning you down to the bed, his dark eyes looking over you.

“My pretty, good girl.” His voice, a husky whisper, had you clamping your thighs together, your breathing hitched. He had your attention and he knew it. He leaned to the side table, digging in it to grab a condom and some lube, and you used the time to run your eyes over him.

His hair was sticking up in some places, face glistening from where he ate you out. Your thighs rubbed together at the thought, and he noticed. His hand gripped your thigh, parting them as he slid between them and putting on the condom, a low hiss on his lips while he poured the lube in his hands and rubbed over his cock. He looked up at you, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips.

You threw a leg over his waist, pulling him closer and he laughed into your lips, a breathy sound before he pulled back and, with another peck, he sunk into your heat, a groan in his throat. You felt so good around him, the delicious warmth was making his head spin, and he needed more of you now. All his, all his to mark. To make pretty with glassy eyes and shaky fingers in his hair.

You moaned, head falling back as your fingers dug into the planes of his shoulders, scratching down over his back as he started a quick, brutal pace, and you would scream if you could breathe. You felt hot- too hot, but in the best way as you let out warbling moans, pulled so deep in that you couldn't hear the words Nightowl was saying, barely making out the words ‘mine’ and ‘belong to me’ but you wouldn't have it any other way. He was right- you are his and he knew it so well.

He went to finish up the marks he left on your throat, licking over a spot as he panted against the skin, teeth sinking into the skin and drawing light blood, marking you for him, for anyone who doesn't know that you're taken. They will know now.

You were squirming, the onslaught of pleasure too much, the punched out moans and the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes telling signs of your climax coming too soon, too quick, and as it rips through you, its just as powerful as his thrusts, his hand on your waist to keep you close. You blanked out for a second, mind reeling from the feeling, your hands gripping his sides.

He loved being the one to make you feel like this, and he wasn’t going to let you out of this room, determined to get you to respond like that again and again. And again. And again. After all…

You were all his.

#blooming panic nightowl #nightowl blooming panic #nightowl bloomic #blooming panic #bloomic #blooming panic x reader

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scribblue · 5 months ago

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@acksolotel618 Got inspired by this post and ended up using it as a writing prompt for a short scene with Zane and Garmadon!!

You can read it on Ao3 here , or after the cut

❆ A Lesson In Humanity ❆

Zane speaks to Garmadon about their shared history of being manipulated emperors.

{ 940 words, no major warnings }

"I was once like you."

The words landed heavily on Garmadon's shoulders, yet with further consideration he refused to believe they carried any real weight. Merely a vapid placation, or worse, outright mocking. He furrowed his brow. "You couldn't possibly understand me, metal man."

Zane stared back evenly. His eye contact was unwavering, unnatural. It felt as though he could see through Garmadon's very chemical makeup, and was intent on dissecting him down to his barest components like a hunk of biological technology. The nindroid stood on the catwalk connecting their underground base of operations to the elevator up to the monastery. The rest of the ninja had left to take a break, following a particularly intense—and unsuccessful— training session between Lloyd and Garmadon. Garmadon had to admit his surprise, if only internally, at the company he now found himself forcibly entertaining; Zane had never made an effort to speak to him one-on-one, and the cold shoulder was reciprocated.

"You are free to believe that, if a sense of individuality brings you comfort,” Zane said. “However, it is an inaccurate assessment."

Garmadon rolled his eyes. "Thank you for reminding me why we never spoke. You may leave now,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him.

Zane remained. An unsurprising development, and an aggravating one. "Do you not wish to know of our similarities?”

A frown crossed Garmadon’s face, and curiosity clouded his thoughts. He was quick to disperse it with a shake of his head; Zane was clearly trying to get under his skin, force his guard down so that he would ease up on Lloyd. It would never work. Mastering Oni form took an iron fist, not a distracted mind. He turned away and clasped both sets of hands behind his back, pretending to focus on the computers for a long moment.

Not long enough, evidently, as Zane made his continued presence known. “I am going to tell you anyway.”

“Great,” Garmadon muttered.

“When I was trapped in the Never Realm, I was manipulated into becoming the Ice Emperor: a cold and ruthless entity who spared no one in his quest for retaining power. My true self was hidden from me for sixty years, until Lloyd helped me restore it,” Zane said, a waver of emotion in his robotic voice. “It has been some time since it happened, yet I still feel the effects of this event to this day.”

“Hmm.” Garmadon pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard in an attempt to make his distraction look convincing. “I fail to see how that relates to me.”

He heard Zane take a small step forward. “When you became Emperor of Ninjago, that emperorship was predicated on lies and manipulation by Harumi. She encouraged you to reject your humanity, just as my advisor Vex did to me. And I am willing to bet you have also suffered lasting effects.”

Garmadon scoffed. “Please,” he said, turning a tight-lipped scowl towards Zane. “I am an oni, I never had humanity to reject…that is, until Vinny of NGTV news took me under his council. And even so, such humanity would not benefit me here. Lloyd needs to learn to release his oni form, and I can assure you I am in the perfect condition to do so—no ‘lasting effects’ as you say.”

“Perhaps that is true. Or perhaps you only wish it to be.” Zane’s pointed stare finally wavered, drifting to some far-off corner of the room. “I have spent much of my own spare time wrestling with the reality of my situation, versus what I wish to believe… It is difficult to grapple with the truth that I have hurt innocent people while under another’s influence. It sometimes holds me back from being the best version of myself that I can be, for fear of hurting others again.”

That did sound familiar, not that Garmadon was willing to admit it out loud. He was often plagued with memories of his short-lived reign over Ninjago, and the atrocities committed under his hand. He was loath to say he regretted any of them, in fact he wasn’t sure he was even capable of regret– nonetheless, the flashbacks were bothersome, and the more he attempted to embody “goodness”, the more frequent they became. “So…what? You believe I am compromised in some way? I can assure you I’m not.”

“I believe you have begun the process of betterment, without addressing the root of the issue.”

“...And what might that be?”

“Your relationship with Lloyd. You hurt Lloyd during your time as Emperor. Now, your beliefs and goals are changing, but you have not mended the rift that has grown between the two of you, or attempted to grapple with the effects your actions have on both yourself and others… you cannot expect to find success in the present, until you face your past,” Zane said. His even tone and matter-of-fact delivery did nothing to lessen the blow of his words. “You may not believe it, but Lloyd is your humanity. As he was mine, when I needed it most. Do not forget that he needs you too.”

Something twinged in Garmadon’s chest. He had half a mind to blame it on his incomplete resurrection, and perhaps that truly was the case; complicated emotions could simply be a byproduct of his botched vessel. He averted his gaze and said nothing.

Zane didn’t attempt to break the silence, either. He lingered for just a moment longer, before turning heel and wordlessly leaving the room, where Garmadon remained alone with his thoughts.

“…I won’t,” he said, knowing there was nobody there to hear him.

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connectinfosofttechnologies · 2 years ago

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Top Features To Review When Considering Private Cloud Services Providers - Connect Infosoft

Because enterprises only pay for the resources they consume, using cloud services allows companies to move faster on initiatives and test out concepts without protracted procurement and large upfront expenses. This concept of corporate agility is frequently emphasised as a key benefit by cloud enthusiasts. The ability to spin up new services without the cost and effort involved with traditional IT procurement should make it easier to get new applications up and running more quickly.

When considering private cloud service providers, it's essential to evaluate various features to ensure they align with your organization's requirements and goals.

Here Are Some Top Features To Review:

Scalability and Performance: Ensure the provider's infrastructure can handle your organization's current and future demands. Look for features like auto-scaling, load balancing and high-performance computing capabilities.

Security: Security is paramount for private clouds. Evaluate the provider's security measures, including data encryption, access controls, firewalls, intrusion detection and regular security audits.

Compliance: If your organization operates in a regulated industry, check if the provider complies with relevant standards such as GDPR, HIPAA, PCI DSS, etc.

Data Privacy: Understand how the provider handles and protects your data. Check their data retention policies, backup procedures and data sovereignty options.

Customization: A private cloud should be tailored to your organization's needs. Assess if the provider allows customization of resources, networking and configurations.

Hybrid Cloud Capabilities: If you plan to adopt a hybrid cloud strategy, ensure the provider supports seamless integration between your private cloud and public cloud services.

Network Connectivity: A reliable and low-latency network is vital for private cloud services. Evaluate the provider's network infrastructure and available options for dedicated connections.

Backup and Disaster Recovery: Check the provider's backup and disaster recovery strategies. They should have robust mechanisms to ensure data integrity and availability during unforeseen events.

Service Provider's Reputation: Research the provider's reputation in the industry. Look for reviews, case studies and customer testimonials to gauge their track record.

Comprehensive Documentation: Good documentation is a sign of a well-organized provider. Check if they offer clear and comprehensive guides for setup, management and troubleshooting.

Legal and Contractual Terms: Review the terms of service, data ownership, exit strategies and any potential legal implications of working with the provider.

What Is Private Cloud Services?

Private cloud services refer to computing resources, services and infrastructure that are dedicated to a single organization and are hosted either on-premises or by a third-party provider. Unlike public clouds, which are shared among multiple users and organizations, private clouds offer exclusive use to a single entity, ensuring greater control, security and customization.

Benefits Of Private Cloud Services:

Private cloud services offer several benefits that make them an attractive choice for organizations. Here are some of the key benefits:

Enhanced Security: One of the primary advantages of private cloud services is the increased level of security they provide. With a private cloud, your data and applications are stored on dedicated infrastructure that is not shared with other organizations. This isolation helps reduce the risk of unauthorized access and potential security breaches.

Increased Control and Customization: Private clouds offer greater control and customization options compared to public cloud services. You have the ability to tailor the infrastructure, network configurations, security policies, and deployment models to meet your specific requirements. This level of control allows for better alignment with your organization's security, compliance, and performance needs.

Hybrid Cloud and Legacy System Integration: Private clouds facilitate hybrid cloud deployments, allowing you to integrate and extend your existing on-premises infrastructure with cloud resources. This integration enables seamless migration, workload portability and hybrid deployments, which can be beneficial for organizations with legacy systems or specific data requirements.

Cost Efficiency and ROI: While private cloud services may require higher upfront capital investment compared to public clouds, they can provide cost efficiency and a better return on investment (ROI) in the long run. Private clouds can help optimize resource utilization, reduce unnecessary costs and avoid the risk of unexpected charges associated with public cloud services.

Business Agility and Innovation: Private clouds enable organizations to rapidly deploy and scale applications and services, leading to increased business agility. The dedicated infrastructure and control over the environment allow for faster innovation, experimentation and the adoption of emerging technologies that can drive business growth and competitive advantage.

Challenges Of Private Clouds Services:

While private cloud services offer various benefits, they also come with certain challenges that organizations should be aware of. Here are some of the common challenges associated with private cloud services:

Higher Initial Costs: Setting up a private cloud infrastructure can involve higher upfront costs for hardware, software and personnel.

Maintenance and Management: Private clouds require ongoing maintenance, updates, and management, which can demand skilled IT personnel.

Limited Scalability: Private clouds may not provide the same level of scalability as public clouds, which can limit their suitability for certain rapidly changing workloads.

Potential Underutilization: Without careful planning and resource allocation, there's a risk of resources being underutilized, leading to inefficiencies.

Key Characteristics Of Private Cloud Services Include:

Dedicated Resources: Private cloud services provide dedicated computing resources, including virtual machines, storage and networking components, solely for the use of the organization that owns the private cloud.

Isolation: The infrastructure of a private cloud is isolated from external users and organizations, ensuring that data and applications are kept separate and secure.

Control: Organizations have complete control over the private cloud environment, allowing them to manage and monitor resources, implement updates and adjust configurations as needed.

Predictable Performance: Private clouds provide consistent and predictable performance since resources are not shared with other users. This makes them suitable for applications with stringent performance requirements.

Hybrid Integration: Private clouds can be integrated with public cloud resources in a hybrid cloud architecture, enabling organizations to leverage the scalability of public clouds while keeping sensitive data and critical workloads within their private environment.

Private Cloud Services Can Be Hosted And Managed In Different Ways:

On-Premises Private Cloud: Organizations build and manage their private cloud infrastructure within their own data centers. This provides the highest level of control but requires significant upfront investment and ongoing maintenance.

Hosted Private Cloud: Organizations can choose to have a third-party provider manage the private cloud infrastructure off-site. This reduces the burden of infrastructure management while still offering customization and security benefits.

Managed Private Cloud: Similar to hosted private clouds, managed private clouds are maintained by a third-party provider, but the provider takes care of ongoing management, updates and maintenance tasks.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, private cloud services offer a dedicated and secure computing environment exclusively for a single organization's use. These services provide a range of benefits, including enhanced security, customization, control and predictable performance. Organizations can choose between on-premises private clouds, hosted private clouds, or managed private clouds to best meet their needs.

Private clouds are ideal for industries with strict compliance regulations, organizations needing data sovereignty control, and those with applications requiring consistent performance. While private clouds offer greater control, they come with higher initial costs, maintenance responsibilities and potentially limited scalability compared to public clouds.

Tags: Top features of cloud services providers, Connect Infosoft, Looking for Cloud Computing Development and Dev Team in India, Cloud Computing Service, DevOps Development Company India, Looking For Web Developers in India, Looking For Web Designers in India

#Looking for Cloud Computing Development #cloud computing #Cloud Computing Service #DevOps Development Company India #Looking For Web Developers in India #Looking For Web Designers in India #connect infosoft

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mountainsandmayhem · 7 days ago

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Maid Discreetly - Chapter 5

Tommy Miller x Female OC (18+ only)

Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man? Chapter Summary: Mother Nature has other plans for you first client onboard, but it can't really be that bad being "stuck" with Tommy Miller. AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Please remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for all future chapters. Divders by @saradika-graphics. As always thank you to @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for helping me expand on my ideas and add all my punctuation xo. And, thank you to this anon who reminded me that I had dates on chapters still. Thanks to them, you're getting 2 chapters in one day. WC: 4.2k

Story Masterlist || My Masterlist || Joel and Kim

TW: rained in trope, flirting, mutual pining, thunder/lightening and rain. Really nothing to be aware of, they're just dumb and falling in love - let them be!!!!

You

Your drive out to Tommy’s is uneventful; singing along to nineties Shania Twain kept you occupied during your trek. Due to the timing of your drive, more people were coming into Austin than going out. Summer is in full bloom now as July starts to turn into August. At this point in the year, the rolling hills around the highway are covered by full green trees. Eventually, the foliage opens up to reveal the popular lake communities about 30 minutes outside of downtown.

Even though dark clouds have started to crowd the skies, the AC in your custom cherry red Jeep isn’t doing much to stifle the heat. This morning, you debated if you should take your Bentley or not, but with the chance of rain for the first time in months, and driving outside of the city, the Jeep seemed safer; plus, you know the moment it starts to rain, everyone will have forgotten how to drive.

Soon you see the sign you’ve been looking for - “Rancher’s Cove: Next Right”. Tommy’s new home is built in the latest development near Lake Travis. You turn off the paved highway onto a poorly packed gravel road. You thank your earlier self for settling on taking the Jeep as dust blows up around you and rocks crunch under your oversized tires as you bump along the road. Tall coniferous trees line the path, blocking the heat of the sun and casting you in shadows. After following a bend, the trees open wide, revealing a man-made lake and one single log cabin at the furthest end. You and Tommy are completely secluded here; no other homes have even started construction.

You did a bit of research on the area, so you’re prepared with both flats and heels. Mentally, you decide the flats are best; you’ll change into the company-issued white Keds when you get into his house. You kept it professional today, wearing black wide legged slacks and a red short sleeve bodysuit with a matching thin red belt. Your laptop is tucked into your computer bag on the passenger seat.

You follow the gravel ring road around the lake, and as you pull up to the impressive home, you notice Tommy sitting on the porch with a guitar, looking effortlessly handsome in dark jeans, a fitted white t-shirt and well-worn work boots. His sleeves clings deliciously to his biceps, and as his strong hands pluck at the strings, the sinew and tattoos that line his arm dance.

Well, fuck, you quip internally. You haven’t even put your Jeep in park yet and you’ve already had an inappropriate thought about your dad’s friend. As you step out of the vehicle, he rests the guitar against the house, pushing back his cheekbone-length hair as he stands and heads over to you.

“You made it!” His voice is friendly, like you’ve known each other for years and he’s been sitting there waiting anxiously for you.

“Am I late?” you ask, slightly panicked, glancing at the Tiffany watch your mom and dad gave you as a graduation gift. You don’t wear it often, only as your good luck charm. The black leather band connects to a round face that’s surrounded by small diamonds. The twelve is denoted by a delicate heart made from a ruby, and white diamonds of different shapes make up the rest of the numbers.

9:57

“No,” he says, stopping at the bottom of his porch steps, “not at all.”

As you open the passenger door to grab the Louis Vuitton bag that holds your laptop, you remember what he said outside your dad’s home office almost a month ago. He doesn’t feel like he fits into the excessive wealth that you’re surrounded by. Shame licks at the base of your spine for showing up in a custom-painted Jeep and a watch that probably costs more than people make in a year. You always knew that you came from money, but you’ve never realized how excessive it was until meeting Tommy. He reaches out to grab the bag from you, a gesture of chivalry, but it feels wrong to hand it to him.

“I got it. Thanks, though.” He smiles and then gestures towards the porch. “This home is absolutely beautiful, Tommy.”

He smiles sheepishly. “It’s kind of excessive.”

“No, it’s stunning.” The gravel crunches under your flats as you walk alongside him towards the porch. “I can’t wait to see the inside.”

“After you, then,” he says before you ascend the stairs.

You stop when you reach the two large wooden front doors, each with a colourful glass mosaic inlay. Tommy opens one and you hold in a gasp as he leads you into the open concept foyer. Straight ahead are large floor-to-ceiling windows that are easily twenty feet tall. The man-made lake sparkles in the small glimpses of sun through the clouds. A wooden dining room table sits just before the windows, the kitchen to the right; stainless steel appliances that blend seamlessly into the wooden walls and cabinetry. His countertops are made of dark chestnut brown granite swirled with silver. To the left of the table is a massive eggshell sectional couch facing a fireplace embedded with rock, a large flat screen tv mounted above it.

Your eyes travel up the tall rock chimney to a catwalk style hallway up in the wooden beams of the space. You follow the hallway to a staircase to your right. Your eyes travel to the opposite side of the house again; it’s so beautiful and there’s so much to see that you almost feel almost overstimulated by it. Two frosted mosaic glass doors on your left close in one of the only rooms on this floor. The floors are all wood, matching the walls of the log cabin. Plush, off white area rugs are thoughtfully placed under the dining room table and tv area, making the spaces feel cozy and homey.

“Tommy,” you whisper, following him towards the dining room table. “This is - I mean, wow. I’m speechless.”

One of his hands moves from his hip to cup the back of his neck, rubbing at it sheepishly, but there’s a hint of pride in his voice when he responds. “Thank you. It’s taken me a long time.”

“You built this?” you gape, dumbfounded, forcing yourself to focus on him and not look around again.

He chuckles at your response. “Yeah, it’s kind of my job, remember?”

“Right, duh,” you backpedal and then cringe. Smooth. “So, I guess we should get started. Would you mind giving me a tour of the areas you’d like us to handle? I’ll take some notes and then we can discuss further and get the contract together.”

“Sure, let me put your stuff down and we can walk around.” He holds his hand out again for your bag. As you let it slide down your arm, your Keds that were hooked onto your fingers hit the hardwood with a soft thud in front of his dining room table.

“Shit. I’m supposed to - Oh my God, I just swore. I’m so sorry,” you stutter, passing your bag to him then scooping up the shoes and scrambling back towards the door.

“It’s really okay,” Tommy says. “The shoes, I mean; the swearing was unacceptable.” You spin to apologize again, a horrified look across your face, to see him laughing.

“That’s not funny, Tommy,” you say with a slight pout. “I want to do this properly, like we didn’t know one another.”

His thumb and forefinger smooth his moustache. “Well, I certainly hope you wouldn’t drive out to the middle of nowhere to meet a strange man.”

You slip your flats off at the front door and then pull your Keds on. You smirk as you tease, “How long do you have to know someone before they aren’t classified as a stranger? Because one could argue that that is exactly what I’m doing right now.”

Tommy’s hands land dramatically on his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

You both let out a laugh and once your shoes are on, he saunters towards the kitchen. You grab your notepad and pen from the side of your bag before meeting him there.

“Mister Miller, is it?” you joke, putting on an air of professionality. “If you wouldn’t mind, please elaborate on what we at Maid Discreetly can do for you.”

“You’re an idiot,” he laughs, his voice playful. Preston called you that exact name multiple times, but it never made your heart skip like it did just now.

“Huh, that’s probably going to cost you extra,” you quip. The two of you laugh again and it all feels so normal, like you’ve been joking together for years. “Ok, seriously. Talk to me about what you’re looking for.”

“Me, seriously? You’re the one swearing.” You shoot him a facetious glare before he continues. “I plan to be out here fairly often. I have an apartment in downtown Austin, but I think I’ll be out here four or five nights each week, so maybe someone can come out once a week and split the tasks up?” You can feel him watching you as you make notes.

“What kind of tasks are you looking for?” you ask, tucking your long hair behind your ear then pushing the curled ends over your shoulder. There’s a brief flick of his golden honey eyes to the side of your newly exposed throat and then back to your face before he starts to talk again. You wonder if he knows the effect that simple shift of his eyes has on women.

“I’m a pretty tidy guy, but someone who could deep clean the kitchen, dust, and vacuum the main floor every week would be ideal.” You follow him as he walks past the dining table and into the living room. “Maybe they could also do baseboards and at least change over or start laundry? Is that too much for someone?”

“No,” you smile, following him towards the living area. “That’s pretty standard.”

He nods. “I have everything they’d need here, or they can bring their own supplies.”

It might be a small thing to some, but Tommy saying ‘they’ when talking about his future maid instead of ‘her’ or ‘she’ is so refreshing and beautiful. There is a good mix of men and women that work as cleaners, but more often than not, people assume it’s all women.

“Usually each cleaner is equipped with whatever they’ll need, but if you’d prefer, they can use your things.” You say, fluffing the throw pillows on his couch. When you catch him eyeing you you shrug, “Habit.”

“Let's go upstairs,” Tommy says with a laugh, avoiding your eyes this time, almost as if it’s too personal or intimate to look at you when talking about showing you his bedroom. He comes to an abrupt halt when he faces the windows, and you almost run right into the back of him. “Shit, it’s getting really dark out there.”

You take a few steps around him, getting as close as you can to the window and look up at the sky. Dark grey clouds now completely crowd the sun; it looks like the floodgates could open at any minute. “Good thing I drove my Jeep.”

“I don’t know,” he starts, and you become very aware of how closely he’s standing behind you. “It doesn't look like it’s going to be ‘a little rain’ like they predicted.” His voice is thick with worry. “Maybe you should go, try to beat the storm.”

You want to tell him that you didn’t drive all the way out here to not get the sale and let your dad down, but instead you play it cool.

“I’ve driven in a rainstorm before, Tommy. Let's get the tour done and we can discuss pricing another time. We can do that part virtually or whatever is easiest for you. I’ll be fine.” As those last three words leave your lips, you turn to face him; just as your back is to the window the room lights up before a loud crack of thunder rattles the house. You let out a squeal of shock, jumping closer to Tommy - you’re almost pressed against him. Your heartbeat races and adrenaline courses through your veins, then you laugh at yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” Tommy mocks in a high-pitched voice, joining in your laughter but not stepping away.

“It startled me,” you joke, pushing at Tommy’s chest.

“Real tough girl, hey?” He says, raising an eyebrow when your shove does nothing.

You scoff, “Relax, old man. I could take you in a fight.”

Tommy

He chuckles, shaking his head as he turns and starts to walk towards the stairs. The words come out before he can stop them. “Good thing I’m about to show you my bedroom then.”

Fuck.

Before he can apologize, or dig himself a large hole, or wander right into the man-made lake outside, you speak up. Your voice is full of sarcasm as you say, “Ah, so saying ‘shit’ is not okay, but being a dirtbag is. Noted.”

“That was inappropriate. I’m sorry,” he says, not looking back as you follow him up the first few stairs because he can’t stop the ear to ear smile that’s plastered itself across his face. Your wit and banter never ceases to keep him on his toes.

“I have so many things I could say back,” you reply, “but I am clearly the mature one here, so let's just move on.” You’re both silent as you climb the stairs and when you get to the top, it’s raining so hard that you almost can’t see the lake he’s still contemplating jumping into.

“Whoa, it’s really coming down all of a sudden,” he says. When he looks in your direction, your bottom lip has disappeared between your teeth as you stare out the window at the large puddles forming along the gravel roads.

You nod. “Yeah, well, let’s make this quick, I guess.”

He leads you across the catwalk. “There’s two bedrooms with an adjoining bathroom on the other side, but since they’re empty, someone can go in there once a month.” He glances back at you, but you seem slightly distracted and he hopes it’s not from his ill-timed joke. Once you both make it across the catwalk, you stop outside the master bedroom. He slides open one of the two barn doors and you both step into the seating area of the bedroom, his bedroom. Two oversized leather chairs - perfect for reading or drinking his morning coffee - sit in the middle, a wooden arch behind them opens to the bedroom. Straight ahead is a king size bed; to the untrained eye, the frame is beautiful and ornate, but it’s full of spots for him to restrain whoever he decides to bring here. The entry to his large bathroom and the walk-in closet are to the left. Inside his closet is a spiral staircase leading down to his office on the main floor. He doesn’t plan to show you that since he won’t need cleaners there.

The far right wall of the bedroom has big windows, just like the main floor. Rain bounces off the glass loudly and he watches as you wander towards the window to look out. Even though he built this house for himself, he went into autopilot mode while designing it. It’s meant to be lived in by a husband and wife and their two kids. That was never something he saw for himself, but seeing you in his bedroom has what could be flashing before his eyes. You shake him out of it when you finally speak.

“Is that a bathtub?” you ask, looking down at what he knows is a small outdoor sauna and bathing area. The trees surrounding the walkway and tub are tall enough that the only way for someone to see it is through the windows in his bedroom or the stairwell from the office to the closet.

“I figured it was a nice touch,” he says nonchalantly, coming to stand beside you.

“This house is spectacular, Tommy,” you breathe, glancing up at him. “Truly. I keep looking around and I can’t believe that you built all this. You’re incredibly talented.”

He feels the pink rise in his cheeks. He knows he’s done a good job when the homes he’s built sell for seven or eight figures; the men on the job site don’t praise him like you have. He runs a finger across one of his eyebrows as he responds. “I had help.”

“Oh, well then I’m less impressed,” you respond with your signature wit and sarcasm, one corner of your mouth lifting enticingly. “Let’s recap and talk about pricing. Hopefully the rain slows down and then I can be out of your hair.”

The two of you head back towards the kitchen, sitting side by side at the island to go over your notes and come up with pricing. The conversation is strictly business, but whenever you look down at your laptop, his eyes immediately go to your lips. He remembers the way you looked at him in your parents’ pantry, so sad and full of self doubt; that’s not the woman he sees now. This version of you is confident and knowledgeable. He hopes that maybe he said something to help you, although you don’t seem like the type of girl who needs help with anything.

You jump again when another loud crack of thunder sounds. He keeps his comments to himself this time, too enthralled by watching you talk to interrupt you. He knew when you stepped out of that Jeep today that it didn’t matter how much you asked for. He might not be as well-off as your family or Joel, but he’s fortunate enough that he doesn’t have to think about money. He was signing this contract either way. You type in the final details and tell him that you’ll send it to him to sign in the next few days.

“It’s still really coming down,” he notes as you slip your feet into your flats. “Maybe you should just wait it out a bit longer. I can make coffee or something.” The meeting overall was fairly quick, only about an hour and a half, but it’s been pouring down sheets of rain the entire time.

“I think it’s slowed down a bit. I’ll be fine, Tommy,” you say, smiling up at him as you slip on your flats. “Thank you for your concern, but you really don’t need to be.”

Always the gentleman, he opens the front door for you, revealing conditions that are so much worse than he expected. There’s no more gravel driveway, no more road leading to the other side of the man-made lake, nothing to get you safely from his home at the end of Rancher’s Cove to the properly paved highway. No, it's all just a muddy, slippery disaster.

“You’re staying here,” Tommy says and starts to close the door. You put your hand out and then step onto the porch.

“It’ll be fine, Tommy,” you repeat, an edge of annoyed determination in your voice. Your arm waves in the direction of your vehicle. “I have a Jeep, this is literally what they do.”

“There’s no road!” he exclaims, following you out on the porch. He grabs your wrist and you turn to look at him. “It’s literally a swamp out here. I half expect Shrek to show up and yell at us.”

He watches you roll your eyes and his grip tightens on the delicate skin of your wrist. He can feel your quickening rising pulse along his thumb. Is his touch the reason for your increased heart rate?

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” your voice is flat and determined as you continue, “Look, it’s not that far, the highway is, like, right there. The rain isn’t letting up. I can’t get stuck here.”

You twist free from his grasp, then remove your watch and put it in a zipper pocket of your bag. He watches as you hug your laptop tight to your body before you take off running towards your Jeep. By some miracle, you don’t slip in the thick mud that's become the ground. Tommy knows this isn’t a good idea and thanks his lucky stars that the tractor he used to haul all his building materials around is still here; his vintage mustang that’s parked in the garage certainly isn’t making it out of here when he inevitably needs to rescue you. Your headlights kick on as you start the engine and he leans against the railing with his arms crossed.

Stubborn little thing, he thinks to himself as the red Jeep backs up through the muck to turn around. He can see that when it comes to you, he’s going to have to make it your idea to do what he wants. He hasn’t had a challenge in a sub in a long time; maybe that could be you.

As you pull forward, the muck takes you, sliding your car towards what used to be his grass and is now his very own mini bayou. You hop out, mud splashing up your pants, and look around the Jeep. Within seconds of being out in the rain that you proclaimed was slowing down you’re drenched from head to toe, clothes sticking to your body and your waterlogged dark hair dripping.

“Get back inside, sweetheart,” Tommy calls over the sound of the rain splashing. He knows by the defiant stiffening of your spine that you heard him, but you jump back into the Jeep and start to rock it back and forth in hopes of getting yourself out of the rut. Mud and his newly laid sod spit up behind your rear tires. Tommy shakes his head as he heads back inside, grabbing a few large bath sheets from the closet in his office; fluffy white towels meant for the sauna that will now be ruined from all the mud you’ve collected.

After a few minutes of trying to get unstuck, you only manage to dig yourself deeper into the hole. There was no leaving today, he knew it and you probably knew it too. Be that as it may, you just proved to him that you don’t like being told you can’t do something, and fuck do you look cute all flustered as you try to prove yourself. Finally, you swing the driver's door open. The bottom of your black pants are caked in mud, he can tell your shoes are ruined, and the curve hugging red t-shirt is even tighter. As you hop out of the vehicle his eyes are drawn to the way your nipples have pebbled in the cold rain.

Don’t look at her nipples.

“Come here, I got your bag,” he yells and you run back to the covered porch. He holds the towel out for you, wrapping you tightly, your intoxicating blend of pear and mint now mixed with the scent of fresh rain, and god damn does he want to kiss you and then punish you for being so fucking stubborn. His eyes run over your face and body, making sure that you’re ok.

“I’m fine, Tommy,” you say, pulling the towel tighter as you start to shiver.

As he reaches inside to grab an umbrella, he says, “Interesting that the safety of your designer bag and watch come before your actual safety, sweetheart.”

He jogs to your Jeep while popping open the umbrella. Just as he’s about to open the door the beep of the door's locking sounds. The sweetest sarcasm floats across the yard to his ears, “Sorry? What was that?”

He spins, trying not to lose his footing in the mud, and looks at you. You’re shivering, yet smiling deviously, holding the key fob that must have been in your pocket. “Open the door or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m already drenched and covered in mud, that’s not a threat.” You laugh.

He tries to use his best dom voice, not that he thinks it’ll work on you. “I’m not playing around here, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, “Big tough guy like you can’t handle a little rain?”

“Open the doors or I will make you pay.”

You roll your eyes at him again and his palms tingle with the urge to spank you.

“Now, sweetheart,” he says with a growl.

He’s not sure if it's from the chill in the air, but your cheeks pink a little at his words before the doors open. He keeps your luxury laptop bag under the umbrella as he walks back to the porch. As he ascends the stairs, you smile at him cheekily and it takes everything inside of him not to pick you up and drop you in the mud. Instead, he does the gentlemanly thing and after putting your bag inside, he uses the other towel to remove as much mud from your pants as possible on the porch. Once he’s satisfied, he toes off his boots then pulls you inside. He kneels in front of you to help you out of your ruined shoes. Your bare toes are like ice in his hands and he tracks the small shivers racking your body.

Your teeth chatter as you say, “Just let me warm up and then we can pull me out with that tractor.”

He stands, hands running up and down your arms over the towel. He has to play this carefully while still being firm with what's going to happen today. He lowers his voice to a calm baritone that always works with his brattier subs. “I fear that you aren’t going anywhere tonight. I will lend you some clothes. Go to the master bath, please.”

He feels you deflate under his palms, your voice coming out in stubborn determination. “I can do it, Tommy.”

He smiles at you softly, stepping beside you and placing a hand on your lower back, gently guiding you towards the stairs. “I never said you couldn’t, sweetheart. But it’s too dangerous. So, for me, please just stay here tonight. By morning, the storm will have passed and we can get you unstuck. Okay?”

He follows you up the stairs and towards his bathroom, watching as you pull the soaked towel tighter around your chilled body. “Okay.”

He bites down on his tongue to stop the instinctual ‘good girl’ that wants to escape his lips and then says, “Thank you. I appreciate you doing this for me.”

You pause in the sitting room of his bedroom. “Sh-Shouldn’t I use the other bathroom?” Your voice is low, wavering slightly. Tommy gets the feeling that you aren’t accustomed to someone taking care of you.

“If you want to. I don’t have any toiletries over there, but if you want to use that side I can bring them. The shower is bigger here though.”

“We..I’m - Tommy, I don’t…” Your eyes shoot to his, panic clear across your face as you sputter. He realizes in that moment what he just insinuated and pulls his hand away from your back, raising them up.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I’ll change in the other room while you shower and then I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re done. I just meant that it’s a nicer shower - it has a steam function.”

Crimson stains your cheeks and you nod, he takes it as his cue to go start the shower so it can warm up for you. He can feel you watching him from the archway. You seem almost unsure of what to do next, and for someone so self assured and unafraid, it’s an interesting juxtaposition to the girl he knows. He slides open his dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of black sweatpants, followed by a white t-shirt. He glances your direction and gives you a small and reassuring smile. His eyes fall to your bare toes, the nails painted white for summer, the skin red from how cold they are. He opens another drawer and takes out a pair of socks then wanders to his closet to grab a zip up black hoodie.

He takes the clothes and puts them on the bathroom counter; when he comes back out into the room you’ve stepped past the threshold of the arch. Something has shifted between the two of you; the air in the room feels thicker. He clears his throat gently before he speaks.

“Take your time. Why don’t you toss that towel and your clothes out here and I’ll wash them for you? You, umm, you can pick different things if you want.”

“No, that’s ok. Thank you, Tommy.” Your voice is shy and uncertain and he misses that snarky smart ass from earlier.

“You look freezing. Go warm up. And seriously, take all the time you need.”

Thank you everyone who's gone on this little journey with me. I know that we don't write for the notes, but it would really mean the world to me if you reblogged. Tommy Miller, or at least my version of him, is severely under loved lol.

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