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bored-platypus · 28 days

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the moon will sing (time traveling tim)

so. i saw this super awesome post by @puppetwoman17 about time traveling tim drake and got obsessed, so here's a small ficlet i wrote about it!

The thing is, Tim expects it. He’s faintly aware of the blood seeping from his stomach, staining his hands red— hands which are uselessly putting pressure on his wound. If he survives this, he doesn’t even want to think of all the weeks of pure agony and fever, brought on by the wonderful lack of his spleen and the fact that healing from wounds sucked, period.

Death isn’t surprising— he really didn’t think he would live past, what, twenty-five? Thirty? To live until beyond 50 with his lifestyle was, well. It sounded painful, anyways. And you would need to be a deeply paranoid neurotic. Like Bruce. Because as much as he respected his father and looked up to him, if Tim turned out anything like Batman, he’d probably find a bullet through his brain sooner or later.

Half because Tim was reckless and his plans were so convoluted and insane that nobody really knew what was going on either, just to confuse his opponent. The other half was, well. You can guess.

So. He’s bleeding out, the night is uncomfortably cold and the wind bites into his skin, sand grating against his back, and all Tim can think about is how much he hopes Ra’s al-Ghul doesn’t show up like a damned wraith and drag him kicking and screaming to the nearest surgery table and take out his kidneys or something.

Tim’s also thinking about his family. And the probable inconveniences that come with his death. Like arranging his funeral and all his assets and his Nest and the fact that Tim is a very integral part of the family and Dick will probably fall apart and Bruce will mourn and brood, and, and damn it. Tim should probably revoke his thinking process or something.

—

Tim is twenty three years old when he bleeds to death alone, and nobody finds his body until three weeks later when his family has scoured the Earth and his distress signal rings, rings, but nobody sees it. His predictions about his family come true.

But that isn’t quite relevant, because Tim isn’t aware of such a thing.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes and falls and jerks up on his bed, clutching his chest as years of memories flood his brain, too much for a mere eleven year old. It feels like his head has been cracked open and molten lava had been poured through, scorching his veins and circulation. It feels like agony of the highest level and Tim is faintly aware of the darkness creeping in, his mind too overwhelmed and overstimulated from years of memories flooding into his brain.

And so for the second time in a few minutes and a lifetime, Tim welcomes unconsciousness with open arms.

The next few hours are spent in pure agony, his body being too weak to move and his limbs too short for him to coordinate. He’s pretty sure that there’s a pool of dried blood underneath him from a nosebleed, but he’s too tired to turn around, so he just uncomfortably shifts away from it. Not for the first time, he thanks his lucky stars that his parents are neglectful, because he doesn’t even know how he would explain all of this.

Two days later, he musters the strength to stumble out of bed, gulp down the bitter, carbon dioxide-filled water next to him and get to the kitchen. It’s April 1st, twelve years ago, Tim is eleven years old, and his family doesn’t know him yet.

Half of the terrible things that have happened to Dick haven’t happened yet. Jason hasn’t died yet. Duke is still a kid and his parents are healthy. Babs hasn’t been put into a wheelchair by the Joker.

Steph is still living with her father. Damian and Cass are being trained as assassins.

Mrs. Mac is due to come in a few hours. Tim looks at the blood-crusted covers of his bed and his crumpled clothes.

Oh, shoot.

So instead of researching or training, Tim spends the next hour trying to get the bedsheets off with his tiny, noodle arms, half stumbling on his feet because he’s way too damn short, and making his way to the bathroom so he can take a shower and get some of the blood off so it doesn’t stain too badly.

It’s probably a lost cause. Not that his parents will notice or care about a missing bedsheet, but it feels wasteful to just throw it away to hide evidence of his unintentional time travel.

Two and a half hours later, Tim stumbles out of the laundry room, his bedsheets and pillow finally in the washer. He collapses on the nearest chair and scans the room for his father’s computer.

He lets out a shaky breath. His family is generally unscarred. Jason is Robin again. Jason. The boy who Tim had held with a certain degree of, well, disdain. Thinking about it kind of makes him want to punch is past self in the face, or cringe in the way that you can only do when you think of something embarrassing you used to do. Like victim-blaming your older brother for getting beat to death while trying to find his mother.

It wasn’t the only way he looked at Jason, but he had always thought of him as too reckless. Maybe he really did deserve the beating. Well, not that he believed that young teenagers should be beat up by young adults in Robin cosplay, but at least Tim wasn’t exactly traumatized by the experience. Better him than some other poor civilian kid Bruce could’ve adopted.

And Tim did get his revenge. By getting Jason on his private parts. But whatever. Revenge was revenge, and Tim was better than the whole crime lord setup his older brother had. In practice, anyways.

Chewing on the ballpoint pen, he writes down the first thing on his list (in code, of course) since coming back in time.

prevent jason’s death

Well. Now that he had a comprehensive list, Tim was down and ready to plan.

—

A hour later, Mrs. Mac appears, none the wiser to what happened to him. Tim greets her as she walks in, and she smiles and greets him back, putting lunch in the fridge. She notices nothing wrong about how he stays sitting on the chair in the living room, and Tim says nothing about it. When she leaves, he pulls the piece of paper out of his book and the pen from his hair, scratching down some extra points.

Hmm. Maybe the Court of Owls should go early. Or perhaps that would create too much change?

Dick would have a better time in the future if they were gone, though. Tim frowns, dragging his pen back and forth in a short line on the table.

He still needed to factor in the fact that he was an unknown to the family. The thing is, Tim loves their dysfunctional, broken family and he knows Bruce and Dick loved him back. But to be honest, it would be easier to change events if he wasn’t being scrutinized by Bruce every day. And it wasn’t like Tim had any shortage of money, with his parents still alive and his family fortune enough to cover whole lifetimes, so he wasn’t worried about his own safety.

It would be nice to go to college too. Maybe Stanford. He was smart enough to make it, and the location was close to the vigiliante community that if he so wanted to, he could probably join and watch his family from the outskirts. Last time around, Tim just couldn’t leave Gotham. Being a vigiliante was his life— he couldn’t even justify it as a temporary thing anymore. Their family had gone through so much tragedy and Gotham was still filled with crime and Tim had an obligation to keep her safe. It just… he couldn’t escape his mantle because he loved it, and Tim had a difficult time letting things go once he loved them.

But if Tim could change things from the start, he didn’t need to be pulled back into the life. (He couldn’t have it, even if he loved it, because it was never his in the first place.) He could start anew, be a vigiliante when he was in college and far away from the family he hopefully would’ve fixed by then.

Well then. First things first, he needed to remove a factor from Jason’s death so he wouldn’t die in the first place.

—

Mrs. Mac comes by and cooks him lunch, and they eat in silence. Typically, Tim would fill the silence with chattering, glad to have someone to talk to in the empty manor. But Tim’s mind is whirring, drawing up and discarding plans. By the time Mrs. Mac stands up and tells him she’s going to leave now, Tim has thought of three contingencies and twelve more future events he needs to address.

He mhms when Mrs. Mac prompts him to, and eventually she leaves out the front door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It’s spring break and Tim doesn’t actually have anything to do because he’s in middle school now, so he mulls over the Jason problem for a few more hours.

It comes to him when he’s microwaving the leftovers from lunch, and Tim is pretty sure he’s a genius, or something. Sheila Haywood worked at a refugee camp in Ethiopia handling medical supplies, but she was embezzling funds from the organization she was working for. It wouldn’t be difficult for Tim to trace it and report her. By the time Jason began tracking her down, she would most likely be in prison, just for a few years and everything would hopefully blow over and the Joker wouldn’t blackmail her because she had no use to him in prison.

It was cold, perhaps. But her life wouldn’t be over with a few years in prison, and Jason would be alive. Nothing more than they deserved.

Jason, alive. Then Damian, Cass, and Steph. He would see to his family, whole and happy. Then perhaps, in the future, when he was older and safely out of Bruce’s adoption zone, Tim could perhaps work with them. Laugh about how he never expected the Wayne family to be vigilantes, just to throw them off his trail.

Tim allows himself this one selfish thought, because he has nothing else but the shattered remains of a future that will never come to be, and a family he left behind but still exists.

a/n:

i wrote this in two hours under an inspired haze of time travel and tim, two of my favorite things

tim is a super unreliable narrator if you haven't already noticed lmao

also if i get any characterization wrong feel free to leave some discourse or ping me on the head

but like please be gentle cause y'know constructive crit, not bashing

thanks for reading! :D

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 3 months

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A Case of the Exam Season Blues

A New Installment to the Once In A Blue Moon Anthology

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Description: You've never realized how much you relied on Jake to keep you on track without running yourself into the ground before this moment. But he's in New York, working on a high profile case for his firm. You're still in San Diego, working yourself to the bone to graduate. School is hard. Correction, it is really fucking hard. What can you do when your worries that Jake will miss your graduation couple with your stressing over your degree?

Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship turned full relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one.

This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 5035

A/N: Here we go again! Once again, my lovely houseplant @desert-fern crawled into my asks and asked me to write her a oneshot where Baby Blue graduates and where Jake is cheering her on in the audience. Can I just say that the reward and dom/sub elements in the story were not in my plan?

Chronologically, this story is between the events of Mm, Daddy Daddy and Money, Money, Money.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

You hate exam season. You hate it with as much passion as your exhausted, wrung-out soul can muster. You thought exams were challenging when you were an undergraduate. The all-nighters, caffeine-fueled paper writing sessions, studying and writing until the words swam before your eyes and your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep seemed like torture then. If only you could know that there would come a time when you would long for those days again. Because doing the same while preparing to defend your Master’s thesis? It feels like a torture worse than death itself. You still have the exams and the papers, but now, at the end of it all, rather like the icing on top of the saddest cake you’ve ever seen, you have an interview with the thesis review board to approve your Master’s degree.

You feel like you’re at the end of your wits. Your sanity is fraying faster than the cheapest rope, disintegrating into a mess of strings that seem to snarl your every thought and movement. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone in the big penthouse apartment, either. Jake’s working on an important case in New York, so he’s been out of the state, in the City that Never Sleeps, for the past month and a half. You miss him like you’ve never missed anyone before. It feels like a part of your very psyche is missing. The scent of his cologne, the bitter almond and saffron with undertones of jasmine and cedar you've come to love so much, still spills through the air. It permeates the shirts hanging in the closet, organized by color and purpose. It’s on the pillows of the big bed you starfish on when your eyes are too heavy to keep open, and you have to steal a half-hour nap here and there to keep yourself functioning. But it’s not the same as having Jake home with you.

He’d hate what you’re doing to yourself. He’d hate that you study for hours, sometimes days at a time, without pause, forgetting to sleep, eat, or complete anything necessary for basic hygiene. If Jake were here, you can almost hear the admonishments, the way he’d push you into a hot bath filled with bubbles. You can almost feel the careful pressure of his hands in your hair, the way he’d wash you clean before quieting your mind in only the way he can, with soft words and sweet kisses, drugging your body with his own until there’s nothing left in your head except for exhaustion and him. But he's not here.

Jake's been in depositions and meetings from early in the morning to late at night, and you can't, you won't disturb him when he's on a case that could decide his whole career. The three-hour time difference doesn't help either. Either you're sleeping - fitfully, barely - when he calls, or he's busy when you do. So you've had to con yourself, delude yourself into believing you can make do. You've completed years of grueling coursework without a cheerleader before, right? So how come it feels like an insurmountable obstacle the minute your one cheerleader has to go on a business trip for a bit over a month? You're stronger than that. You're better than that.

Your thesis will be done and defended in three days, and you'll have a Master's Degree in Marine Biology. Two days after that, Jake will be home. Home in time for graduation. Home for hopefully a good long while, and you're not going to let him out of bed until you can't feel your feet anymore and have slept for at least 48 hours.

Three days to your degree and five until you’ll see Jake again. It's a motto you find yourself chanting mindlessly as you chug down energy drinks and scarf down instant ramen when your stomach growls disinterestedly between bouts of review and last-minute paper edits. Three Days. Then Two.

It may not have been healthy, but it worked. The door latches with a soft snick as you tiredly kick your heels off. The wool of your skirt itches, and the button-down and cardigan you're wearing to complete the outfit feel like the most oppressive pieces of fabric you've ever worn. There's concealer caked under your eyes in a futile effort to hide the dark, deep-set bags. Your hands tremble as you remove your jewelry, and your fingers are uncooperative as they fight with the tiny latches and closures.

But you did it. Your exams are done, every single research paper has been submitted with perfect APA formatting, and your thesis has been approved. You're done with school. A part of you can’t believe it. If you squint, you're pretty sure you can still see your thesis in front of your eyes. Hell, you're sure if you get a couple of drinks in you, you could probably recite the damn thing, all thirty-plus pages and citations from memory. The first thing you'd done once you'd left the building was text Jake the news before you headed home. Now all you want is to sleep and then eat your weight in something home-cooked. The order is non-negotiable - you're sleeping first, even if it feels like your stomach will stage a rebellion and make you walk the plank!

You're less than gentle as you rip all the clothes off, leaving a trail of dour black fabric behind you as you walk into the ensuite. Your motions are mechanical as you roughly swipe the makeup off of your face and collapse into bed wearing just your panties. The mattress feels like heaven, the fabric cushioning your every curve until you feel like you could float away at the slightest provocation. Your eyes are even heavier than they were a minute ago, and you're nearly asleep when your phone rings.

“Baby Blue,” Jake’s groaning into the phone, his voice gritty and deep, indescribably sweet as it spills down the microphone. “You beautiful, gorgeous thing. You did it! You’re graduating! You’ve got your Master’s degree!”

He sounds so excited, even though he must be exhausted. It’s already 7 PM in San Diego, which means it must be around 10 PM in New York, and you can still hear the sounds of the office around him in the background.

“I did it, Jake.” You’re barely able to muster the requisite enthusiasm for your latest accomplishment.

“You did, beautiful girl. You did it!” His sigh sounds so fond, and you can hear the creak of the chair as he closes the door and another squeak as he settles back into the chair. “Now, why aren’t you as happy about it as I am, honey?”

“I - I am happy, Jake. But I’m just so tired right now. I just want you home. I want to sleep for a good long while, and then, maybe then, I’ll finally be happy, Jake.” Tears are gathering in your eyes to your embarrassment, and there is a heavy pressure on your chest.

“Awww, baby doll. It’s alright to feel exhausted and numb about what’s happening right now. You sound shattered, sweetheart. Definitely tired, and maybe a little bit like you haven’t been taking care of yourself, right?” You just hum in response, something lighting up inside your chest as your sniffling hum makes Jake chuckle.

“It’s been hell for me, too.” You can almost picture it, how he’s leaning back in the chair, his tie undone with his hand in his hair. More than his pose, though, you’re sure you can see the exhales of breath inflating his chest, stretching taut the crisp button-down shirt he’s wearing. You’re just as sure that there are bags under his eyes that are a perfect match to your own. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, my Baby Blue.”

“God, I miss walking into the apartment at night to the sight of you in the kitchen, shaking that ass to music playing while cooking, belting the words at the top of your lungs. I miss the sleepy weekend afternoons when you had your head buried in one of your books on the sofa while I was working at the table. And fuck, sweetheart, I miss waking up to you in bed next to me.”

Shit, you love this man. His voice has you aching and longing in minutes. “Yeah? I miss you too, Jake. I don’t sleep as well without you in bed with me.”

“I'll be home soon, sweetheart. I'm not going to miss seeing you walk across that stage. Sleep tight!” The screen goes dark as Jake hangs up, and your final thought is how, if you weren’t exhausted, at least Jake would have made sure you got off. But it's not a problem. You'll make sure to show him how much you missed him when he gets home.

Of course, you’re not sure when Jake will be home. He promised he’d be home to see you walk the stage for your graduation. He promised. But you’re lined up alphabetically in your cap and gown, the nylon fabric stifling in the San Diego heat. You keep nervously checking your phone, but there’s been radio silence. You’re done with school, and you should be ready to celebrate. But you’re not sure you can - not without Jake. The nerves are swarming like butterflies in your stomach, but you have a feeling that what you’re feeling isn’t just nerves but disappointment. Your family hadn’t been able to fly to San Diego for graduation, opting to watch the video feed instead and call you later.

So you’re alone in this big auditorium—just you, wearing your horrible graduation robes, dark purple dress, and nude pumps. You aren’t even wearing any lingerie underneath the dress for Jake. More likely than not, you’re going to be going home alone, and the only person who’s going to see you in this dress is the mirror for a second time as you crawl into bed, buck-naked. You have to screw your face into a pleasant expression as the dean and your program heads each give their speeches and as you stand for the school anthem. The whole time, you're praying it'll be over soon so you can Uber home and face-plant into bed before you burst into tears.

Your grin is forced as your row stands and progresses sedately down the aisle. You thank the dean and your program head, smiling for the camera, hoping your mom won't pick up on how melancholy you are as she sees you walk across the television screen. You let your grimace drop the minute you're back in your seat. You scramble for your phone, pulling it out. There are loads of messages - from your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends back home, all overflowing with congratulations - it wouldn’t surprise you if your parents made an event of your graduation. You can almost see your childhood living room decked out in the school colors, everyone overage with a drink in their hands as they toast to your success. But there is nothing at all from Jake. This isn’t like him, not at all. But it’s a Tuesday, and he’s probably at work or in the courtroom. For all you know, he might even be on a plane home at the very moment.

You're on autopilot as you flip the tassel over to the other side and toss your beadboard hat into the air. Soon after, the hall is inundated with everyone here. You're still exhausted, and your social battery is far from charged as you battle your way through the crowd. The sudden influx of people is too much, too soon. You feel lonely and cold as you skirt around groups of people, holding your phone to your ear as you call Jake. Each ring makes your heart sink lower and lower.

On the outskirts of the crowd, you keep calling your boyfriend. But you think you must be hearing things because the more you call, the more you hear Jake’s ringtone. He’s not here, and you’re sure of that fact. Jake is still in New York or on a plane. If he is in the building, why didn’t he come to find you right after the ceremony was over? Why aren’t you being hugged and kissed like you so badly want to be?

You’re fighting back tears, eyes burning as you push your way through the crowd. Nobody notices your distress or pain, even as you pass friends, your lab colleagues, and even your professors. You feel like you can finally breathe in the outskirts of the arena, and you tug your robe off with no little relief. That's when you see Jake standing there wearing a blue suit, a huge smile, and a bouquet of blue roses in his hands. Today, he cuts a gorgeous sight in the stadium, the navy blue fabric of his suit offsetting his gorgeous tan and fitted perfectly to his slim muscles. You faintly register your fellow graduates giggle at the sight of him because, damn, does he look too good to be true. But he only has eyes for you. Your heart skips a beat as you unbelievingly walk towards him.

“Happy Graduation, Baby Blue.” You collapse into his arms, your mortarboard hat crashing to the ground, not caring that Jake nearly drops the bouquets, petals cascading to the floor around you as you wrap your arms around him and hold tight like you can’t believe he’s there. His arms wrap securely around your frame as he presses gentle kisses against the top of your head. When you step away, he grins wide, dimples indenting his cheeks, fine wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes as he hands you the two bouquets. They haven’t lost many blossoms, and you tenderly bring the gossamer blooms to your face so you can sniff their beautiful scent.

“How did you get blue roses in San Diego in the middle of May?” He shrugs, smile softening at the sight of your face. You sniffle softly, and it feels like the rest of the world fades into silence. His hand rises to your face, carefully brushing your stray tears away. “For you, I’d do anything. Always. Today, when all I want is to celebrate all of your accomplishments? I’d do anything. So, I placed an order at a rosarium for their last bouquets of blue roses. I came straight here from the airport after picking it up. I didn’t get a seat, but I was standing at the back when you walked across the stage.”

This time, when you launch yourself at him, you’re smiling from ear to ear, and he’s laughing as he kisses you.

“Sweetheart, looking at you, I’d almost think you thought I wasn’t going to make it to your graduation!” He squeezes you around your waist and kisses your temple. You melt into the easy actions even as you momentarily hide your miserable thoughts from him. He’s right, though you’re not sure how he knew. You hadn’t expected Jake here today, and the lack of faith in the man you’re in love with stings in that place in your chest where your love for him grows. You feel guilty, plain and simple. The more you find yourself looking into those clear green eyes, the worse you feel. It’s only a matter of time before Jake discovers your deceit and before he tries to hold you accountable for your disloyalty.

“C’mon, baby.” He grabs your mortarboard and robe from the floor in one hand and wraps the other around your shoulder. Obviously, he wants to have this conversation far away from the crowds of giggling girls and proud, crowing parents.

You’re walking through the parking lot in the blistering San Diego sunshine, sniffing at the tender blossoms of your bouquets, when Jake speaks again.

“Baby Blue. I want you to listen to me. Can you do that for me?” You nod because, over the past year and some change in your relationship with Jake, you’ve come to recognize the promise in that dark, sweet tone. “It sounds to me like you’ve been tired and stressed while I’ve been in New York. I know you haven’t been eating properly or sleeping properly. My baby Blue’s not been taking care of herself, has she?” He says it like it’s a fact and not a question, confident like he knows exactly what the answer is. “Maybe somebody should take their bratty baby in hand and show her how much she’s loved?”

You nod carefully, letting Jake crowd you up against a hot vehicle in the lot. His hands keep you from burning yourself on the hot metal, and when he tips your head up and to the side so he can kiss your throat, you realize you're pressed up against Jake's truck. How come you didn't notice? When Jake pulls away and smirks at you, you nod in response to his question, each jolt of your head punctuated by greedy, heaving breaths.

“Use your words, Baby Blue.” Jake’s eyes aren't the soft sage green you've come to adore, the color darkening until it’s the green of forest undergrowth, dark and rich. The heat in those cool, dark green eyes makes your voice dry up in your throat.

“I- I'd like that very much, Sir.” He kisses you once more, a firm yet tender press of his lips against yours at your polite response. “Get in the car, baby.”

Arousal swims in your veins, heady and potent, as you clamber into the seat and buckle up. He sets the bouquets carefully in the backseat along with your mortarboard, certificate of graduation, and robe. When Jake slips into the driver's seat with a heated look, you shiver in the seat. The A/C kicks on when the engine does, blasting cold air over your bare arms and legs. But you were shivering far before that, trapped by the heat in Jake's green gaze.

You can barely breathe by the time you get home. There's an ache between your thighs, and it feels like your entire body is strung tighter than a bowstring. Jake ushers you into the elevator, his hand a breath away from your skin for the entire ride up. It feels excruciatingly long, especially since you're rubbing your thighs together the whole way up. Jake's kept a low litany of filthy-tinged promises spilling into your ears, one brawny arm curled around your waist. When the door opens with a ding, you stumble, blue flowers nearly spilling out of your grasp as you toddle across the floor.

“Set the flowers in a vase, Baby Blue.” Jake's voice is a purr you couldn’t disobey if you tried. Your hands shake as you pull a vase out of one of the cabinets and fill it with water. You’re not sure you can think straight if you tried.

“Come here.”

Arousal curls wickedly through you as Jake pulls each of your shoes off, rubbing at the tense muscles of each calf. His hands leave burning trails across your skin as they trail up your sides. Your nipples furl into hard points, goosebumps rising up along your arms as he rises to look into your eyes.

“My beautiful, Baby Blue.” His cologne surrounds you in a heat-induced haze, big hands gentle as they tug your purple dress down until it pools around your bare feet. He growls when he sees what you're wearing under the dress, his breath hot against your bare skin.

“Fuck, baby doll. All this for me?”

You whimper, drugged by the feeling of one of his calloused fingers dragging torturously slowly over the peak of your bare breasts.

“Use your words, Baby Blue.”

“Y-yes.” You're stuttering, your knees close to giving out as he leads you towards the bedroom. This is even sexier, you're sure, because of how you're naked and he's not.

When he settles on the bed, jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and stares at you, you shiver again. Unbidden, you lean in, unconsciously chasing the feeling of his lips against yours. Jake lets you get close, close enough that your lips ghost over his. But you don’t get to kiss your boyfriend. His calloused fingers trap your right nipple, tugging gently at first, then pinching cruelly when you don't stop your crusade.

This time, your whine is of pain, pain which Jake soothes with broad strokes of his tongue against your abused flesh. Your arousal, which had been temporarily banished to the recesses of your mind by the sudden sharp sting of pain, slips to the forefront again.

“Baby Blue. Don’t be a brat.” His hands tip your chin up, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part and your eyes open to meet his. There's only the thinnest rim of green surrounding his pupils now. “I'm going to make you feel good, darling. I promised you I would. But we're doing so on my schedule, not yours. I'm aware how this greedy little pussy,” and oh, he's running his fingers through your folds in a way that makes your spine turn to water, “aches for me. But it's my greedy little pussy tonight. Not yours.”

You nod so hard you think you can feel your thoughts rattle.

“C'mere, darling.”

You fold into his arms easily, your hands resting obediently on his shoulders as your legs rest on either side of his slim hips. The new position puts your core in direct contact with the stiff bulge in Jake's perfectly tailored slacks, and you can feel his heat even through the layers of fabric.

“We're going to take things slow tonight.” Finally, he captures your lips in a kiss, teasing moans and whimpers from you as he plunders your mouth with teeth and tongue. You melt into him, carding your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, relishing in the prickle of his stubble across your cheeks and decolletage as he peppers kisses across your goosebump-covered skin. You lose yourself in the heady, tender kisses and the feeling of his mouth and hands all over you.

It comes to you in vignettes of color and sparks of sound, your memory of that first whirling orgasm. Jakes's moans when you grind down onto him. Your whines as he nips at your skin. His growl as you tug on his overly long hair. When he kneads your bare ass, you come with a scream, back arched, chest heaving, your cunt trembling from the aftershocks. Your eyes are blurry, and you can barely breathe as Jake kisses you again and again.

“Fuck, darling.” Jake’s growl makes your pussy pulse in need. “You came so hard you soaked my pants, Baby Blue.”

His voice darkens, the growl deepening as he manhandles you as he wants. “Did Sir tell you to come?”

With your ass up across his lap, nipples so hard the soft fabric of the slacks are nearly too much, you can’t reply. Jake's big hands smooth over the curve of your ass, making you whimper as they part your cheeks, long fingers delving through your wet folds and making you moan. Your eyes flutter closed until a sharp smack is delivered to your exposed cheeks. You jolt forward across his lap, a sharp gasp leaving your lips.

“Baby Blue, count your punishment for Sir.” Jake’s hands massage soothingly over your flushed skin. “Loud and proud, baby. We'll keep going until you say every number. We're going to ten. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” Your voice is a breathy gasp mixed with a moan as Jake's hands rub across your skin.

“Count, doll.”

The first official smack on your ass makes your skin prickle even more with arousal and, surprisingly, relief. “One”

Your skin feels hot and flushed. Your cunt twinges and throbs.

“T-two”

“Th-three, sir, please.”

“F-four, please, Jake!”

“F-five.”

You're sobbing, cheeks wet, ass stinging and heated, voice catching as you spit the numbers out.

“S-six. Seven. EIGHT. N-nine.”

“P-Please, Sir. I can’t. No more.”

“One more, my beautiful baby. You can do it.”

You’re babbling and sobbing as Jake smacks your sore ass one more time. You’re not sure you choked the last number out. You feel like you’re floating, every inch of your stress and worries over school, graduation, and when Jake will be home melting away. You grab at Jake's hands as he pulls you up until your face is pressed against his shoulder. Your ass burns as you perch on one of your boyfriend's thick thighs.

“Shit, baby doll.” You hum vacantly, snuggling against his shoulder, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. He moves your face back and forth as he wipes away your tears. “You look so beautiful like this for me.”

“Wanna be beautiful for you, sir.” You’re slurring, words seeming to slip from between your dry lips unbidden.

“You’re so beautiful for me always, my Baby Blue.” He lays you carefully down on the cool satin sheets, fingers gentle as they trail over your bare skin.

“Can I show you how beautiful you are?” It’s a question. It's not an order. For the first time since your night began, you feel your arousal drain away.

“S-sir?” Your voice is hoarse and quiet. “C-can we cuddle? Missed feeling your hands on my skin. Missed feeling your skin against mine.”

“Of course, baby.” You watch while lying on your stomach as Jake strips off hurriedly, vacantly noting the dark patch at the front of his boxers. It’s quiet and dark in the room, and if you concentrate, you can hear clanking in the kitchen. He bustles back in with a tray in his hands but doesn’t stop to do more than kick off his boxers. When he walks back in from the bathroom, this time with a cool, soft cloth that he lays on your aching ass, you hum, lifting yourself up on your elbows and pursing your lips instinctively.

“You came?” Unbidden, Jake swoops in to kiss your pursed lips.

“Of course I did. You looked so beautiful for me, my Baby Blue.” He shrugs, a chuckle shaking the bed as he drags the cloth across your skin, leaving a cool, soothing dampness behind. “Seeing you come like that, in my lap? It was too much to handle.”

“You have no idea how in love with you I am, do you, Blue?” You slide under the sheets, taking your customary position with your back against his chest. You’re both seated, for now, in a position that allows Jake to press the cool juice from a glass against your lips. You sip until you’re sated, nibbling on the cheese and crackers he hands you obediently. “I’m not sure I ever told you why I was on icanbeyourbaby.com all that time ago.”

He chuckles at your open mouth as he presses a cherry onto your awaiting tongue. “It was a dare, in all honesty.”

You turn in unease at his words, needing to see his face all of a sudden. Your chest is tight, and it feels like you’re struggling to breathe at the connections your mind is making because of his words. He pecks the tip of your nose, still smiling even at your confusion and the hurt pout on your lips. One big hand finds your hip as he sets the bowl of cherries back on the tray.

“To be clear, sweetheart, you weren’t a bet. Joining icanbeyourbaby was.” All of a sudden, you find you can breathe again.

“You remember Bradshaw from work?” You nod because Bradley Bradshaw is Jake’s biggest competition to make partner at the firm. “He got tired of seeing me in the office at all hours of day and night, working endlessly. Before I met you, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t home more than once a week. I napped on the sofa in my office, and I used the gym in the building to shower. I didn’t have a life. You, my gorgeous Baby Blue, changed everything. You made this lonely apartment home. You made me want to live my life and, moreover, made me want to enjoy the life I have.”

Your face feels red hot and flushed as you bury it into his shoulder. He still smells like his cologne, and his skin is smooth and warm.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” His chuckles shake your body.

“I love you, my Baby Blue.” You smile in your curled-up position against his smooth, warm shoulder. “Anything you need, I will make sure you get.”

“And I promise you, I will always be there to support you.”

You sniffle, and that small sound is enough to have Jake pulling you up until he can see your eyes. His hands cup your face and brush away your tears once again.

“I'm sorry, Jake.”

“What're you apologizing for, baby doll?” He sounds adorably confused.

“I should never have doubted you. You're so sweet and kind and worldly. Meanwhile, there's me. I just graduated from school, and I feel like I barely know what I'm doing with my life.”

You press your hand over his mouth because you can tell he's gearing up to say something. “Wait, wait, wait! It's true, I don't know what I'm going to do next. I'm just tired of this relationship always being you taking care of me. You say I've changed your life. But I didn't even do it consciously. But since the day we met, you've been taking care of me over and over again.”

“Sweetheart, our relationship has us both on an equal playing field.” His eyes are beseeching as he holds you securely against him. “We’re in this together. It doesn’t matter that we're in different stages of our lives. The only thing that matters is how much we love each other.”

Much later that night, after a bath and a massage, your limbs feeling like jelly as you melt into bed, Jake's words stick with you. It's at that moment that you vow to be the best girlfriend and partner you can be. No matter what happens, you'll be there for Jake, however, and whenever he needs it.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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