#and stay seated for algorithm

[cherrydistrict]

girls of the month

[mariasont]

hi pookie! <3

i loved loved loved the recent lipgloss fic! could you write smth about perfume? like bimbo! reader smells sweet asf and all of a sudden reid (or hotch) comes into the office smelling suspiciously sweet

tytyty!! <333

Suspiciously Sweet - S.R

a/n: hiiiiiii pookie!!!!!!! thank u so much for requesting i loved this lololol

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fluffiest fluff, established relationship, spencer's relationship almost being exposed, hotch saving his ass, hotch hinting to having a secret girlfriend (aka my girl bimbo!assistant)

wc: 1.3k

You had a very distinct scent. This wasn't a bad thing, no, far from it. It was sweet and intoxicating, it reminded him of ripe peaches in the height of summer and cherries soaked in syrup, with a hint of something citrusy that reminded him of lazy afternoons in the sun. Was that too poetic? Spencer wasn't sure.

He noticed it everywhere. In the office, where it announced your arrival before you said a word. He noticed it at home. His pillows, his sheets, even the collar of the sweater you'd borrowed once — it was all steeped in the same honeyed scent that lingered after you left his bed, as if you were something he couldn't wash away — not that he wanted to.

This was why Spencer had started sleeping in on weekends when you stayed over. It wasn't laziness, not exactly, but how could he resist staying wrapped up in the thing that reminded him most of you?

Especially on those mornings when you were still half-asleep and clingy, burrowing into him with sleepy little hums, like you were trying to fuse yourselves together, and somehow, it worked. Your scent didn't just stick to his things, it stuck to him, sinking into his skin and leaving him a little dazed by the time you finally rolled out of bed.

Sure, he could rationalize it with some scientific explanation about heat transfer, molecules, or something equally clinical. But science (and he hated to admit this) didn’t account for how it made him feel.

Unfortunately, those feelings, didn't do him any good when one of those slow mornings he was becoming so fond of turned into an emergency call from Hotch about a case.

Now, he found himself here, hunched over the impossibly small sink in the jet's cramped bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw for what felt like fortieth time today. The scent wouldn't budge. It was as though it had soaked into his skin. He knew it was his fault, he couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming across every inch of your body morning.

It wasn't that he minded smelling like you, but focusing on case details and running probability algorithms became infinitely harder when every breath reminded him of how tightly you had wrapped yourself around him just hours before.

He let out a bated breath, shutting off the sink before pushing his way into the main cabin of the jet. He found his way to his favorite seat, third back on the left side, which happened to be located far enough from the engines to minimize auditory distractions.

Morgan looked up, sniffing once as Spencer slid by. "Man, I don't know what it is, but something smells good in here."

Spencer tensed, his stomach dropping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he fought the urge to whip around. Surely it wasn't that strong. It couldn't be.

Rossi glanced up from his crossword, brows furrowing.

“Huh. I was thinking the same thing. It’s faint, but it’s nice. Like fruit or… maybe something floral?” Rossi’s nose wrinkled as he added, “Certainly an improvement over Morgan’s cologne.”

Spencer ducked his head so fast it could've looked like a nod, his cheeks burning as he avoided everyone's gaze.

JJ came out of the coffee area moments later, glancing at the case file in her hand as she passed him. She stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, then frowned.

"Wow, Spence, you smell really good. Did you finally cave and buy cologne?"

Spencer blinked up at her, every ounce of blood in his body rushing to his face.

"Uh, no," he said flatly, trying to mask the embarrassment. "I suppose I woke up smelling like this."

Technically not a lie.

He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. Emily tilted her head, brow furrowing before a wide grin spread across her face. Not a good sign, he concluded.

"Wait a second," she said, pointing at Spencer. "That smells exactly like outside of Cruz's office. I pass it all the time."

Spencer cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around the armrests as his mind scrambled for an explanation, any explanation, to divert their growing attention. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He was doomed. This was it.

Spencer’s pulse was thundering in his ears, his face still flushed, when Hotch finally set down his pen.

For a second, Spencer braced himself for the worst, the horrifying moment when even Hotch would add to his scrutiny.

"That smell? It's the same hand sanitizer Cruz keeps in his office. He offered it to me after a meeting, probably the same stuff Spencer borrowed when he spilled his coffee this morning."

Spencer looked to Hotch, mouth opening and closing before nodding as if in agreement. "Yeah, that's... probably it."

The rest of the ride passed, to Spencer’s immense relief, without further incident. Morgan gave him a few odd looks now and then, but Spencer was too preoccupied, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out why Hotch had saved his ass.

When the last of the team finally stepped off the plane, Spencer hung back, letting the others pass. Hotch did too, falling in step beside him. His pace was slower than usual, his gaze fixed forward, but when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for Spencer to hear.

"Word of advice, Reid, next time, carry mints and a travel sized bottle of something unscented. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Spencer’s head whipped around, his face going a deep shade of red. Hotch, meanwhile, kept walking, his expression completely neutral, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

"He said what?"

You were laughing uncontrollably, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake and left you gasping for air, your hands grabbing him for balance. Rollers filled your hair, a ritual you'd patiently explained to him before, and loose wisps curled around your face.

And your smile, well, he was perfectly certain it was the prettiest he'd ever seen you.

"Yup," Spencer confirmed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You froze mid-giggle, eyes narrowing.

"Wait, wait, wait, how does he know that? Is Hotch speaking from experience or something?" You blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, what if Hotch has, like, a secret girlfriend? What if it's someone at the BAU? What if it's Garcia?"

"It's not Garcia, and it's definitely not a secret." Spencer raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if the answer was obvious. "Hotch has been dating his assistant for years. He thinks it's some big secret, but it's... not. He picks her up lunch at least twice a week, and his closed-door meetings with her? Not as inconspicuous as he thinks."

You gasped, practically bouncing in place as you grabbed Spencer's sleeve. "Shut up! I didn't know that! I love her clothes. Do you think she'd tell me where she shops? That red skirt she wore the other day was everything."

“You don’t need any more skirts,” Spencer said, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your hip and ribs, pinching just enough to make you squirm on the countertop. “If your closet gets any fuller, you’re going to have to rent out a second apartment just for storage.”

You giggled, tightening your legs around him and clinging to him like a koala, your arms looped snugly around his neck.

"That's why I have your apartment," you said, sticking out your tongue. "Plenty of space for my skirts, and you get to see me model them. Win-win."

"When you put in like that, it's kind of hard to say no."

He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, teasing and testing, like a flicker of fire before it catches. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter blending into his smile. The kiss deepened, honey-slow and sweet, golden warmth spreading through his chest as you pressed closer, closing every last bit of distance between you.

When you pulled back, his lips still tingling, you grinned. "Wow, you really do smell like me."

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join my taglist here!

[bradleysass]

Match - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 530

James is beaming when Regulus walks into their apartment, phone in hand, eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and barely restrained laughter.

"We're a match made in heaven," James declares, grinning from ear to ear.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, pausing to toe off his shoes. "What did you do?"

James plops onto the couch, patting the cushion next to him in invitation. "Took a quiz."

Regulus sighs but crosses the room anyway, sinking into the seat beside James. "A quiz."

"A relationship compatibility quiz!"

"Oh, Merlin."

James turns his phone toward Regulus, showing a brightly colored webpage with the bold, mocking headline: Your Compatibility Score: 38%—Not Doomed, But Not Great!

Regulus blinks at the screen, then at James. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, and apparently we're not. Or at least, we shouldn’t be." James wiggles his eyebrows. "According to BuzzQuizly, we’re a disaster."

Regulus snorts. "Did you answer the questions properly, or did you choose the most chaotic option each time?"

James gasps, placing a hand on his chest as if wounded. "I answered them honestly!"

"James."

"Okay, mostly honestly. But when it asked, 'Do you prefer deep, meaningful conversations or lighthearted banter?' I put banter because obviously, we banter."

Regulus shakes his head. "James, we literally stay up at night discussing philosophy and the meaning of existence."

"Yes, but we do it while bantering. That should count as both!"

Regulus rubs his temples. "What else?"

James scrolls. "Oh! This one's good. 'Do you believe in soulmates?' I put yes, because duh. And then it asked, 'Do you think your partner is your soulmate?' and I also put yes! So, points for me."

Regulus hums. "And yet, 38%."

"I know! Rude, right?"

Regulus takes the phone, scrolling through the results. "James, you said we have completely opposite interests."

"We do—I like Quidditch, you like reading about dead philosophers."

Regulus stares at him. "James, you read more than I do. Half of our furniture is bookshelves, and most of them are yours."

James hesitates. "Okay, but—"

"And you love my existential ramblings."

"I do, but—"

"And we both like the same music, the same films, the same—"

"Alright, alright! Maybe I misunderstood the question." James crosses his arms. "I just thought they meant, like, core interests."

Regulus scrolls again, then exhales sharply. "James."

James winces. "...Yes?"

Regulus tilts the screen toward him, revealing the question: How do you and your partner resolve conflicts? James' answer: We don’t. We battle to the death.

James coughs. "That was a joke."

Regulus gives him a long, unimpressed look. "You know how algorithms work, right?"

"Loosely."

Regulus rolls his eyes, tossing the phone onto the coffee table before shifting to straddle James' lap, fingers threading through his hair. "You are, without a doubt, an idiot."

James beams. "But I'm your idiot."

Regulus sighs but doesn’t bother hiding the small smile tugging at his lips. "38%," he muses, tilting his head. "Should we break up?"

James gasps dramatically, hands flying to Regulus’ waist. "You wound me."

Regulus leans in, brushing his lips against James’. "Mm. Maybe you can redeem yourself."

James grins against his mouth. "I knew we were a match made in heaven."

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Taste Of Millions.

Chapter 2: “Mask”

Synopsis: You have everything — power, fame, a five-star empire built on your tongue alone. But to complete The Palate Atlas, your lifelong culinary magnum opus, you need one final dish. And it just so happens the only person who knows how to make it is a rude, no-name chef hidden in the back alleys of Seoul — a girl who couldn’t care less who you are, and whose recipe may cost you more than your pride.

Word Count: 1,340

Karina X Male!Reader

You didn’t say anything else.

Not a word of praise. Not a compliment. Not a goodbye.

You stood, slow and measured, placed your spoon down like it was part of a ritual, and turned without looking back. The door clicked behind you, muffled by the heavy Seoul night.

The Royal Suite had everything — heated floors, imported silk sheets, a view of Seoul’s skyline that cost more per night than most people’s annual income. The minibar was stocked. The bath was drawn. Classical music played softly, algorithmically selected based on your previous stays.

And yet, for the first time in years, you didn’t taste anything.

You sat in silence. Jacket still on. The smell of her broth — earthy, deep, with that one untraceable note — clung to the collar of your coat. You poured yourself a glass of something expensive and let it sit untouched on the glass table.

You had eaten everything.

From the spice-soaked alleys of Mumbai to the quiet, tea-steamed inns of Kyoto — flavor was your currency, your obsession. And now, at 99%, the last chapter of The Palate Atlas was supposed to be ceremonial.

But she ruined that.

That girl.

That kitchen.

That taste.

You didn’t sleep. You didn't even lie down.

At 6:00 AM, you were dressed again. No need to alert the assistant this time. You knew where you were going.

Jongno looked different in the morning — pale light stretching across damp stone, laundry flapping from unseen windows, the city’s noise still rubbing the sleep from its eyes.

The same red lantern hung above the door. Flickering again, like it was laughing.

You opened it without knocking.

Inside: chaos.

She hadn’t heard the door. A small radio played trot music on the counter. Karina was hunched over a rice cooker, yelling into her phone with a half-burnt toast in her mouth.

“No, I said two cartons of eggs, not twenty — where the hell am I gonna fit twenty?! I live in a shoebox, not a warehouse—oh, crap.”

She turned too quickly and knocked over a stack of plates. You caught one mid-air.

She froze.

“…you,” she muttered.

You set the plate down without a word.

She blinked at you, eyes narrowed like she was trying to will you out of existence. Her hair was a mess — still tied, but haphazardly. One slipper on, one barefoot. Apron inside out.

“I didn't open yet,” she said, voice flat.

“I’m not here for the opening.”

“Of course you're not,” she scoffed. “You’re here to lurk in that chair again and stare at me like I’m some undercooked dish.”

You moved toward the seat. Same one.

She groaned. “God. Do you ever talk?”

You adjusted your coat. “Not unless the food’s worth it.”

She walked to the stove. This time, no theatrics. No silent grace. She cracked an egg with one hand — it broke messily, yolk spilling off the side of the pan. She didn’t react.

“Don’t expect miracles. You’re getting whatever’s left from testing.”

You watched her. No judgment. Just silence.

She burned the edge of the toast, tossed it, muttered something in a dialect you didn’t recognize. Then she turned around and saw your eyes still on her.

“What now?” she snapped.

“You were graceful yesterday.”

She blinked.

“Now you’re tripping over yourself.”

A beat.

“Wow. Your first joke,” she said. “Did it hurt?”

You didn’t smile.

But you did lean back slightly, watching her stir a pot with too much force.

“You know, I don’t trust people who cook like that,” you said, voice low.

She scoffed. “And I don’t trust people who talk in riddles and act like gods.”

You paused.

“Do you trust anyone?”

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned the flame down to simmer. Wiped her hands. Poured coffee into two chipped mugs — no cream, no sugar.

She set one down in front of you, keeping her own.

“Not really,” she said finally.

You took the mug. No thank you. No nod.

Just a sip.

Still too hot.

You didn’t flinch.

“Good,” you said. “Trust ruins flavor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That's the most psychopath thing I’ve ever heard.”

You didn’t deny it.

And she didn’t ask you to leave.

She moved mechanically now — pan sizzling faintly, the egg finally cooking right, toast less burnt. The clumsy fog of her morning missteps slowly lifted as the kitchen air thickened with garlic, sesame oil, and gochugaru.

Still no small talk.

You were used to silence. You preferred it.

But then your eyes landed on a small, glass container set off to the side of the counter — an unassuming jar, filled to the brim with deep-red kimchi. It didn’t look plated. It wasn’t dressed up for a guest. This was someone’s real breakfast.

Without asking, you stood.

She was plating the eggs when she heard the snap of the lid.

She turned just as your chopsticks dipped into the jar.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sharp.

You didn’t answer.

You lifted a bite.

Cabbage cut just right — not too thick, not stringy. Fermentation perfectly timed. The chili paste wasn’t factory-processed, it was hand-ground. You could taste it in the punch, the patience, the balance.

“This isn’t for the public,” you said.

“Obviously,” she snapped, walking over. “It’s mine. I made that.”

You looked up at her.

“You’re wasting this.”

She scowled. “I’m eating it.”

You took another bite. Slower this time. As if listening to something in the flavor only you could hear.

“It’s the best thing I’ve tasted since coming back to Korea.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you always this invasive? You just walk into kitchens and eat people’s breakfast?”

“You left it on the counter.”

She pointed a spatula at you. “That’s not consent.”

You placed the chopsticks down. Precise. Intentional.

“You made this when no one was watching,” you said. “That’s why it’s good.”

That shut her up for a beat.

You didn’t elaborate. You never did.

She rolled her eyes again, muttering something under her breath.

“You rich types always love pretending you see through people,” she said, walking back to the stove.

You stayed seated, eyes still on the kimchi.

“But tell me,” she added, over her shoulder, “Did it taste good enough for your world-ending project? Or do I have to start charging admission to my fridge?”

You didn’t reply.

You just reached for the jar again.

She swatted your hand away with the spatula.

“Nope. That’s all you get.”

You didn’t say anything else.

Not a word of praise. Not a compliment. Not a goodbye.

You stood, slow and measured, placed your spoon down like it was part of a ritual, and turned without looking back. The door clicked behind you, muffled by the heavy Seoul night.

Your fingers had just grazed the lid again when your phone buzzed in your coat pocket.

One vibration. Then two. You sighed quietly.

Karina looked up from the stove, brow raised. “Let me guess. Michelin’s calling?”

You ignored her and answered.

“Speak.”

A familiar voice — smooth, efficient, always on the clock — filtered through.

“Sir, apologies for the early disturbance. Just got off a call with your mother’s estate manager.”

You didn’t say anything, but your jaw shifted.

“She’s asking about the timeline again. Specifically why Korea’s taking longer than anticipated.”

You let silence answer for you.

The voice continued, trying to fill the void.

“She’s… growing impatient, sir. She said, and I quote, ‘If he’s chasing flavors instead of legacies, he’s wasting more than just money.’”

Karina turned slightly, eavesdropping without guilt.

You looked at the red kimchi again. The way it clung to the edge of the chopsticks like it had a story to tell.

“Noted,” you said finally.

“Should I inform her of your current status?”

“No.”

“But, sir—”

“I said no.”

Click.

You slipped the phone back into your coat.

[remotewatch]

can’t hit it one time, multiple

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.9k wc

minors dni but still get involved and stay informed politically let me be clear

summary: volunteering is so rewarding! being a part of a cause you believe in, educating first time voters, getting dicked by the campaign’s eye candy on your lunch break; it’s got everything!

cws: shameless classic 1D style smut, bus rocking, wrap it before you tap it on THE Harris campaign reproductive freedom bus (is it legally actionable to call it by its govt name), whatever the hell is going on with the JD videos cranked up to 100, reader calls him both diva and a slut, both not totally serious, his tripod is your wingman, this Barbie tastes like clementines, semi public sex I GUESS, sub!jack SOMEWHAT

many thanks to my editor (and co-writer this time around) @mystardustmelodyyy for the organizing and romantic flair 🩵🗳️

additional thanks to Jack and the team for the inspirational Philly content, do keep it up !!

Although your day of volunteering had been nothing terribly exciting so far- setting up chairs, guiding people to their seats, a LOT of directing lost families to the bathroom- the whole town hall was thrumming with a sense of hope that felt nothing short of electric. You didn’t realize how busy you’d been until you finally got a chance to sit down and make up some gift bags. That took no time at all, leaving you a nice free chunk of the day to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. There had been rumors of a free gelato truck, and the empty breezeway pointed to them being true. The sharp thwap of sambas slapping onto marble snapped you out of your daydreaming; almost empty, apparently.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted the source of the racket: America’s most polarizing nepo baby. Filming… a stunt of some kind? He takes a running start into a front flip, landing close enough to his tripod to throw it off balance. After repositioning it and trying again, his shoes slip in a puddle on the floor, forcing him to splay out a hand to avoid falling onto his ass.

You were well aware of Jack’s work; your feed was convinced you were precisely his target demo and had been pushing his content onto you since July. Maybe it wasn’t totally off base. Regardless, watching him struggle to land a perfect somersault was much more endearing than the finished videos. When he stands up for a third attempt and manages to tangle a tripod foot up with his pants in the process, you’re unable to suppress a fit of giggles.

“Are you winning over there, diva?”

Jack looks a bit sheepish when he first glances up but recovers quickly. He adjusts the tripod and hits you with the same smile your algorithm insists makes you weak.

“I think it’s still too close to call.”

“Did you want some help with the…whatever it is you’re recording?”

One of the tripod legs abruptly gives out, the clatter echoing around the breezeway. Jack winces and nudges the fallen hunk of fiberglass with his shoe.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind.” Five long strides over to you and he’s pressing his phone into your hands, camera already open. “If you’d just follow- well, you saw what I was trying to do.”

You can’t say if it’s the pressure of a live audience of him being fed up with his previous attempts, but Jack flips perfectly into frame this time, proceeds immediately to an immaculate standing backflip, then takes off towards the other end of the breezeway without so much as glancing at the camera. He leaps up and clicks his heels a few steps in, only turning around when you’re starting to wonder if he’s just ditching the shoot altogether.

“How was that?” He shouts on his way back over.

“Looks good!” You have no earthly idea what he was going for, but it fits right in with the absurdist athletic vibe he’s been rocking with between his more overt political content.

“Aw, that’s great. Thank you!” he beams at you after looking over the footage (you try not to focus on how small the phone looks in his hands). “The lighting is perfect too.”

“Oh, good!” Thank god. “Did you need help with anything else?”

Jack rolls his eyes mischievously like he's considering letting you in on a huge secret. “I was actually going to film a thing or two for JD if you’ve got an extra minute.”

“For that? Absolutely!”

His grin stretches wider to match yours at that response, and you realize you’re smiling at each other like two idiots.

“I’m Jack, by the way.”

He repeats your name back after you introduce yourself, and you wish he’d do it again so you can keep watching his lips move saying it.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

This time, Jack gives you slightly more direction, guiding you to hold the phone at an angle just high enough to skew provocative as he leisurely strolls backwards through the hallway. You don’t need to coach him into angling his head just right to catch the afternoon sun in his eyes; he’s got the bambi look down pat.

“JD, I really miss you. Won’t you come home so we can be a family again?” He motions just out of frame for you to aim higher, but you’re already adjusting the shot before you see his signal. “You said I shouldn’t be voting because I’m not a dad like you. Is that true, JD? Or are you making up stories again?”

Jack glances backward to check if there’s enough room for him to keep up his pace, then breaks for a second to ask “Alright, one more?” The two octave difference almost makes you drop his phone, but you keep it together and nod.

His eyes crinkle up adorably when he smiles. “Sweet.” Then he’s back to business, eyefucking the camera like he just got out of prison.

“JD, I thought you knew everything, and you told me that I should never lie. How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know when you're telling a story or not?”

You stick your bottom lip out and mouth “more”; he happily obliges. Jack looks every bit the foxy little public servant as he peers out at the lens from under his eyelashes.

“Can you help me understand, JD? I want to understand. I just need a little help. Can you show me?” Christ, he’s practically purring. Thankfully, he snaps back to director mode before you can get too lost in the rhythm.

“You think that was too much?”

“I think you could do a little more, to be really honest.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “How so?”

“...You could go down on your knees.” You’re half joking at the most and still think you’ve crossed a line, but sure enough, he’s kneeling down and crossing his ankles like it couldn’t come more naturally to him.

He’s still plenty tall enough to bite your pant zipper, and you quickly shove the thought aside.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect, just like that.”

This time, he might as well be on mute for all the words you’re processing. It’s all slow blinking doe eyes, curls bouncing with every emphatic head tilt, his tongue stretching out to wet his lips between sentences. The “Can you show me?” rocks straight through you and breaks the spell when Jack glances up at you. His expression shifts from mockingly innocent to coquettish for just a scorching, enduring moment, then he’s back on his feet, back to the bubbly, personable demeanor you’d expect from him.

“Thank you again for the help. She was NOT playing nice today.” he nods back at the tripod.

“Oh, it’s no problem! I love your work.” He waves a hand modestly.

“I love your work! You actually came out here and helped! It’s so much more important than what I do. Is this your first event?”

“It is! It’s my first time.”

“Well, we love first timers around here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” The implication hits you a beat too late, so you pad it with a restrained “It’s really interesting to see the behind the scenes of it all.”

Jack rocks back on his heels, his eyebrows drawing up playfully.

“Have you seen the bus?”

“Of course I’ve seen the bus!”

“No, I meant the inside of it. Did you want to see that?” He allows himself the forwardness of a head tilt.

What else could you say?

“Yeah, I really would.”

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Bless the gelato truck, because there’s not a trace of human activity on this side of the building. You’re barely paying attention to the formality of a tour Jack’s giving; his enthusiasm is adorable, but the way his fingers spread as he’s pointing out every feature in the bus is making your mind wander.

“Shoes on or off?” you manage to ask.

“Oh, whatever you want. We’re not strict.” Off, then. “As you can see, this is where the magic happens.”

Once you get to the middle of the bus, the combination of campaign paraphernalia and scattered phone chargers, melatonin gummies, and cold brew cans feels like you’re getting a peek into something thrilling. There’s a map of tour stops tacked up with current polling results on a small whiteboard to the side. It’s close, but no doubt doable. You’re so swept up that you nearly smack your head on an open cabinet door when you turn back to face your host. His hand shifts back along its edge to cushion the impact before you can think to duck, and the heat from it makes your cheek tingle.

“Careful, it’s tight in here!” he teases.

It’s hard to shake the feeling of trespassing.

“Are you sure I’m good to be here?” Jack turns back from replenishing half empty swag baskets to smile reassuringly.

“No one needs it until one. When do you have to get back?”

“My break ends at one thirty.”

“I guess it’s our bus, then!” He fetches you a sparkling water from the minifridge and cracks open his own like he owns the place. You elect to remain standing and lean against one of the chairs opposite, certainly not because you want to have him looking up at you for as long as possible.

Jack is all long limbs and tanned striations as he stretches out on the bench seat like a cat, his wingspan nearly spanning its whole length. When he arches slightly to get comfortable, his shirt catches under his pecs and makes your mouth go dry. You wonder if you’re staring too much.

“So, do you have any other directing experience, or do you just have a knack for giving orders?” His head lolls to one side, soaking up your attention. One of his feet moseys it’s way over to you, and you uncross your ankles before it has a chance to nudge them in that direction.

“I think you’re just good at taking them.” Is that a blush you’re seeing? Jack breaks into a giggle that reads almost wistful.

“I was expecting you to tell me to roll over and balance a treat on my nose.”

“Anything for the campaign, right?”

“I mean, of course, but it's still those day to day interactions that are going to win this for us.”

“Yeah, the canvassing especially is really rewarding, I didn’t expect this many people to be undecided. I guess some of them still need a little convincing.” You plop down next to him, closer than you’d ever dare if he wasn’t flushed clear down to his shirt collar. Somehow, your right leg finds itself intertwined with his. He’s a fucking furnace, even directly under the AC unit.

“Not me though; I know exactly what I want to do.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth curl up without a shred of hesitation. He squints at you again before taking a slow pull of his Perrier, Adam’s Apple bobbing like it's begging you to bite it. His middle fingertip trails lazily around the rim as he sets it down. One last lip smack, then he’s pressing them onto yours and flooding your nose with the smell of clementines and sea salt.

The buzzing in your brain reaches a fever pitch when he drapes an arm around your waist to pull you closer. Tilting your head ever so slightly, your hand wanders up to cradle his face and press a thumb to his chin. A gentle push down to open Jack’s mouth and his tongue is snaking its way in, the obscene length of it sending sparks straight down to your clit. He breathes a contented, relieved moan into your mouth when your leg swings over his hips to straddle him, then little stilted mewls as you start rocking back and forth.

“You’re a little slut for democracy aren’t you? You tease, panting against his jawline.

“Who, me?” he grins and drags his hands up your thighs to settle on your ass, thumbs playing with your waistband.

You can feel your nipples hardening as you reach one hand out to steady yourself against the window. The bracing cold glass is delicious, but you flinch back when you spot people trickling back into view, gelato cups in hand, a few racing over to pose with the bus.

“Don’t worry; they can’t see you,” he chuckles along your sternum. Jack scooches too far forward trying to get a better angle to rut against you and nearly slides you both off the seat. You hear a whispered little “oh, shit,” before he scoops you up with one arm and shifts to stand, the other grabbing a spare water on his way to the rear of the bus. He collapses onto the deep sofa without missing a beat, but looks back up at you for reassurance, as if he’s somehow being presumptuous. You don’t even see it; you’re too busy yanking at his jeans like a madwoman after feeling how hard he is.

Concerns assuaged, he manages to pull both of your pants off without incident, only an accidental kick to the end table. Jack lets out a cackle when his hand slides low enough to feel you drip down his wrist.

“And I’m the slut for democracy?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You stretch behind him to the bin of condoms marked ‘F•CK PROJECT 2025’ on the far windowsill, shamelessly letting your breasts drag over his face in the process.

“It would really be a shame if we didn’t do some quality control, since we’re already here.” You trace one along his lips until they part to accept your gift.

“Such a waste,” Jack mimics you, if a bit muffled, as his incisors shred the foil wrapper. “And,” he adds cheekily with a shrug, “we’re fresh out of plan B.”

He’s already slid it on by the time you realize he’s unclipped your bra somewhere between here and the door, and you waste absolutely no time slipping him inside, so warm it makes you shudder. His eyelids flutter when you sit down fully; he’s whining like the bus is soundproof the second you get to work, all strained little whimpers and cut off syllables as you bounce in his lap. There’s not a minute to waste, and it’s showing in the breakneck pace you set. Jack’s movements are just as frantic, bucking up hard enough to threaten to throw you straight off this ride.

Desperate to see how far down he blushes, you slide your arms under his shirt, heat blooming up to your shoulders as you do. He gets your hint and tugs it off; you waste no time planting both hands on his pecs and letting your fingers run wild through his chest hair.

Meanwhile, your shirt and bra get caught on your elbow in the process of shedding them, and your left knee skids right off the couch while you’re distracted. Jack catches your shin effortlessly and plants his foot to keep his balance; you actually spot him smiling at his own reflexes. He rolls you both over without slipping out, chuckling a little “didn’t I tell you to be careful?” into your ear. He moves to let your leg down, and you throw it over his shoulder to keep him pinned flat against you before he can do so. The new angle restricts his range a bit, but he’s already shoving a hand down to strum at your clit, face millimeters from yours for the perfect view of just how much you’re loving it. He murmurs cockily when he sees you holding back. “Won’t you let me hear you?” There’s no way you’ll attract attention if you’re just moaning into his mouth, right?

It’s all too much; Jack’s whole body draped over you like a fever that won’t break, the way he’s panting down your throat every time you clamp around him, the little calluses on his occupied fingertips and how they maintain their perfect, unbearable pace no matter how much you thrash around. You can barely squeak out a “fuck, Jack, please-,”

His “I know, I know,” sounds just as ragged and that tips you right over the edge.

Jack’s composure completely unravels with the first pulse. His eyes screw shut and his hips still as deep as he can get to ride it out with you. You’re shaking and frothing like a can of Pepsi- sweet and sticking all along his slicked-flat happy trail as you lift your leg a little higher and over the back of his neck to pull him in closer. The beads of sweat on his forehead drip onto yours when he falls into another messy kiss, aftershocks buzzing comfortably through you both.

His phone timer jolts you out of your shared stupor.

“What is that?”

“12:30,” he groans into the couch cushion. “Sit tight, I’ll get you a towel.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Jack is steaming your dress pants in one sock and his Hanes like its second nature, and it’s making a strong case for the hottest thing he could possibly do. In a few minutes, he’ll go out the front of the bus and stir up the crowd while you exit through the back.

“Take a bev for the road if you’d like.” He slaps the minifridge pointedly.

“Thanks, you’re such a good host!” you hadn’t moved from where you were laid out on the sofa; it was too much fun watching him get flustered from the compliment, “This was fun, getting to know you and all.”

“Yeah it was,” his tone is achingly sincere as he smiles back at you, face getting flushed all over again “...Not to be too bold, but could I get your number?”

[theseventhdimension]

Heyo could I request s4 Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader fluff where reader and Aaron got caught in the rain and warm up under blanket together

Dry by Morning

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.2k+

DNI: all are welcome!

Author's Note: Why am i lowk so cold right now you read my mind? I'm writing this in my bed covered in a million blankets and I'm still shivering?? Hope you enjoy!! ;)

The sky had been threatening it for hours.

It crouched low and heavy above the streets, a swollen bruise of a sky—slate-gray, thunder-veined, sagging with held breath. Like some divine ceiling was about to crack. The air buzzed with static. Wind jittered through gutters, rattled street signs like teeth in a glass. Even the birds had made a tactical retreat.

You’d seen it coming from the passenger seat of the SUV—glancing sideways at Hotch, who drove like the storm didn’t exist. Who barely blinked when the clouds began to roll like some ancient thing shifting in its sleep.

You should’ve known.

But the debrief had dragged. Local PD was eager and underqualified. Rossi had filled the gaps with a full-blown TED Talk. Reid took the younger agents back to the motel. You and Hotch stayed behind, tying off paperwork at the courthouse just a few blocks away. Allegedly walking distance.

You made it one and a half blocks before the heavens lost patience.

It didn’t drizzle. It attacked. One second: nothing. The next—biblical.

A wall of rain fell like a dropped ocean, soaking you straight to the bone before your brain could catch up. Your breath punched out in a gasp. Hair plastered flat. Water sluiced down your neck and pooled at your collarbones.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, yanking your jacket tighter—not that it helped. It clung like wet tissue.

Hotch didn’t flinch. He didn’t curse. Just stopped. Glanced at the sky like it was mildly inconvenient. Then reached out and caught your hand.

“Let’s move.”

His grip was firm—warm in a way that felt unfair, given the weather.

You blinked rain out of your eyes. “Sprinting through a downpour? Is this standard FBI protocol or...?”

“Adapt and overcome,” he said, deadpan. “Or we could wait out the thunder and hope it’s in a generous mood.”

You ran. Kind of. It was less sprint, more sodden shuffle.

Puddles licked your ankles. Rain sheeted off the awnings. A flash of lightning painted the street white, catching a rusted neon beer sign and a couple of raccoons making regrettable life choices behind the dumpster.

By the time you reached the flickering "VACANCY" sign of the Sunset Pines Motel, you were two-thirds water, one-third regret.

Hotch opened his door—closer than yours—and tugged you inside like it was a crime scene that needed securing.

The rain didn’t stop. If anything, it escalated—pounding the roof with the intensity of a stampede, the heater vent shrieking faintly in protest.

You stood in the center of the room like a shipwreck survivor, dripping onto laminate flooring designed to look like wood and failing. Your jacket peeled off with a loud squelch.

“We should’ve waited for Reid,” you grumbled. “He had the car. And an umbrella. And probably some smug algorithm to avoid this exact scenario.”

Hotch gave a rare, understated snort. “He also had a granola bar stuck to the backseat.”

“Better than fungal carpet and the scent of despair..”

His mouth twitched—so brief you could’ve missed it. You didn’t.

You also didn’t miss the way his shirt clung, now translucent, mapping out the line of his collarbone and the tension in his shoulders. You turned away quickly. Pretended to admire the curtains, which had clearly not been updated since the Clinton administration.

“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, already crossing to the closet. “Towel’s on the rack. I’ll grab the spare.”

You escaped into the bathroom, clutching your pride and dripping all over the tile.

It smelled like citrus disinfectant and mid-life crisis. Beige walls, beige tile, beige towels—like someone had bleached the idea of color. But it was dry.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and winced.

“Excellent,” you muttered. “I look like a haunted mop.”

When you emerged, Hotch had changed.

Sweatpants. A long-sleeved cotton tee with the sleeves pushed up. Barefoot. Hair damp at the temples. He looked less like a federal agent and more like someone you might run into at a bookstore at 9 p.m., buying decaf and crime novels.

He was kneeling by the bed, fiddling with a space heater that sounded like it wanted to explode.

Without looking, he tossed something toward the chair.

It landed with a soft thud.

His hoodie.

“Put that on,” he said. “You’re freezing.”

You stared at it. Then at him. Then tugged it over your head. It was warm. Soft. Smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry and something underneath that was just him.

“Better?” he asked, glancing over.

Your heart gave a traitorous little thud. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He nodded once, then rose smoothly, pulling a thick motel blanket from the shelf above the rack.

“You’re pulling out all the stops,” you teased. “What’s next, cocoa?”

“This isn’t about theatrics,” he replied, dead serious. “It’s about comfort. You need it.”

Something in your chest flickered. He said it like he meant it. Like you needing comfort was not only valid—it was expected.

He sat on the bed, unfolded the blanket with calm precision, and left a space beside him. No invitation spoken. Just… available.

You sat. Slowly. Shoulder to shoulder. Damp sock to damp sock. The blanket came up around you both.

It was warm. The room still hummed with rain outside, but the storm couldn’t touch you here.

He exhaled slowly. Almost a sigh.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

You nodded. Then, softer, “You ever get tired of this?”

He didn’t ask what this meant. He just looked out the window, watching the rain make art out of the glass.

“Sometimes. But not tonight.”

You studied him. Jawline sharp in the lamp glow. Eyes thoughtful, not hard. Quiet strength wrapped in soft layers.

“Why not tonight?”

His gaze met yours. Steady. Measured. “Because you’re here.”

It hit you somewhere deep. Behind the ribs.

He didn’t say it with heat. Didn’t say it like a pickup line. He said it the way he said everything—with control, with certainty, with meaning.

And then, slowly, he leaned forward. Not all the way. Just enough to ask.

You met him halfway.

Forehead to forehead. Breath mingling. The blanket still around you. A quiet kind of intimacy. A truce with the world.

You murmured, “Are you always this smooth, or is it just the trauma bonding?”

A ghost of a smile. “Statistically, this is my least embarrassing approach.”

You shifted closer. Shoulder to chest now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Not luck,” he murmured. “Strategy.”

Then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Just present.

And in the morning, when sunlight finally cracked through the window and painted the walls gold—

—you didn’t notice right away.

Because for the first time in days, maybe weeks—

You were warm. You were still. And he was still beside you.

[republicsecurity]

Training Log, Subvocal Capture: Collar Edition

Flex fingers. Polymer gauntlet creaks like fresh snow. Collar’s alloy rim is a cold halo in my palm—weightless in the suit’s servos, but heavy in implication. LG44E watches me, chin level, pulse thrumming in my visor readout. Training dummy with a heartbeat.

Assess & Approach. One pace to his oblique. My HUD traces escape vectors in faint red wireframe—comically useless; classroom walls, zero exits. Eye‑contact rule nonetheless. His pupils track the collar, not me. Good dog.

Draw Collar. Thumb the latch at my waist; carbon port opens like a stingray’s mouth. Collar unfolds, LEDs dark. Wrist display tags it: MK‑IV / SN‑X72M4C27 / STATUS: ARMED.

Positioning. Segment hinges breathe apart with a silvery hiss. No obstructions; green service LED blinks once—ready to bite.

Placement. Raise, slide, glide. Polymer pads kiss skin below his jaw. He stiffens as the joint clears his occipital ridge.

Gentle Seating. Press inward. Soft thunk—segments flush. I feel the resonance through my glove, like locking a railcar coupler.

Lock‑In. Silver button, thumb pressure. Twin micro‑flares spark left and right, two‑tone chirp in my audio feed. The collar contracts by two millimetres; LG44E’s swallow stalls halfway down his throat.

Verify. I tug. Zero give. HUD pings: LINK VERIFIED.

The UI blossoms: battery 98 %, vitals nominal, muscle‑tension curve spiking then settling. Default output RED – STUN‑HOLD flickers, waiting for a conscience that isn’t coming.

I toggle to BLUE – COMPLIANCE. Motors murmur. LG44E’s shoulders roll back, spine straightens, head pivots toward the northern wall—exactly where the courseware says a compliant detainee should orient.

There it is: the quiet hum of sovereignty. A feedback loop of authority routed through ceramic, alloy, and wet nervous tissue. My glove twitches a command—step forward. Collar relays, his legs obey. Another twitch—kneel. Servo whine, then knees to mat in perfect cadence.

It isn’t pleasure, I tell myself; it’s proof of system integrity. The MK‑IV does what it’s built to do: move muscle, still doubt. But a shadow of a smile ghosts across the corner of my HUD‑reflected lips. Not pleasure—feedback. Positive, precise, absolute.

LG44E’s heart rate steadies. Bio‑Vitals Array likes what it sees: compliance at ≤ 65 bpm. I log the metrics, flag the session complete.

Thumb‑press again—collar blooms open, LEDs wink out. Training manacles released, man inside left blinking, sweat‑slick but unharmed.

Systems checklist scrolls: Collar integrity 100 %. Cadet response within spec. Behavioral override latency 14 ms.

Inside the armour’s hush, I exhale. One more drill closer to graduation, one more proof that control—properly applied—is indistinguishable from peace. ***

LG44E — Neural Debrief Buffer (unfiltered stream)

Neck’s bare. Air‑con bites like January steel. UK90F circles—silent servo hiss, armor lacquer gleaming under institutional fluorescents. The collar in his gauntlet looks absurdly small, like a toy halo machined from night.

Heartbeat tags my eardrums. Stay still, keep breathing. Training drill, they said. Easy. Then the hinge flares wide and the thing is right there, cool polymer pads brushing skin below my jawline. Reflex: step back. Legs don’t. I told them to. Knees twitch but the rest is statue.

Soft pressure, a click—no pain, yet the world shrinks to a ring of alloy hugging my throat.

TWO‑TONE CONFIRMATION.

Double chirp vibrates skullbone; micro‑flares strobe at periphery. Something deep inside clutches—like the collar has found a loose thread in my spine and pulled.

Chest tightens. I can still breathe, but every swallow feels audited. Hudless—no helmet—so I can’t see what UK90F sees, but I feel it: a thin algorithmic hum skating my muscles.

First command lands like static in marrow. Shoulders snap back, spine locks straight. I didn’t move them. I felt them move. Delay maybe a quarter‑second between his intent and my body’s compliance—enough time to recognize the theft.

Step forward. My boots obey, soles slapping mat, knees articulating with hydraulic precision I never owned. Pulse spikes—collar compensates: a wash of tingling warmth in neck and shoulder, coaxing BPM back toward green.

Kneel. Quads fire autonomously, joints fold. From this angle I see reflection in the training room mirror: me, bald crown bowed, collar glowing calm blue at the larynx. Looks almost serene. Feels like a puppet whose strings hum with electricity.

I try to raise a hand—nothing. Fingers twitch inside gauntlets but forearm stays holstered at thigh plate. Command priority overrides voluntary motor plans; my own impulses relegated to background noise.

Strangest part isn’t terror—it’s clarity. Thought floats free when flesh is requisitioned. Like being spectator and exhibit simultaneously. UK90F logs vitals; I register the soft tap of his gloves on HUD keys somewhere above me.

Then release—silver latch, collar breathes open, gravity returns. Arms mine again, heavy, sweat‑slick inside poly‑mesh. I’m upright, but a phantom echo lingers: the afterimage of borrowed motion.

Conclusion: the MK‑IV doesn’t just restrain—it edits. Body as executable code, collar as root access. Training memo said “Compliance through technology.” Understatement. It’s compliance through repurposed will.

I flex fingers—still shaking. Not fear, exactly. More like awareness of permissions that can be revoked at the press of a thumb. And the knowledge that next time, the commands might not end at kneel.

[xotication]

☆、

i be getting so scared to write some of the things i think of but then i remember that this is my little corner of the internet.. that being said,

imagine a fucken rich kaneki as your bf. we don’t know how he got rich, he just is, so don’t even ask.

but like.. he spoils you rotten. it’s to a point where when he tells you no, you almost don’t know how to act. he has no one to blame but himself.

for example, there’s this one day that you both just decided to stay home & enjoy each others presence. you were laid up in bed, scrolling on tiktok. ken catching z’s next to you. you came across this video of a particular car & this is probably the 5th video you’ve seen of it that morning.

this has to be the algorithm telling you that you need it.

you roll & lean over ken’s figure, he’s fast asleep which is the best time to ask him for something. you begin pecking kisses on his lips & down his neck, all the way down to his bare chest.

“hm?” he hums to you.

“good morning baby!” your sweet voice almost putting him back to sleep. “morning princess.. what do you need?”

you giggle, he’s already assuming you want something. “umm i dunno ken, it’s kinda expensive”

“since when do you know what expensive means..?” his voice is raspy compared to yours. “what is it baby?” he asks you, his hands coming up to play with the fabric of your boy shorts.

“it’s a car.”

ken’s eyes open, for the first time during this whole interaction. he was used to you asking for things by now, but never have you asked him for a car. you never even drive, you’ve been his designated passenger princess for 2 years now. he even has his friends trained to get out of the front seat when they pick you up to join them for whatever occasion.

you woke him up on this fine morning & fixed your lips to ask him for a car before even giving him a kiss. he was a little bit hurt.

kaneki sits up & brings you into an embrace, “uh oh, are you okay?” your question makes him laugh.

“no, are YOU okay..?? gimme a kiss & then ask again.”

you obliged, pulling him for a quick peck. he looks at you, an almost disgusted look on his face.

“you consider that a kiss?”

he rolls his eyes & grabs you by your neck, pulling you in for a more appropriate kiss in his terms.

it’s long & nasty. your tongues are dancing with one another’s & despite having just woke up, he still somehow tastes so good..

a couple more seconds of kissing pass & you find yourself straddling him.. only until you realize what he’s doing.

“kaneki! no sex. i want that carrrrrr ugh”

“mmm.. what car is it baby?”

“a porsche..”

“lemme guess, 911 gt3 rs?”

“yes!! that one”

“tuhhh, only if you let me get you pregnant.”

“WHAT?!” you slapped his bare chest & he cracks up.

“okok, take the black card”

“wdym take it.. i dunno how to buy a car?!”

ken falls back on to the mattress & covers his face with his hand, sighing in defeat.. “sorry, i forgot you don’t buy anything like EVER.”

:3

[killerlookz]

i hope this doesn’t put any pressure on you because its not meant to at all but can u give us a preview of anything in your drafts 🥲

yes! absolutely i can <3 here's an extra long preview bc i haven't published anything in a hot min:

preview of the heartbeat!au "honeymoon phase" fic:

warnings: rpf below, do not proceed if you dont fw that but this is in rpf tags so why were you even here to begin with

The light of your phone sears into your eyes, a start contrast from the dark of your bedroom. By now your circadian rhythm undoubtedly in deep disarray. However bad you knew staying up way into the early hours of the morning was, you couldn't seem to rip yourself from the distraction of the blue light, perfectly coded algorithms keeping your anxieties at bay.

For the last week of your life your usual peaceful sleep had been ripped through by horrific nightmares, leading you to prefer to just skip sleeping all together. Of course, you knew that wasn't exactly possible, but maybe if you could just avoid falling asleep until the sun came up you could finally be freed of those dreaded night terrors.

The mattress dips beside you, a groan falling from Joost's lips, peacefully asleep next to you. It had been hours since you had said goodnight to each other, since he kissed you with the promise that you two would soon would be deep in slumber. You hadn't bothered to tell him about your nightmare issue, it had felt so childish. You had only been together for a few months now, your relationship seeming far too fresh to deal out what you had deemed "embarrassing" information. Besides, what was he to do about that? It wasn't like he had the power to change the workings of your subconscious mind.

The comforter slips from Joost's shoulders as he shuffles in his sleep, rolling from one side to another, now facing you. You finally pull yourself from your endless scrolling, turning your head to get a look at Joost. He's illuminated just right by the sliver moonlight that peaks through your curtains. The corners of your mouth peak in a slight smile, a rush a warmth running through you as your eyes finally settle on him.

You couldn't believe your luck with him, desperate for friends outside of your classmates after making the leap of faith to transfer schools and move to a different country for your final year of university. You'd been working as a waitress in Amsterdam, which, all things considered wasn't an ideal position for you, given your less than stellar Dutch, but locals were usually sympathetic to your situation, and tourists hardly spoke Dutch anyway. The day you had met Joost had started as what you had postulated to be the worst shift of your life. Hungover during a rush that seemed to last for hours, constantly seated with the most impossible to please customers. Once you were out of the weeds you had been seated with what you were promised to be your last table of the night, trying your best to suppress a groan and an eye roll as you walked up to the table, your eyes immediately falling to Joost, who had been there with what you would eventually learn were his closest friends.

You had thought you known the type, unruly hair, and scattered tattoos, dressed head-to-toe in Supreme, a cocky smile pressed to his lips. Attractive no doubt, but a type. The type that was undoubtably too interested in the Soundcloud rap scene, probably attempting to make it in that space too as a cheap rip-off of Lil Peep. The type to blow all his money on what streams his mediocre raps did get on box-logo shirts and supreme branded underwear. You could already hear the surface-level introspection of his lyrics, writing about how sad and heartbroken he'd been left by all the girls in his life when in reality he was nothing more than a fuckboy with a shitty nail polish job.

Being young and living in a city you had seen the type before, served the type more than a handful of times since you had started your job. They were always the same, traveled in large groups, like that was their "entourage", usually loud, demanding, and obnoxious, thinking their 2,000 Soundcloud streams, hundred dollar T-shirts and knock-off designer shoes made them a celebrity. They'd flirt with you and act aghast when you dared not to flirt back with them.

You had thought you known the type. But when you had gone up to begin helping his table, your previous perceptions had immediately been shattered- immediately becoming even more attractive upon your realization that he wasn't the worst. There was a quiet flirting underneath his goofy- yet reserved demeanor, the type of flirting you didn't mind and eventually reciprocated when he'd become a regular.

It was apparent that you had gotten the fuckboy thing all wrong. When he had finally got the courage to ask you out he hadn't even seen particularly in a hurry to sleep with you, though that wouldn't stop you from giving it up that night.

As Joost softly snores from beside you, you can't help but want nothing more than to be fitted snuggly between his arms, head pressed to his chest- listening to his heartbeat as you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. But your current aversion to sleeping aside, you can't bring yourself to potentially wake him to do so.

You take your eyes from him, focusing back on the harsh light that burns into your retinas, continuing your scrolling, barely distracted by another long groan leaving Joost's lips.

"Ga slapen," (go to sleep) His voice surprises you, slow and thick with sleep- you hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Hmm?" You hum, pretending to not have heard him, you set your phone down on the bedside table and focus your attention to Joost.

"Hoe lat is het?" (What time is it?) He yawns, struggling to open his eyes.

You don't want to answer, knowing he'll question you on why you're up so late.

"Go back to sleep," You coo, hoping he'll be tired enough to listen without any resistance. You reach out a hand, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. You lift some pieces that had gotten stuck to his forehead with sweat, Joost was the type to overheat in his sleep, furiously kicking the blankets off of the two of you in the middle of the night, or perhaps worse rolling over onto you while he slept, causing you to suffocate in his humid body heat.

"Nhn, nhn." He tuts, his eyes finally opening entirely, "Je kan niet zomaar (You can't just)- Nhn, You can't just rub my head back to sleep." English finally coming back to him as he sits himself up against the pillows, his head now at your shoulder height in your upright position.

"I tried," A small smile pokes at your lips.

"Why are you awake?" His questioning isn't interrogative, still clearly very sleepy as he nuzzles his head into the pillow, "What time is it?" He asks again.

"I don't know," You mumble, your voice dipping out, answering more-so the latter question.

"You can't lie to me," Joost presses his forehead to your arm, snuggling in to you. How true that was. It surprised you how fast he was able to learn you- the subtleties of your mannerisms, able to pick up on your true emotions from the smallest tells.

"It's late," You simply respond, "I'll go to bed soon." Trying to avoid any further questioning.

"Not soon," Joost whines, his voice stifled by where his lips touch your skin. He throws an arm around the front of you, "Now."

You can't do much besides sigh in response, fidgeting under the comforter to sink down to his level. Your face is right in front of Joost's now, the warmth of his slow breaths ghosting over your skin.

"Sleep now," Joost tightens the arm he had slung around you, using it to pull you closer to him. He's unbearably warm, but you melt into him anyway, turning on your side to press your chest into his.

"I can't."

"Not tired?" Joost asks, "Why not?"

"So tired."

"Then sleep." Joost puckers his lips, barely stretching out his head to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so simple to him just sleep, if only it was that easy for you.

"Can't Joost."

"Why not?" He asks again, pushing harder this time.

"Dunno," You hum, pausing for a moment trying to formulate the least embarrassing way to describe your situation, "Bad dreams I guess, I dunno." You speak quickly, hoping maybe he won't catch all of it, the processes of his brain slowed by sleep.

Joost suddenly becomes more aware, more awake, like you've said some sort of sleeper phrase to activate something in him.

"Could have just told me that, schatje." He coos, it's reassuring, and you suddenly feel so stupid for holding that in. "Could have told me that before I feel asleep without you."

"Seemed stupid." You sigh, pushing your face further into the pillow.

"Not stupid." Joost assures, "What are they about?"

"Don't know. Just- bad."

"I'm sorry." Joost frowns. You feel the arm that he holds around you sneak under the comforter, coming to snake around your torso, his hand pushing into your back to press your body closer to him. The front of your T-shirt no longer just grazing the bare skin of his chest, but rather the two of you have molded into each other. "What can I do?" His lips now pressed against your shoulder from this closer position.

"Nothing,"

"No?" He places a small kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt.

"Not unless you can go into my brain and control my subconscious and make me dream of like puppies and rainbows." You follow with a dry laughter, any real humor stifled by your exhaustion.

"Mmm, if I could I would liefje."

[cheriladycl01]

I said don't peak C Long, you suck. Oscar/Lando/Liam/Logan x Streamer! Reader

Plot: You are a streamer and competitive Valorant Player for Fnatic, in the off season Lando reaches out after you win Valorant Champion's to teach him how to play as he's getting bored of Fortnite.

A/N: This is very Valorant heavy, if you do not like gaming proceed with caution as you may be a little confused but the good vibes are there!

You were part of the Fnatic Valorant team, in 2023 you'd helped them win back to back championships for Lock//In and VCT Masters. You were offered your seat at the start of 2023.

You were already very close with your IGL Boaster, being from the same area helped. But after meeting your other teammates, Derke, Chronicle and Alfajer you guys became amazing when playing together.

It was hard being the only woman on the team, you'd come from Game Changers being on an all female team to all of these men. However your stats were high and you were a massive part of the team.

You were a complete bombshell, people knew you were good from your IGL role and seeing you compete previously but Fnatic really lucked out having you on their team.

You often hung out with him and his girlfriend Yinsu. You felt bad when they'd offer you to crash their date and often it took hours of convincing you to come with them before you did.

But they got busier, and your other Valorant friends who you either couldn't see because they were on the other side of the world or they were also extremely busier you started to get into a bit of a slump.

You'd go to practice with the team, the only fun and exciting part of your day, before going choosing between a cafe, restaurant or bar to spend your evening in, hoping someone or a group of people would come up and offer you to join them on their nightly adventures.

After an extremely good start to 2024 with another Championship trophy, you'd been saying to stream how you wanted to start playing more games and make a YouTube account for IRL you...

They jumped at the offer, begging you in chat to do both. Apart from Valorant, which of course was your main game as a professional player, you played other games at the request of your fans. Sometimes being small niche indie games where you would just be able to chill with music and answer their burning questions or sometimes you'd play throw back games, like Minecraft, GTA San Andreas, Resident Evil 4 which would often be pretty chaotic but fun none the less.

You'd even once played FIFA... which was awful and you would not do well as a professional football player or a professional FIFA player. You were so bad that actual footballers had reached out to you joking around with how they'd stay clear of you on the pitch.

But it was when you were asked to play the new F12024 game that you looked at your chat as if they were crazy. The sim set up's were crazy expensive, not that you couldn't afford that. Of course you could. But you didn't want it to be a waste of room or parts for what could potentially be a one time use.

This is how Lando Norris ended up in your chat. He'd spent the start of his 2023 winter break playing Fortnite with AngryGinge, and even off stream in his downtime between races he would often still be playing it.

However, by the time summer break rolled around it was getting stale, and Tarkov was too. He needed something new, and Max kept trying to get him to play Valorant, Oscar did too saying it was a mix of Call of Duty and Overwatch and it was very fun to play.

So of course he did his research, being free he downloaded it anyway. It was free even if it sat there and never got played it wasn't like he was loosing anything. After doing research and watching some gameplay, he'd fallen asleep and the YouTube algorithm took him on his journey to you.

He slept peacefully despite the change in volume, gun sounds, voice lines and all the talking behind the videos that YouTube were throwing at him. When he woke up, he was graced with your, in his bold opinion, stunning face. He watched as you played, it was seemingly a montage of your best moments. The camera would often change from you being in a bedroom, to a stadium to a different room.

He was so so intrigued he just had to go down a deep dive of you content. He spent nearly a whole Tuesday looking into your content, from your old stream vod's to the Vlog's on your IRL channel. You just had this personality he assumed would draw anyone in.

I mean who wouldn't like you, you were young, funny, absolutely gorgeous and kind.

So he reached out to you.

At first you didn't see the DM and follow request as you rarely opened Instagram, but after winning your second Cup in 2024 and having spent time in America with some of your friends it was time to get posting.

Lando Norris... you were confused by the name. These day's anyone with some cash could have a blue tick, so you looked over his profile and was surprised to find an athlete.

An athlete in your DM's wasn't uncommon, but a young hot one asking for a Valorant coach for him and his racing friends... now that was rare.

You replied instantly, the thought of being able to hang out with new people and gain some friends was exciting to you. Lando asked if you would be willing to meet up with him, he thought discord was a little awkward and cringey for the first time meeting someone. He happened to be in London so it was sort of perfect.

You met, and he was a nice as you expected. He let you talk about everything you wanted to, never interrupting, never trying to one up your stories... just listening and adding his input where necessary. But you let him do the same, your eyes lighting up when you saw his passion for his career in racing and how highly he spoke of it.

It was just incredible. The way he drove round all of those corner at insane speeds that you'd never dare reach in your Audi TT! And when he went into the behind the scenes you were even more in wonder.

When it came to talk about coaching him in Valorant, at first he'd made a joke about learning so Quadrant could have a Valorant team and beat Fnatic in championships, to which you'd retorted saying Fnatic would become a constructor in F1 and make the fastest car on the grid.

However, he was being partially serious. He wanted to move quadrant forward and with all the announcements they had made at the start of the year, it was time to do more things that would get peoples attention from different places.

He was thinking of a Quadrant team of well of course 5 people with some reserves. Max was the best right now, not close to your Immortal level, peaking Radiant. But he was now in Plat territory whereas Lando dreaded to think of where he would be.

"So you want us to play, with your friends Oscar, Liam and Logan. In a 5 stack on stream..." you'd asked and he nodded enthusiastically. You'd grinned just as enthusiastic.

However, right now you were in the middle of crying from both laugher and frustration. They all played games, however you didn't know that none of them had played Valorant.

When you first started your chat was going crazy, not only was this great because your fans were seeing you coach, but it brought in all the F1 fans so they could watch their fave drivers play games.

"So, how about just a small little warm up with a deathmatch?" you asked them all, and the silence that came after was deafening.

"Guys?" you asked with an awkward laugh, checking you weren't accidently muted and talking to yourself.

"Sorry Y/N your gonna have to explain each thing to us" Liam laughed.

"Okay, Deathmatch is where you kill anyone and everyone. Might be hard for you guys, as it will be really mixed elo!" you explain. However doing a deathmatch just had them complaining, only Oscar and Liam had managed to kill you. Oscar having decent aim from his time on COD and catching you of guard and Liam being a sneaky rat, coming up behind you and knifing you.

"Okay that was so unfair... you've got like look at that she got to 40 in no time... that was the quickest game mode ever!" Logan complained, salty with his 5 kills.

"How about a team death match. We are all on the same team then, first team to 100 wins, so we are all winners that way" you smile, hoping they'd prefer it more.

Which they did, you chilled out a little, letting them practice and get the gist of things while giving them pointers, when Lando flashed you with his ability or when Liam chucked a grenade at you. Or littler things like their movement, and how to not sweep the floor with their cross hair. But it was hard coaching when you couldn't see everything.

"Okay, lets move onto some swift plays?" you ask and a chorus of agreements dound through the mic. You explained the game mode to them while you were all in agent select before explaining how a good team looks. It was hard where 3 of them only had the standard characters. You settled on Lando as Pheonix, Logan as Sage, and Liam as Sova. Oscar only had three other characters unlocked being Iso, the newest agent, KAY/0 because in his words 'cool robot guy' and then of course Skye because she was Australian. He ended up picking Skye which left you locking in Omen to smoke as you didn't trust any of them to smoke.

"I think this is the most busted team composition I've ever had" you admit.

"Well, the more we play with you the more characters we unlock, now which one is from America!" Logan asks and you explain to him Viper and Brimstone are both American.

"Any cool people from New Zealand?" Liam asks hopefully.

"No not yet but RiotGames if for some reason you are in the chat, or if you see this. Lets get a New Zealander agent and call it Liam!" you exclaim.

"They should get a female British Agent and call it Y/N and make it look like you!" Lando offers before saying one of Pheonix's voice lines that he just heard.

"That would be very cool, take notes Riot!" you smile widely.

"So like, do you ever sit there and think... wow i play games for a living" Logan asks, filter completely gone and out the window, making you choke on the sip of water you were having at the sudden and brash question.

"Do you ever sit back and think ... wow i drive fast cars for a living?" you try snap back but you realize his job does in fact down a lot cooler than yours.

"Nah, guys don't sell her short. From one YouTube Guy to a YouTube Gal, cough cough collab when ..., your doing great!" Liam jokes, thinking of his part-time YouTube career on the side of being a F1 reserve driver.

"Ohhhhh a collab with the Liam Lawson! I'm honored, but fr i would love to do Disney with you and Hannah!" you grin, having made sure to watch his vlogs in detail before you all played games.

"You watch my vlogs??" he asks screaming into his mic.

"On occasion..."

"Do you watch my LandoLogs" Lando asks interrupting the sweet and wholesome moment between you and Liam.

"No!" you exclaim before continuing your conversation with Liam making the others all snicker.

For some reason, Lando and Liam had taken the spike A while Logan and Oscar peaked B window. You jiggle peaked C long and narrowly missed an Operator. Seeing that you decide to rotate back to where Lando and Liam are rotating to Oscar and Logan.

"Don't peak C Long, its being held by an op" you let them know.

As you peak garage, you get the first kill. Then the round picks up, someone swinging out from B main giving you a quick flick and a head shot.

"What the hell guys, I said don't peak C long, you suck!" you exclaim, checking that both Lando and Liam were dead at the end of C long along with spike.

"Look, in my defence i heard 'peak C long" Lando says, with a mouth full of food watching you play.

"I just tried to reclaim spike after Lando died, i heard you loud and clear" Liam justifies whilst throwing Lando under the bus.

"Okay Oscar, you stay here" you ping the map where you wanted him to lurk until you got onto site.

"Logan, follow me and we going to go two separate ways" you explain where you want him to go. You both shift onto sight, you going through C window and Logan going through the short alley onto C. You catch a rotator killing them. Logan gets onto sight being the bait for the Sage holding site with the OP. She whiffs the first shot, however get's the neck shot.

"120, she's so low" he cries in frustration.

"Okay Oscar, get spike and rotate to A" you say as you come from behind killing the enemy sage. You take the op from them wanting the advantage of the better gun.

You send your smoke out to A before using your charged up Alt to get onto site before Oscar to secure it. You situate yourself up in heaven. Watching sight, you quickly ping where Oscar should plant they you'll both be able to see from A heaven and A long.

"We got this Osc" you say as he retreats from his plant. He knows exactly where he should be watching and before you know it he has the kill.

"Amazing stuff guys, apart from you Lando" you joke making him scoff and start to throw insults your way.

"Ah ah ah! Now i wouldn't ever dare criticize your driving now would I Lando! Lets stick to our professions yeah?" you tease him, he however changes conversation saying he was going to start streaming.

"You want me to end and raid you?" you ask, and he agrees greedily smiling. You guys had been playing for around 2 and a half hours so you didn't mind ending now.

You played for some more hours, people got very excited when they saw that Lando specifically started streaming. And now they could see the way he'd blush whenever you teased him or flirted, which wasn't even really flirting ... but chat deemed you to just have this natural rizz. They could see his reactions whenever Logan, Oscar or Liam would make fun off him.

His chat was going crazy, asking if he liked you and if you'd met.

"Me and Y/N have met chat" he offers and everyone goes silent. The others didn't know you guys had actually met up, they just knew Lando slung you a DM and somehow you replied and gave him your discord.

"You guys don't believe me?" he asks in shock, reading chat every time a round ends or when he dies.

"Even you Max what the hell" he cries when he see's Max type a snide comment in chat about how there's no way in hell you would have met up with him.

"Fine, you guys don't believe me! Here!" he says shoving his phone up the camera showing the selfie he had taken in a cafe the day you guys first met.

"Where did we meet. In London, I dm'ed her on Instagram and asked to meet her. I wanna do new things with Quadrant and further the e-sports that we do here so i reached out to Y/N as a friend to see how her org did stuff" he explains.

"Y/N to Quadrant? I dunno guys, she's happy in Fnatic right now and unless we got other players that were on a professional level, i don't think she'd give up such a good spot where she's in a winning team for people who arent even on a professional level right now!" he explains before unmuting himself again.

"So, everyone's saying you should come to a race!" Lando offers Y/N.

"I'll come to a race if you guys all come watch me at VCT?!" she questions and they all agree.

"Deal!"

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo

[musings-of-a-rose]

Pairing: Benny Miller x ofc "Lily Morales" (21 year old daughter of Frankie Morales)

Word Count: 9000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen, I’ve had this in my head for a long time and I just had to get it out. I know the dbf trope may be overdone, and it’s not a trope I normally read, but I just…they kept talking and I had to get it out. Sometimes the fic writes you. Thanks to @mermaidxatxheart for reading this over and helping me get unstuck. And to @avengers-fixation and @rayslittlekitten for also beta reading and giving me some excellent feedback to help this take a better shape!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

"What do you want to do for your birthday, mija?" 

I shrug, popping another blueberry in my mouth. "I don't know. Wanna order pizza and watch a movie?"

My dad gives me a look, pointing his fork at me. "Is that what you want to do?"

I don't know. What do 21 year olds want to do besides get shit faced on their 21st? 

"I don't know, dad."

"I think you should go out with your friends."

"Are you really telling me I should go get shit faced on my birthday?"

He chuckles. "No, but you're turning 21. You don't wanna hang out with your old man."

"I always want to hang out with you."

"I love you too, but you're young. You should hang out with your friends."

"I'm fine here with you, dad."

"Look," he sighs and sets his spoon down, looking at me. "Be safe, call me if you need me to come get you or something, but go out. Be 21." 

He won't let up, I can see it in his eyes. "If it means so much to you, I'll go out."

—----

God, I'm bored. My friends all squealed when I finally caved in and said we could go out drinking for my birthday. They picked me up and brought me to a bar, claiming a booth on the side. They had me place the order for drinks, my first at 21, and then paid, splitting the bill amongst themselves. But while I nursed a drink, they kept slamming them back, getting increasingly more drunk. Eventually, they all got up and hobbled onto the dance floor. Well, not an official dance floor, more like a space they drunkenly cleared out while putting on songs on the ancient jukebox in the corner. Some other patrons joined in and soon there was a small group of men around them, laughing and swaying along while I stayed seated at our table. 

"You look bored as fuck, Lil."

—----

Benny:

This week had been rough. Hell, this whole month had been rough. Another girl that just wanted to use him for a fun time had come and gone, leaving Benny feeling a little more than hollow. They never stay long, always wanting his fun side. If he let down his mask for just a moment, showing them all of him, they run. It hurts but if he's being honest with himself, none of them felt right. Like they were placeholders, just someone to pass the time with. Or distract him from the girl he really likes, the one he can't have. 

He takes another swig from his beer, the one he'd been nursing for a while when this large group of about 10 college aged girls comes in the bar, squealing and talking loudly. They make a big deal of securing a booth, practically yelling about how it's someone's birthday. And then, he sees her. 

Lily, his Lily being shoved forward from the group of girls, her short, pleated skirt fanning out as they tell her to go order drinks and they'll pay. When did the feelings for her start? His mind goes back to a specific moment, a BBQ at Frankie's, when Lily was nearly 20. She was walking past the pool, fully clothed and slipped in, a little yelp leaving her just before the splash. But before anyone could move, she was pushing to the surface, makeup sliding down her face and she was laughing, her head tilted back as she made her way to the edge and Frankie pulled her out. Her clothes were soaked, hair sticking to her forehead, mascara covering her cheeks along with the purple eye shadow she had been wearing. Most girls would've flipped out, cried and screamed and gotten angry, but not Lily. She made some quip about not seeing the pool there and then she looked at him as he laughed, her eyes lit up not with embarrassment, but something else that Benny couldn't quite place. But now he saw her in a whole new light. Lily. His Lily. 

Wait, not his Lily. She can't ever be his Lily because she is Lily Morales, Fish's daughter. He couldn't do that to his friend. 13 years isnt too bad of a gap but Fish's daughter? She's too smart for him, too creative, too good. She wouldn't want his old PTSD ass anyway. 

He watches her bring the drinks back and pass them out, her friends pounding them back as Lily takes small, infrequent sips from the glass she's holding, her smile dropping lower and lower as her friends get more and more drunk. 

God, she's beautiful. Her dark brown hair frames her face, loose waves cascading past her shoulders, her shirt hugging her tits the right way and Benny shifts in his seat as his mind wanders, eyes roaming over her body. She can't see him anyway, what would it hurt? 

But as the night continues on, he sees her friends get up, forming a makeshift dance floor, some other young college guys coming to join them. But not Lily. She doesn't join her friends, opting to stay back and take another slow sip from her drink, her fingers drawing a mindless pattern in the condensation on her cup. 

He takes a deep breath, drinking the last swig from his beer as he stands. He won't have her looking so sad on her birthday. He must put a smile on her face. Benny strides over to her, pushing through the crowd. 

"You look bored as fuck, Lil."

Her eyes go wide, her cheeks flushing as she looks up at him, a smile appearing on her face. Surely that's not just for him. She can't possibly feel the same way. Can she? No, she's Fish's daughter. Cut it out, Benny. 

But he can't stop himself from sliding into the seat next to her, hoping like hell she doesn't spot his half hard boner from her thigh barely touching his jean clad one. 

When he looks at her, he knows why other women haven't worked out for him. Because she is the one he wants. And the one he simply cannot have. 

—----

My body springs to life as his voice washes over me, my eyes looking up into his bright blue ones, the ones that I see in my dreams. My cheeks warm and it's not from the half a drink I've had. It's from the fact I've been in love with this man for years. 

"Benny!"

He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling slightly at the sides and my stomach lurches. He waves his hands, silently telling me to scooch over. I do and he sits next to me, his thigh nearly pressing into mine. He leans in close, speaking into my ear as the girls have turned the music up way too loud. 

"Happy birthday!"

"You remembered?"

He's so close, his face inches from mine, his eyes boring into me. "Of course I remember. You're one of my favorite people." 

God I hope he can't hear my heart pounding through my chest. 

"But why are you sitting here by yourself? Shouldn't you be out there?" He points his thumb over his shoulder towards my group of friends, who have now mingled with a group of college boys, all grinding on each other. 

"Hard pass."

"You mean, grinding up against sweaty young men isn't your thing?" His eyes light up with laughter.

I shake my head. "I like older men." Shit, did I just say that? He looks at me, a curious look in his eyes.

"I doubt they'd be able to keep up with you."

"I think one might."

"Sounds like you have someone in mind."

"Maybe I do." Shut up, Lily!

Before he can reply, a loud whoop sounds from the dancing throng and we both look as one of the drunk men try to impress my friend by doing the worm. Benny leans in to me again, his scent filling up my nose and suddenly I'm feeling warm between my legs. 

"I'm hungry. Wanna get out of here and get a burger or something?"

"God, yes. Please save me."

He smiles, sliding out of the booth and extends his arm to me as I get up. I take it, my skin tingling as it brushes against his, feeling his muscles constrict as he guides me through the crowd and out of the bar. I catch my friends eye as I walk past them and nod my head towards Benny, telling her silently I was going with him. She gives me a wink and thumbs up before making a lude gesture that I'm glad Benny misses. I expect him to drop my arm when we're outside, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks down at me, towering over me. 

"Did you drive or?"

"What? Oh, no. Ironically, I was not the designated driver. Don't worry, we took Ubers."

He chuckles. "Smart. Alright, my jeep is around the back. I've only had one beer, is that ok?"

"You're asking me?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm fine to drive but whatever you're comfortable with."

"I trust you." Am I seeing things or is he blushing? 

He guides me to his jeep, opening the door and helping me inside. He drives us across town to a little diner we've been to before, although it's never been just the two of us. Usually my dad or Benny's brother Will is with us. We sit and order giant burgers and a plate of fries to share, and a couple slices of what Benny calls "birthday pie" that we eat first. 

"So why did you agree to go out with those friends if all they did was ditch you?"

I chuckle. "I blame my dad. He made me."

"Fish wanted you to go out drinking?"

"He said I should "go out and be 21". I told him I just wanted a pizza and a movie with him."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted pizza? We could've gone to get pizza."

"No, this is perfect, really." My hand covers his on the table and I see just how small it is in comparison to Benny's and I swallow hard. "Thank you, really. You saved me."

Benny asks a zillion more questions as we eat, always interested to hear my opinion on things. I've never had a man be this interested in what I had to say, almost as if… there's no way he could feel the same for me, right? I know there's an age gap, but it's only 13 years..

He links his arm with mine again as we make our way back to his Jeep, helping me in before coming around and climbing in himself. 

"I'll take you home."

"No!" Oh shit, did I yell that? I don't want this night to end so soon. Not when I have an excuse for it to just be us.

His eyebrows are raised. "No?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be loud. I uh.. I mean no. My dad expects me to be home late or crash at a friend's. If I come home now, he'll think it's weird."

"I don't think he'd mind you coming home early. Then he knows you're not out causing trouble."

"Please Benny?" I hesitate a moment before reaching out to place my hand on his arm, squeezing it a little. "Can we… I don't know.. just go back to your place and hang for a bit?" His skin is warm under my palm and I feel him shift slightly in his seat, eyes fixed on the road before he glances sideways at me.

“You’d really want to hang out with an old man like me?"

“You’re not old.” I sit back, reluctantly pulling my hand from his arm. “Besides, didn’t we establish that I like older men?” What the fuck is wrong with you, Lily?

He shifts in his seat again and clears his throat, fighting back a smile. “Have anything in mind?”

“We could watch a movie?”

“Alright, you talked me into it. But only because it’s your birthday.” He smiles before reaching over and poking me in the side. I flinch back, a giggle erupting from the back of my throat. “Oh, you’re ticklish?”

“I don’t like the look on your face, Benjamin.”

He’s smiling wide. “No look. Just tucking that information away for later.”

We pull up to his place and get out. I follow him up to his front door, my eyes taking in his broad shoulders, beefy arms, and tight ass. He's so tall, much taller than me. I'd love to climb him like a tree…

Heading inside, I kick my shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging my purse on one of the coat rack hooks. I follow him into the living area. He gestures to the couch and I sit, Benny sitting at the opposite end from me. 

"Want something to drink?" He asks and it may be my imagination, but he sounds nervous.

"S-sure." Way to sound smooth, Lily. 

"Beer ok? I think I have water somewhere."

"Beer will be fine. Thanks."

"You got it. Can't believe I can officially give you this now." He disappears into his kitchen and remerges with 2 bottles of beer, popping open the top and handing it to me. He holds up his bottle to mine and we clink them together. 

"Here's to a birthday!" He says and smiles, taking a swig when I do. 

"It's certainly been one of those."

We flip through the channels, stopping on some trash reality TV to make fun of them, cracking up at the stupidity of the show. We've had a couple of beers by now and I'm not drunk by any means, but definitely warm and I feel myself loosening up as I become more comfortable around him, passing quips back and forth.

"I don't know why she's picking Jason when clearly Porter is the better choice."

"What?" I say, shocked. "You can't mean that. Have you looked at Porter?"

Benny squints at the tv. "Yes?"

"Need your glasses, old man?" 

"Be careful. You don't wanna poke the old man."

I scoff playfully, smirking. "Maybe I do."

In one swift move, Benny sits up, putting his bottle on the coffee table before he turns to me, his eyes full of mischief. He lunges for me but I jumped up, somehow missing his grip and I smirk, turning towards him. 

"You'll have to be faster than that, old man." He tries to get up and I run, trying to move around the back of the couch, but somehow he's there, leaning over the back, his strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back over the couch as I scream. He pushes me back down onto the couch, his large form hovering over me as his fingers dig into my sides. I squirm under him, unable to do anything but squeal with laughter as I writhe about. But the mood changes suddenly, his fingers slowing as he looks down at me, his blue eyes dragging down my face to my lips. I can feel him pressing into me between my legs and heat rushes there to meet him. He leans closer, our lips almost touching, but then he's pulling back and I can't take it. We were so close, I can't go back to how it was, not knowing that he wants this as much as I do but is stopping himself, denying him and me a chance at happiness. 

My fingers grasp at his shirt, tugging to get him to look at me. When he does, his eyes are wide, a combination of lust and conflict behind them. My finger traces his cheek and I decide to go for it, leaning up while lightly pulling him towards me with the tip of my finger. His lips are nearly on mine, his breath fanning out over my face, but he stops. 

"We can't, Lil."

I nod. "We can." I feel him grow harder against me and it's all I can do to not moan, the weight of him grounding me to this moment. He still doesn't move. 

"I don't want to take advantage."

"You're not. I'm sober."

His lips are so close to mine, his breath filling my own as my lips remain slightly parted waiting for him. 

"He'd kill me."

"I'll protect you."

"Lil," he whispers, his breath heating my lips.

"Ben." I touch my lips to his and oh, his are so soft and warm, tasting slightly like the beer he'd had earlier. He doesn't move for a second and maybe I've pushed him too far. His lips move above mine, responding to my gentle touch with a more heated one, a slight moan at the back of his throat as he glides his tongue into my slightly parted lips. A small groan comes from my chest in return and I hum into his kiss, deepening it as Benny presses on with more urgency, my legs wrapping around him, squeezing him slightly. 

His hands are on my face, pushing my hair out of it as a large hand engulfs the side of my face and neck, holding my chin in place as he kisses me deeper, pressing into me harder, his hips slightly grinding of their own accord. Then he breaks the kiss, leaning up to reach over his shoulder, gripping the back of his shirt as he pulls it over his head, tossing it on the coffee table. I've seen him shirtless before of course, but this is different. A patch of hair is nestled between his pecks, soft but strong muscles flexing as he holds himself up, a small trail of hair disappearing beneath his pants. Fuck do I want to see where that goes. I scramble to grip the bottom of my shirt, lifting slightly as I twist my body to take it off, Benny's hand coming to help. My shirt joins his, Benny's fingers sliding around my back to take off my bra, tossing that on the table too. His eyes dip to my chest and they look hungry. 

"Fuck, look at you, Lil." 

Before I can reply, he leans back down, pressing his chest to mine as he kisses me again, his warm skin so soft against mine. He feels so good, comforting, grounding, I can hardly believe I'm here. He kisses a path down my neck, pausing to suck one of my nipples in his mouth. I whimper, my back arching off the couch towards him, my fingers automatically coming up to tangle in his golden hair. 

"How do you want it?"

"Wh-what?" Is all I can manage as he starts to lick at my same nipple. 

"Do you have any favorite positions? Any you hate?"

"I don't know."

He chucks into my skin. "Should I give you a moment to think?"

I shake my head. "I really don't know. I've never done this before."

Benny drops my boob with a plop, pushing himself up so fast it makes my head spin. "What do you mean you haven't done this before?"

I know I'm blushing under his gaze. "I mean… I haven't.. I just… I've never…" I gesture between us.

"Be clear."

"I'm a virgin, ok?" I'm not that embarrassed, but everyone I know has had sex long before me. I just never felt the desire to. Probably because none of them was the man above me, who is now trying to untangle my legs from behind him. 

"I didn't know you were… didn't you have boyfriends?"

"Yeah but I've never done anything past boobs."

"Shit, Lil. I can't do this to you. I-"

"Do this to me?"

"Yeah, take your…" He gestures between my legs, still trying to wiggle his way out from between them. 

"I want you, though, Benny."

"I can't. Not when you haven't…you should do it with someone your age. You should've done it with a boyfriend-"

I let out a frustrated huff. "But none of them were you, Ben!"

He stops moving, his eyes studying my face. "What?"

Too late to not say anything now. "I.. ok, I've liked you for a really long time. Like, really liked you. I tried dating people my age but they all suck. None of them were you. I guess I've been waiting, hoping you'd feel the same. But I won't force-"

"You waited for me?"

I nod, suddenly unable to look at him, my cheeks on fire. "I hoped one day I'd have the courage to tell you how I felt. Or something. I knew it was a long shot. I mean, look at me. I'm… me."

His eyes soften, looking down my body and back up to my eyes. "You say that like it's a bad thing. You're fucking gorgeous, Lil. And..I'd be lying if I said I never thought about us. But me? Why would you want anything to do with me?"

I muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. "Because you make me feel seen. Like I matter. That I'm not just some piece of ass."

"I've been through some major shit, Lil."

I reach up, my hand caressing his cheek, fingers scratching at the stubble. "I want that too. I want all of you, Benny. I want you."

His lips press to mine again, urgent, desperate, his large hand pressed on the side of my neck, the other bracing him. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, pulling back enough to make sure I'm looking at him. 

"Are you sure, Lil? This isn't a small thing, even if you weren't a virgin."

"I am so unbelievably sure, Benny. Please just, show me. Make me feel good."

He smiles at me, his eyes darkening with a glint. “I’m about to ruin you for other men, sweetheart. But not here."

My brows furrow together. "What?"

He taps my thigh to get me to unlock my legs. I do and he stands, stretching briefly before he extends a hand to me, helping me up off the couch. He tips my head up, hooking my chin with his finger, pressing his lips to mine, his other hand coming up to lightly pinch my nipple. I gasp at the sensation, arching slightly into his palm. Then he stands straight, holding his hand out to me, giving me one last chance to stop things. I lace my fingers with his, my hand feeling small in his large one and he smiles, walking me down the hallway to his bedroom.

Once inside, he pushes some things out of the way, and sits on the edge of the bed. He beckons me over and I stand between his outstretched legs. He pulls one of my boobs in his mouth and I moan, heat and wet pooling between my thighs as he kisses his way down to my skirt line. He pauses, eyes turned up to mine, as his hand gently glides up my inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind it. Once he reaches my panties, he stops, barely brushing a finger over my clothed clit and I jolt, pleasure momentarily shooting out from where he touched me. 

"You're so fucking wet," he says with awe.

"Is..is that a good thing?"

He touches me again, grinning when I gasp out loud. "Such a good thing."

He pulls his hand from under my skirt, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down slowly, kissing the skin that appears as my skirt and panties slide down my legs. I kick them off, foot shoving them somewhere behind me as I stand there, completely bare in front of him. I'm nervous, hands automatically coming up to cover me, but he grips my wrists, holding them apart as his eyes slowly move over my body. 

"So fucking beautiful, Lil."

He switches places with me and tells me to lay back, scooting up the bed. He kicks off his pants but leaves his boxers on, which do nothing to hide the tent in his pants. My eyes grow wide. Are all men that large? He crawls over my body, slotting himself between my legs, kissing me deeply for several minutes. My legs wrap around him, feeling him hot and heavy against me. But then he's kissing a path down my body, scooting lower and lower until he's level with my pussy, pushing my legs apart further and putting his broad shoulders between them to hold them apart. 

"Fuck, you have a pretty little pussy. Can't believe no one has touched you here."

I don't respond, my head swimming with a whirl of emotions, mostly nerves and how bad I want him to touch me, push himself inside of me. I want-

"Oh!" A cry erupts from me, my thighs clamping around the side of Benny's head as his tongue makes contact with me, licking a line up me before he taps at my clit. "Oh, God, Benny!" My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on him and holding him in place as he laps at me, gliding his nose up my seam before I feel him press a finger to my entrance, rubbing small circles there. I can hear how wet I am, my other hand flying out to grip the sheets as he pushes his finger in slowly. 

"Fuck you are so tight, Lil."

He slowly moves his finger in and out of me, my body warming quickly before he adds a second finger, this time tapping around inside of me. He hits some spot and I yell, thighs banging against his head again.

"There it is," he smirks, his fingers rubbing and tapping at that spot as his mouth returns to my pussy, licking and sucking. I feel tingles, all over my body, racing towards where he's touching me and then I explode, my head pushing into the bed, thighs tensing as I pulse around him, whining and moaning as I come. Benny guides me through it, making sure I feel every ounce of pleasure I possibly can.

And then he does it two more times. 

My entire body is warm and loose, my brain swimming with the pleasure of it all as Benny removes his mouth from me, wiping his face on the back of his hand, grinning ear to ear as he hovers over me, tasting of me as he presses his lips to mine. 

"You feelin' good, sweetheart?"

"Mmhmm."

Benny chuckles. "Do you want me to stop?"

My eyes fly open as I find his. "No. Please I need you inside of me."

He nods. "I think you're ready for me. But stop me if it hurts or you want me to stop, ok?"

"Ok."

He scoots back off the bed, standing and pulling his boxers off. He springs up and holy shit is that supposed to go in me? He settles between my legs, pushing my thighs apart, sliding himself through my soaked folds and I whimper at his touch. He's heavy at my entrance, his eyes on my face as he slowly pushes in. 

"Oh!" Is about all I can say. It burns for sure, and is uncomfortable, but not painful. And as he pushes further in, I feel him rub up against that spot he made sensitive with his fingers moments before. My fingers dig into his biceps, his muscles strong beneath my nails as he slowly slides back out. 

“Are you ok?” He asks, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. 

“I will be once you’re back inside of me.”

“Fuck you’re gonna kill me.” 

He pushes back into me, still slowly but a little faster this time. When he can go no further, he waits, holding his hips still to give me a moment. I feel so full of him, my head swimming with his scent while I relax and stretch around him. He must feel the tension leaving me, as he pulls back out and pushes back in, more quickly. After about 5 more of these, he pushes in rather quick and I yelp as he hits a spot at the back of me. 

“Fuck! Do that again!”

He smiles, one side of his mouth pulling up as he complies, thrusting into me harder and chuckling when he hears the breathy sounds coming from me. He keeps going, making sure to angle himself to thrust into that spot every time, eventually speeding up more, rutting into me as I come unglued beneath him, writhing and moving my hips to meet his, my vision going hazy at the edges as my body tingles and I come, nails digging into him as I chant his name over and over. Benny grunts and pulls out, spilling himself across my lower stomach, little breathy grunts coming from him as he comes. 

He takes a second when he’s done before getting up and grabbing a wet cloth from the bathroom. He cleans me up and returns with another cloth, wiping my overstimulated cunt, and chuckling when my legs twitch. He tosses the rag in his hamper and crawls on the bed next to me, pulling the sheet over us. Benny props himself up on his elbow, his finger tracing lines down my chest before using a finger to turn my head to him. 

“How are you feeling, Lil?”

I sigh, feeling the corners of my mouth pull into a soft smile. “Honestly? I’ve never felt better.”

He presses his lips lightly to mine. “The best you’ve ever felt, huh?”

I nod, turning on my side to face him. “You were right though. You’ve ruined other men for me. Good thing I only want one man.”

—----

A yell rips me from sleep and I sit up quick, my head rushing slightly as I look around the unfamiliar room, blinking a few times before remembering I was still at Benny’s. In his bed. A whimper echoes in the dark space and I look down, seeing Benny tangled in his sheets, curled up and sweating, eyes jammed shut and his mouth muttering words I can’t catch all of. I may have never seen it on Benny, but I am familiar with the nightmares. My dad has them all the time, one of the many reasons why I’m studying to be a psychiatrist and intend to reform the VA mental health unit. 

I gently place my hand on his bare shoulder, his skin warm and sweaty under my palm. “Benny, it’s ok. You’re here. I’m here.”

He whimpers once more before his eyes pop open, wet with unshed tears and he gasps, hand reaching out for something I can’t see. He blinks and turns his head, seeing my hand on his shoulder and he follows it up to my face.

“Lily?”

I smile. “Hey, Ben. Are you with me?”

“I…” he pulls his shoulder from me and sits up, pulling the blankets around his waist. “I’m sorry.” He’s wiping at his face, trying to push the tears away. “Just lock the door on your way out.”

“What?”

“When you leave, just take the key and lock the door. Slide it under the mat.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand? You’re kicking me out?”

“You want to leave, right?”

“No? Why would I?”

“Because I’m fucked up! I told you, Lil. I have so much shit with me. No one wants this.” 

“Ben. Look at me.”

He shakes his head. "I can't. Just.. lock the door on your way out."

"Ben-"

"I can't. I can't see that look on your face too, I just can't, Lily."

"Ben, please look at me." 

He sighs and turns his head, a hard expression on his face and I see it, all the hurt he’s had to endure from the women before me leaving him once his guard slipped. And I want to fight them all. I take his hand, lacing my fingers through his and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. 

“Benjamin Miller, unless you kick me out, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes water a little and he shakes his head to stop them. “But, the nightmares-”

“You think this is the first time I’ve seen a nightmare? Do you not remember who my dad is?”

“Fish gets nightmares too?”

I nod. “All the fucking time, Ben. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve talked him down. Why do you think I’m going into psych?”

“You’re…you’re really not wanting to leave?”

“No. I’d really rather stay here with you, make sure you’re ok, wake up next to you. As long as you’ll have me?”

He squeezes my hand and presses his forehead to mine. “I’d love that.”

I lay back and beckon him to me, placing his head on my chest as he cuddles into my side. He sucks one of my boobs in his mouth, claiming it’s his comfort toy. But soon after he’s sound asleep, his face peaceful and he doesn’t wake the rest of the night.

He brings me home the next day and I wave to him from the front steps as I walk through the front door. 

“She’s alive!”

“Ha-ha, dad. But I’m doing fine.”

“Was that Benny I saw dropping you off?”

“Oh. Yeah. He was at the bar last night.”

“And he brought you home this morning?”

I nod, kicking off my shoes. “Yeah. I was pretty drunk and my friends still wanted to party. His place was closest to the bar and I asked him to take me there. Didn’t think I could make it home.” I mimed throwing up, which is exactly what I wanted to do. I hate lying to him. 

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve picked you up.”

“I know. But Benny was already there. No sense in waking you up.”

“You know I don’t sleep.”

“Which is why you’re always so fun to be around.”

He looks fake hurt, pressing his hand to his chest. “I am a damn delight….but I’ll have to thank Benny for taking such good care of you.”

I hide my smirk before replying. “Please do.”

—----

The next few months pass and we keep us a secret, going on dates in the next towns over, meeting up whenever we can. I feel bad for lying to my dad and not telling him, but it’s not the right time. 

Benny is everything I thought he was and more. He makes me laugh, even cracking jokes as he’s pressed between my thighs. He makes me feel safe and I think I make him feel safer too. His nightmares, while still present, seem to happen less often, his body relaxing into mine as he sleeps deeply. 

Then there’s the sex. Oh God the sex. I know I have nothing to compare it to, but the way my friends talk about it, it seems like it’s often a chore. They talk about faking orgasms or men that are only concerned about themselves. Not Benny. He says he loves the sounds I make as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of me, pressing his body against and into mine against every surface of his house and his jeep, anywhere we can get away with it.  

About 6 months in, it’s our turn to host the monthly BBQ for all the boys. Will usually brings his wife and kids, Santi just himself, and Tom brings his family, so it’s a pretty big to do. I remember at BBQ’s in the past, sometimes Benny would show up with some girl and how jealous I was of her. And this time, I’m still jealous, because they got to be with him in the open. No passing touches or whispers, no hiding glances or anything. But I’m feeling bold, so I put on my favorite sundress, the one Benny had hitched up around my hips as he bent me over his kitchen table the last time we were together. And judging by the look on his face, he too has this same memory when he sees me in the dress. 

Everyone is outside, the kids screaming and running around, everyone else chatting, keeping an eye on the kids as my dad starts grilling. I feel Benny’s eyes on me as I set a few bowls of chips on the table, bending over just a little more than normal to expose more of my cleavage to him. I glance up at him and wink, turning and heading back into the house. I hear him come in behind me a couple minutes later, his eyes on me standing in the doorway to the hall. He silently follows me upstairs to my room, closing the door behind us and locking it before taking 2 steps towards me, pulling me to him and kissing me deeply. His hands fist in the sides of my dress, pulling it up higher on my hips. 

“You think you’re so slick wearing this dress?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

I pull him down on me, parting my thighs to let him settle between them as my back settles into my bed. My fingers twist in his hair, his hand trailing up my bare thigh as I whimper in his ear. 

“Wanna fuck in my bed. We haven’t done that yet.”

“Your dad’s outside.”

“So?”

“So what if he hears us?”

“I’ll deal with that then. Please fuck me Benny. I need you to fuck me.”

And so he does, pushing my panties aside and thrusting into me, one hand clamped over my mouth. I try to push him into me more, my hands gripping his ass, digging little marks into it when I come, legs spasming as Benny’s moans come right after, his hips rutting into mine as he fills me up. 

“Let me get something to clean you up with.”

“Don’t. I want to feel you inside me.”

“Fuckin’ hell you’re gonna kill me.”

—----

My chest heaves as Benny rolls off me and lays on his side, trying to catch his own breath. He slides his hand across my body and gently squeezes one of my boobs, his thumb grazing over my nipple. 

“You can’t possibly want to go again?” I ask, eyebrows raised. 

“What? This is my emotional support tiddy.”

Laughter erupts from me and Benny joins in, his smile making me feel warm all over. This is nice, this is comfortable. Benny makes everything in my life good. 

“You hungry? We did miss our dinner reservations.”

I chuckle. “Totally worth missing them.”

Benny props himself up on his elbow, his hand leaving my boob to start sliding down my bare stomach. “Oh I agre-”

GROWL! 

My stomach has decided enough is enough and the sound it makes is loud in the quiet room. Benny laughs again, his head flying back with it before he brings his lips to my stomach, speaking to it.

“You hungry, girl? Should we get some food in ya?”

I ruffle his hair and he turns, his cheek resting on my stomach as his eyes meet mine. We stare at each other for a few moments before he chuckles. “Your stomach is so loud.”

“Ok, fine. I’m hungry,” I smile.

He sits up, giving me a quick kiss before rolling off the bed. “I’ll go make us something. You can shower if you’d like. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” He leaves the room, sliding some pants on before he does. I make my way to his bathroom across the hall and take in my appearance, fixing my hair so it’s not too wild before sliding one of his shirts on. I make my way down the hall and stand in the entrance to the kitchen, watching Benny move about the kitchen, no shirt and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He tosses a kitchen towel over his shoulder as he flips a pancake, one of his specialties, humming to himself as he does. His hair is sticking up at all angles, looking like he’d just rolled around in bed for hours. Which I guess, technically, he did. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, kissing his back before resting my cheek against it. 

“You want strawberries or chocolate chips in yours, Lil?”

“Do I have to pick?”

He pauses for a moment. “Shit, why did I never think to combine those?” He adds both cut up strawberries and chocolate chips to his mix, pouring out another round of batter on the griddle. “I may have to steal one.”

“I’ll fight you for it.”

He slides the pancake off the spatula and spins, gripping my wrists before I can move. “I’d like to see- are you in my shirt?”

“Mmhmm.”

He drops my wrists and slides his hands around my hips, feeling for something. “Are you..are you not wearing any underwear?”

“How else am I supposed to feel you dripping down my legs?” Benny groans, gripping my jaw and pulling me in for a heated kiss, but the sound of a key jiggling in his front door lock kills the mood. In one quick motion, Benny is shoving me back through the doorway and down the hall, motioning for me to hide. I step into his room and close the door almost all the way just as the front door opens. 

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hey..Fish.”

The door closes and I feel the color drain from my face. My dad is here and almost walked in on us fucking in the kitchen. 

“Hope it’s ok I used my key? Normally you complain about having to get up and open the door.”

“No, no that’s fine. What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Lil is at her friend’s studying this weekend so I thought we could watch the fight?”

“The fight?”

There’s a slight pause. “The big fight? Between Samson and Jueng?”

“Oh right. The fight. Yeah, I think the neighbors in 2B are having some kind of party.”

“That explains why the parking lot is slammed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey listen, Frankie, I uh…I’m a little…” There’s a pause where Benny fumbles for words. 

“Oh shit, I should’ve called, Ben. I just got bored and I remembered you said you were staying in this weekend. Thought we could hang.”

“No, no. It’s uh, it’s ok. Did..did you want some pancakes?”

“For dinner?”

“I already made some.”

“Sure, sounds good. Bathroom useable?”

“It’s clean, fucker.”

Dad’s chuckle gets closer and I step away from the crack in the bedroom door, like he could see me through it. When I hear the bathroom door close, I yank on some pants and grab my shoes, tiptoe running down the hall and meet Benny at the door. 

“I’ll let you know when he leaves.”

I nod. “Sounds good. I still want pancakes.”

“Ok ok but you have to go now,” He’s practically pushing me out of the door, but just before it closes, he reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me back and kissing me before letting me go, a smile as the door closes and I hear my dad’s voice coming back down the hall.  

That was close.

—----

Several weeks later, I decided to grab some dinner on my way to Benny’s, neither of us feeling much like cooking. I wait at the counter of the diner, studying the pie menu while our burgers cook. It’s hard to pick out pie for Benny because he loves them all. Even Rhubarb. I decide on a slice of apple and a slice of buttermilk pie, placing the order with the waitress.

“No pecan?”

I jump, my head jerking to look at my dad, leaning against the counter, menu in hand and looking at me. 

“Pecan?”

“You’re favorite?”

“Oh. Yeah I thought I’d try something new.”

He nods. “So, you weren’t going to tell your old man you were getting shitty food before coming home?”

“You’re here too.”

He laughs. “True.” His eyebrows furrow together as the waitress brings 2 large bags and reads off the order. I try to cut her off but she plows through, smiling at the end. 

“Anything else, dear?”

“N-no. I’m good.” She walks off and I can feel my dad’s eyes on me. 

“Hungry?”

“What?”

He nods towards the bags. “There’s enough food there for two. Especially with that last burger. Double cheese, double bacon, and extra pickles? That’s exactly what Benny orders so I know it’s entirely too much.”

I laugh nervously. “Uh yeah. That’s..that’s mine. Period.” He looks at me, understanding. 

“And the other burger?”

“Uh surprise! I was going to bring food home.”

He smiles and I feel terrible. “We must have been thinking the same thing. Thanks, mija. Need some help?”

“Sure.”

He takes the burger bag and I take the other, walking me over to my car. He waits for me to get in and hands me the bag. 

“See you at home!” 

When he’s turned away and solidly heading to his truck, I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Benny. 

Me: No burgers tonight. Dad came in. Had to tell him I was buying for us.

Benny Baby: Oh shit! Did he know?

Me: He recognized your order but nothing past that. I’m sorry! Can I come tomorrow?

Benny Baby: Oh I plan on making you come many times 

—----

It was a couple weeks before we could manage to see each other again and we wasted no time in making up for it. Benny pressed himself between my thighs over and over, pulling as many sounds from me as he could before I just couldn’t take anymore, completely over stimulated. Only then did we get dressed and head out to dinner across town, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as we walked into my favorite Italian restaurant, laughing and sharing breadstick puns as we waited for our food. After force feeding ourselves some dessert, we walked back around the building, Benny pushing me against the side of his jeep, slotting his leg between my thighs as he pushes his tongue in my mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt. I can feel him getting harder against me and I wonder how unoccupied this parking lot is or if I even care. 

“I thought that was you. You got a secret girlfriend?”

Benny freezes at his brother’s voice, pulling back slowly and looking into my eyes, fear and apologies swirling around in his baby blues. He tries his best to turn around without showing me, but the angle is weird and he can’t quite hide all of me, no matter how I try to angle myself. 

“Wait…Lily?” Will says, completely shocked. 

I sigh, stepping out from behind Benny. “It’s me.”

He’s not smiling, gripping the takeout bag he has in his hand a little tighter as he looks at Benny. “That’s Fish’s daughter, Ben.”

“I fuckin’ know, Will. Don’t you think I know?”

“You’re making out with Fish’s daughter. His daughter.” 

“Yeah. And you’re not gonna tell him.”

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I? You shouldn’t be fucking around - shit, are you fucking around with her?”

I feel Benny’s body tense and I gently lace my fingers through his, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by Will. 

“That’s Lily, Ben! You shouldn’t be…I gotta call Fish.”

Before he can move, I step in front of Benny and grip Will’s arm gently. He looks down at me, his grey blue eyes studying me as if he’s trying to see if I’ve been coerced. 

“Please don’t, Will. I promise we will tell him. Eventually.”

“Tell him what, exactly?”

I glance back at Benny, giving him a small smile before looking back at Will. “We’re together. I am the secret girlfriend and the reason he hasn’t been around as much.”

Will looks from me to Benny and back. “He put you up to this?”

“Hey fuck you, man!”

I put my hand up, touching Benny’s chest. “No. If anything, I convinced him.”

“You’re Fish’s daughter, Lil.”

“I’m aware.”

“One of our best friend’s daughters.”

“That’s me.”

“I don’t know, I…”

“Will… please? I promise we will tell him. We’ve just…been enjoying each other and seeing where this takes us.”

He cocks his head slightly. “So it’s really not just sex?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He looks between us again, looking like he’s doing some mental math. “Alright but only for you, Lil. Benny knows better. But you have to promise you’re gonna tell him.”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Will.” I give him a hug and he returns it with one arm, the other still holding a heavy bag of take out. His eyes never leave Benny’s and I watch as they grow hard. 

“I love you, Ben. But if you hurt her, I’m not gonna hold back Fish.”

Benny nods. “That’s fair.”

—----

I love him. He tried telling me I’d grow out of him, but I didn’t. If anything I fell more in love with him as time went on. Benny let his final walls down, telling me how much he loves me, how I accept him, all of him, and how he thought he’d never find that. I don’t know how we made it 8 months without telling anyone or anyone figuring it out, aside from Will. 

It wasn’t until my dad came home early, finding Benny and me making out on the couch that I remembered why we were keeping it a secret. Thank God he didn’t come home 2 minutes later. 

“What the fuck is this?” He slams the door behind him, the walls rattling and Benny and I spring apart, Benny jumping up as my dad storms towards him. “SHE’S MY DAUGHTER, BEN!” 

Benny has his hands out in a placating manner. “I know, but-”

“My daughter! She is not for you!”

“No, but-”

Anger rises up from my chest. “You have no say over who I get with!”

He looks at me, his dark eyes fuming. “I do when it’s my best friend and my daughter! You’re only 21, Lily!”

“So? I am not some thing you can pass around! My life is my own! I can date and fuck whomever I want!”

His eyes go wide, cheeks flushing with built up anger as he turns his rage towards Benny. “Wait…have you slept with her?”

“Wh-what?”

His voice raises, loud enough I know the neighbors are listening in. “Have you fucked my daughter, Ben?”

The color drains from Benny’s face. “Let’s talk about thi-”

BAM! My dad’s fist collides with Benny’s face, his head flying back. Luckily, Benny knows how to take a punch, thanks to his days as an MMA fighter. He straightens up, dodging the next swing from my dad, his hands still up trying to placate him. 

“Dad!” I push past him and stand in front of Benny, turning his face towards me to inspect his lip, which is now bleeding, a dark circle starting to appear under his eye. I round on my dad.

“What the fuck dad?”

“Don’t dad me! You’ve been lying to me for months! Sleeping with Benny? He’s my best friend, Lily!”

“I know, but-”

“You just never stop to think about the consequences. What did you think was gonna happen? He’s 13 years older than you!”

“Yes, but-”

“He’s done some shit, but putting his hands on my daughter is the thing I’m gonna kill him for.”

“Ok, dad. Kitchen. Now. Benny? First aid kit in the bathroom.” I push on my dad’s chest, willing him to move. He glares over my shoulder at Benny as he moves into the kitchen, but doesn’t sit. 

“What the fuck, Lily?”

“I know, but let me explain.”

“Benny?”

“I love him, dad.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip in his typical dad pose. “I know you think you love him mija, but it’s just infatuation. You’re young.”

“Do you remember a few years ago, you asked me why I had boyfriends but none of them seemed to stick? And I told you I didn’t like them or want any of them?”

He thinks for a moment. “Yeah.”

“What did I say after that?”

“I said maybe you haven’t found the right person and you said no it’s because…” I raise my eyebrows at him until he continues. “...because you were in love with someone else.”

“You told me to go for it and I said I couldn’t because there’s no way he likes me the same way and it would be complicated.”

His shoulders slump, a little bit of the anger seeping from him. “Benny?”

“Benny.”

“How do you know he feels the same way?”

“Didn’t you tell me a few months ago how good he looks? That he said he was seeing someone but wasn’t ready to bring her around everyone yet? But that he hasn’t looked this happy in the entire time you’ve known him?”

“Fuck. It was you?”

“Me. We love each other, dad. We have for years, but didn’t say it until my birthday.”

“Wait. You told me Benny let you stay over because you were drunk. Did he-”

“No. I barely drank. My friends ditched me and he saw me. We went for dinner and then back to his place where..confessions were made.”

“You lied to me?”

“You didn’t ask me if I slept with him, dad.”

“Dammit. I hate when you’re right.” 

“Are…are we going to be ok?”

He pulls me to him in a bear hug, kissing the top of my head. “I’ll always love you, mija. But your boyfriend I may have to warm up to. God that feels weird to say.”

Benny pokes his head around the corner. “Is it safe?”

Dad turns his head to him, hugging me tighter. “I haven’t decided if I want to kill you yet.”

“Well while you’re deciding, can I just say how much I love her? She’s smart and funny, and she makes the world bright again. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“You’re damn right she is. So what if I told you I don’t want you dating her?”

“Dad-”

“Sshh. I’m asking him.”

“With all due respect, Fish. I’d tell you to go fuck yourself and date her anyway. I love you, you’re my best friend, but she’s the one for me and I won’t let anything come between us unless she wants it to.”

He lets me go and stomps up to Benny, who is a few inches taller than him. He glares up at him for a few moments before extending his hand out. 

“Ok.”

“Ok?"

“Just do me a favor and don’t kiss in front of me?”

“Deal.”

“Speak for yourself, Ben. I plan on making out with you whenever I can.”

A year later we’re married, both of us eternally grateful for my friends ditching me on my birthday that night.

—----

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[numinousmysteries]

@leiascully mentioned airports. JessM wrote the quintessential airport fic and this lives in that universe. I owe them everything, and they owe me nothing.

This has not been beta'd, edited, or put through any quality control whatsoever. Read at your own risk.

@today-in-fic @xffictober24

Paved Paradise

It's Bill Scully's turn to host Christmas. There is some sort of algorithm within the extended Scully clan that determines this. It factors in variables such as who's stationed abroad, who's too pregnant to travel, and who's just being so goddamn stubborn (Scully's words) this year. It's a complex calculation that starts as early as July if Scully's sighs and eye rolls during her phone calls with her mother are any indication. And despite all the time and care that allegedly goes into these deliberations, it seems that more often than not–in Mulder's mind at least—they end up flying to San Diego on the busiest travel day of the year.

Maggie headed out a week earlier to spend more time with Bill's kids, so it's just the three of them hunkered down at O'Hare for an extended layover. One that's becoming more and more extended as the snow piles up.

William has been characteristically well-behaved on the journey so far but even the most mature six-year-old's patience would be worn thin by now. Fuck, Mulder thinks, even this not-so-mature 46-year-old is getting antsy.

"I'm so bored!" He calls out, squirming in the vinyl seat at the gate. "Can I go walk around?"

"No," Scully says. She's not even looking up from her book. Mulder doesn't know how she can maintain her stoic calm in the boisterous chaos of an airport on Christmas Eve. "They could call us to board any minute now. And besides, it's too crowded, I'm worried you'll get lost."

Mulder doesn't want to remind her that they could have been called to board any minute in the past three hours now. "I'll go with him," he says, jolting up out of his seat. "We won't go far. And I'll have my phone on me, so just send a bat signal if we need to come back."

She looks up from her book to consider it. The two of them must look desperate because she just shakes her head and sighs. "Sure. Stay close."

Mulder grins down at William who smiles back conspiratorially.

"Yes! Thanks mom!" Full of pent-up energy, the kid grabs Mulder's hand and pulls him into the mire of human mass in the terminal. Will's red hair makes it easy to keep track of him in the crowd although, to Mulder's dismay, it's been getting darker recently. He'll always have Scully's bright blue eyes, though.

"Where to, kid?"

"I'm hungry," he says, excitedly. "And maybe they have a book store. I finished my book on the first flight and then I read the whole thing again. And look—there's a Pizza Hut. Can we get Pizza Hut?"

Mulder stops in his tracks in front of the restaurant. Still in motion in front of him, William stumbles a bit at the abrupt stop. He's been here before. In this exact spot in this terminal seven years ago. But there wasn't a Pizza Hut Express there before. It used to be a Chili's To Go. A very special Chili's To Go.

"What is this crap?" He gasps.

"Dad!" William glares up at him in surprised disapproval. A look that could come from his mother. "You can't say that."

"This didn't used to be a Pizza Hut, Will."

"Huh?" His son asks, confused.

"There was a Chili's here once. Before you were born. Your mom and I went there after a case once."

William is still staring at him skeptically. "Didn't you go to like a million airports?"

"Yeah," Mulder says, gazing in shock at the new restaurant as if its predecessor will suddenly appear before his eyes. "But this one was...memorable."

"Why? Was the food good?"

"I don't remember any food."

"You're so weird, dad," Will shakes his head. "Can we get pizza?"

"Um, sure," Mulder says. He's sadder than he should be by the replacement of one chain restaurant in an airport by another. But god, what had happened at that Chili's. It was the first time she let him touch her. The first time they fucked. In a red vinyl booth, no less. It was where their partnership finally became something more. William wasn't conceived there—and for that, he is thankful—but it set in motion the shift in their relationship that would ultimately lead to William's conception. That would ultimately lead them here. To this airport. On this holiday. As a family. And the Chili's wasn't even there to witness them.

Mulder goes through the motion of paying for William's personal pan pizza, bottled water, and a large diet Pepsi for him and William to share. He eyes the corner of the restaurant where there used to be a booth behind a retaining wall. The wall and the booth are gone. Probably ditched in a dumpster somewhere, trash compacted, or sold at auction. They should have been given a proper sendoff. A 21-gun salute. A hero's farewell at Arlington.

Eager to eat his pizza, Will skips his way back to the gate, his dazed father following a half-step behind.

As Will sinks back into his chair, Mulder turns to Scully any says, "It's official. They've paved paradise and put up a Pizza Hut."

"Blow on that, honey, it's hot," Scully says to William, not missing a beat. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

"The Chili's that was in this terminal. Our Chili's? It's gone. They replaced it with a Pizza Hut Express. Can you believe that shit?"

"Language, Mulder," she whispers, nodding toward William who's too absorbed in his cheese pizza to notice.

Mulder can tell she knows what he's talking about though. She's starting to blush. A light rouge rising to her cheek not unlike the fuzzy pink of the sweater she'd been wearing that day. One that, now that he thinks about, he'd never seen her wear before or since.

"Are you sure it was even this terminal? These all look the same," she says.

"How could I forget?" It comes out louder than he wanted, even startling William briefly before he turns back to his meal.

"It could have been this terminal. Or it could have been any of the other identical ones though."

He slaps his hands on his thighs in frustration. "No, Scully, you're wrong. It was this one. I know it was. And I know you know, too."

"Oh, Mulder." She shakes her head and turns back to her book.

Finally, their flight is called for boarding. They gather up their bags and herd William onto the jet bridge. Once they're settled into their row, William in between them distracted with a new book, Scully leans over him to whisper in Mulder's ear.

"We'll always have Chili's." She winks.

Her low purr makes his groin twitch and he makes a note that he'll have to do something about that later, even in Bill Scully's house. It'll be more comfortable than a booth at Chili's To Go at least.

[crazymuffin1]

more or less the full tiktok situation

okay so im not tinfoil hatting because its pretty obvious when you think about it

2020 trump wants tiktok banned im pretty sure the people who overlooked the whole spiel thought that there wasnt anything wrong with it and it and continued on as normal

then for some curious reason the stupidest most tech incompetent people of the congress are part of the hearing with classics such as asking the ceo 10 different ways of "are you chinese" making the viewer think that the next question is going to be whether or not the CEO has ever eaten chinese food. there are of course the other classics (and these are all real questions) "does tiktok read your brainwaves when you put on headphones" "does it record your eyes dilating to figure out what videos to boost via the algorithm" "does tiktok access your home wi-fi network" "are you chinese" "if you turn on airplane mode while in a plane, can tiktok talk to the plane"

im not making this up. these are real actual questions. its not word for word but im not changing the meaning of the questions it really was that bad

then of course beause they took the dumbest people in the congress they made a rule that basically boils down to "apps from countries we dont like have to be owned by america" (so we can censor it) (this is while also being racist towards china and yknow being all 'china censorship bad!')

now there hasnt been an official announcement of tiktok having been bought, BUT!

while it was down for americans, these messages appeared

message 1 ID: Sorry, Tiktok isn't available right now A law banning TikTok has been enacted in the U.S. Unfortunately, that means you can't use TikTok for now. We are fortunate that President Trump has indicated that he will work with us on a solution to reinstate TikTok once he takes office. Please stay tuned! End ID oh yeah the same trump that got it banned in the first place, right? about 15 hours later the app is up again

Message 2 ID: Welcome Back! Thanks for your patience and support. As a result of President Trump's efforts, TikTok is back in the U.S.! You can continue to create, share, and discover all the things you love on TikTok End ID.

heres the part where you gotta put the clues together! the tiktok page of the tiktok CEO no longer has "CEO of tiktok" on his profile

facebook/instagram is all of a sudden having popups of "link to tiktok" and an official tiktok page too. if youre on tiktok you get an add facebook friends promo (this hasnt happened to everyone yet, rolling out feature)

convicted felon donald trump is holding his inauguration indoors, probably because last time he got all pissy that the crowd size was small, but you cant take aerials indoors and indoors have limited seats anyway(maybe as a last fuck you, tiktok will once again reserve a bunch of seats that are left empty? oh please do that!). also its easier to check for weapons and not have snipers when indoors, which is important when first lady elon musk is going to be there, and his fellow oligarch mark zuckerberg is also going to be there. theyre reaaal scared of the snipers since their egos are so big they become an easy target!

but we all know the drill by now. "saving" tiktok is just a failed way to make the younger generation like him. even if he set it up and everyone on tiktok knows. its also a way to make people overlook whatever this weeks war crime is going to be. probably the mass deportation. forgot to add this thing but facebook recently removed fact checkers so tiktok is probably going to have even more (worse) misinformation

TL;DR facebook is going to announce they bought tiktok any day now and give the glory to trump even though he is the reason it was banned in the first place

also as a bonus on the last day, a lot of influencers and stuff like that were having the "since we're all getting banned anyway" moment so a lot of them said stuff like "i never used the products i promoted" "i hated collabing with this creator" "i was never xyz" people who did masked thirst traps (male presenting) were women all along. and then 15 hours later theyre unbanned and have to be like... yep...so that just happened.

anyway tiktok was one of the last few places people got news that werent completely filtered through the right wing lens of whoever owned the newspaper. even if there was a lot of misinfo. think of the ceo shooter and think of how the media portrayed it vs the people. "rich man is murdered in cold blood by some vile monster. he was very beloved" vs "this guy is a vile human being who is responsible for millions of deaths, and he was finally killed"

[sanders1665]

I’ve just got to be honest. No curated pretense, no filtered angle, no morally righteous social hashtag to tuck this behind. Just this: I’ve been smoking nature’s gift a hell of a lot more lately—and not out of rebellion or some half-baked attempt to be “one with the cosmos.” No. It's triage. Medicinal. A survival strategy for the modern madhouse.

Why? Christ, where do I start?

Pick your poison. The politics? Let’s not kid ourselves. It’s not governance anymore, it’s showbiz for the syndicate. Slick-haired avatars of leadership, propped up like digital marionettes in $5,000 suits, shaking hands with devils behind closed doors while preaching "unity" through clenched veneers. You can practically hear the whir of backroom deals being faxed to Lucifer’s desk.

It’s business—always has been. Wars are profit margins. Legislation is leverage. Every bill passed has a corporate sponsor grinning in the wings, ready to cash in on the aftermath. These aren’t leaders; they’re glorified middlemen for the billionaire class, selling morality like it's a limited edition sneaker drop. And the worst part? The lies aren’t even subtle anymore—they're printed, posted, and televised in full HD while the herd cheers or jeers, depending on which cult they’ve been branded into.

And now the cracks are showing. The Epstein files. The P. Diddy implosions. The parties behind gilded doors where the drinks flow and the cameras are conveniently “off.” How many of our smiling, vote-chasing icons were there, lurking in the shadows of those sick little kingdoms? We see the photos, the flight logs, the faint whiff of untouchable power, and yet—they’re still in office. Still pretending to be shepherds of the people while fleecing the last threads of decency from the system.

Why do we trust them? Why do we let them keep running this sleaze parade?

We’ve been conditioned to believe that the rot is just part of the furniture. That the system, no matter how compromised, must be preserved. But what if the system itself is the infection? A rigged game with pre-picked winners, the rest of us watching from the cheap seats, high on tribal loyalty and low on memory.

It’s not left vs. right anymore. It’s predator vs. prey. And the predators are feeding in plain sight.

And as for morality—forget it. That currency’s been devalued to Monopoly money. What passes for “ethics” now is just another social media set piece, staged and rehearsed for max engagement. Disingenuous people masquerading as good Samaritans, generous benefactors, armchair saints—just make sure they’ve got the latest super-duper iPhone, an expensive microphone, and their carefully selected “person of interest” standing by for the big virtue showcase. Oh, and don’t forget the catchy hashtag and the editing suite—gotta trim out anything too real, too raw, or too revealing that might get them demonetized. Can’t have sincerity interfering with the algorithm.

Goodness without an audience is obsolete. You don’t give anymore—you perform. Altruism has been hijacked by influencers with messiah complexes and brand deals, their "compassion" timed perfectly to trending hashtags and monetized grief. It’s a carnival of virtue signaling, where the most polished pretenders wear halos built from pixels and clout.

Another reason I might be smoking more? Maybe I’m just becoming more and more disappointed in the human condition—this increasingly desperate, neurotic need to be noticed, to be rich, to be dubiously famous. Everyone wants the spotlight now. It's become the altar of the spiritually bankrupt. The stage is littered with attention-seeking whores, all clambering for their moment of artificial relevance.

I’ll stay right up there at the back of the theater, thanks—where the lights and cameras never reach. Where the silence still exists, where I can observe without participating, where I can breathe without performing.

Social feeds vomit negativity with the precision of an industrial sprinkler. Every scroll is a shot of despair. The truth? Shoved into the corner wearing a tinfoil dunce cap while sacred knowledge—ancient truths, the kind whispered by stone and star—is ridiculed by people who think memes are gospel.

Maybe it’s just my age. Sixty years of watching this parade of disappointment, still baffled that we haven’t hit the cosmic reset button and sent ourselves back to fire and sticks. We've done it before—hundreds of times. Civilizations rise, get too clever for their own good, then implode under the weight of ego and bad decisions. We're the latest version. The current beta test. The question is—do we evolve this time? Do we merge into the next era with A.I. dragging us toward enlightenment? Or do we burn out in a blaze of arrogance, tribal tantrums, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity?

Maybe I smoke more because I just need to numb myself from the noise. The circus. The constant drone of human madness. But I still function. I still wear the masks, laugh at the jokes, give the right nods and shrugs. I do my thing quietly, moving through the static with a smirk and a half-shrug, watching everyone perform their personalized psychodramas like actors who forgot the play.

People are going to do their crazy things. I just don’t want their crazy spilling over into my yard. It’s bad enough being shovel-fed this mental trash on every app, every screen—like psychological fast food designed to keep us bloated, paranoid, and spiritually constipated.

Anyway, another day in the asylum comes to an end. The sun melts down into the orange hush of dusk. The birds sing like nothing’s wrong. And for a brief, silent moment, I almost believe them.

[missmoonfrost]

Hotel breakfast - a wolfstar microfic

April 25 - Modern AU - 588 words

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus followed the crowd out of the elevator and got in line for the coffee machine right away. He yawned and looked around the breakfast buffet for something his stomach could muster. Thankfully he would not be expected to do much more today than show up and listen to the yearly madatory update course. He decided on toast with jam and put his plate and cups down on what was probably the last empty table. The room was crowded with people in suits, just like himself.

Soon enough a man asked if he could take the opposite seat. An extremely handsome man with alluring eyes and black hair tumbling down his shoulders.

“Sure.” Remus moved to gather his things closer to his side of the table and tipped one of his toastes with the jamed side down on the table.

“Ugh, my coordination today…”

“What about it?” the man sat down with a dazzling smile.

“I just enjoyed the town a little too much last night, is all. I don't travel that much so I tought I'd take the chance now when work is paying. Not that we don’t have a pub where I’m from, but that’s… yeah, one pub.”

The man laughed a friendly laugh. “I’m from London.”

“Oh. You must think this is a one-horse-town?”

“Pretty much. I’m here to have a lecture for some backwater company called Modern Marketing who apparently can’t find anyone who knows anything about social media algorithms around here.”

“That’s my company.”

The man clasped his mouth with a horrified expression.

“I’m joking!” Remus laughed and his tablemate joined in.

Remus reached out for his cup of coffee but tripped it over. The coffee flowed across the table and splashed down the other side. The man jumped up fast enough to save his trousers, but the shirt was ruined.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s ok!” His tablemate quickly reassured, then made a face “They are going to think I’m the idiot now.”

“You don’t have a clean shirt? Do you want to borrow one?”

He thought a moment. “Yeah, actually, that would be really nice of you.”

He followed Remus to his room. Remus caught himself thinking this was a guy he’d gladly take to his hotel room for another reason. As the man stripped to try Remus' shirt on he couldn’t take his eyes away.

Fit muscles, fair skin interjected with sharp black lines of a star-shaped tattoo in the center of his chest that Remus suddenly felt a need to put his lips against.

“Maybe one size too big, but it’ll do. Thank you!”

“It’s all my fault to begin with… You look good. I mean… in the shirt... on you.”

The man smiled his dazzling smile again and reached out his phone to him. “Can I have your number?”

Remus felt a ridiculously big smile spread on his face.

“So that I can return you’re shirt.” The man clarified.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

Remus put his number in with blossom cheeks. The man said something about an Uber and left. Remus leaned his forehead against the closed door and whimpered. He was so stupid. Why would a hot guy from London ask for his number? Especially after he spilled coffee on his shirt?

A message dinged in Remus' phone.

> How long are you staying? /Sirius your shirt-borrower <

> My train leaves at 18:07 tomorow. <

> That’s one more night in "town" then. Fancy making it a date? <

Remus decided he needed to travel more. To London, perhaps?

Thanks to my coworker who spilled her youghurt on today's hotel breakfast and complained about her coordination after having enjoyed town too much, while we are on a mandatory course in a town considerably smaller than my own.

[relleytrots]

Hiya! I'm looking to be Storyteller for the first time, and am trying to psych myself up.

Do you have any playlist/album recs to get myself in the right headspace?

All right. In my experience, this goes as deep as you're willing to let it.

V5 may be leaning into "gothic not goth" (and to be honest, leaning away from gothic on the face of things), but it's still Vampire: the Masquerade: a game that has at least one of its roots in the goth scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s. This first playlist isn't even mine, but it does a neat slice through that whole moment.

When V5 came out, I made a conscious effort to update my vibe, get away from the goth night floor-fillers that I was into when I started Vampiring, about 25 years ago, but keep a connection to that original sound. This one has a couple of covers, a couple of big names, a timely "the past is dead" opener, and some very on-the-nose lyrical choices, but nothing that's actually in the Revised edition recommended listens list. Some of these regularly pop up on my individual chronicle playlists 'cause I think they resonate that well with being a vampire.

However! Vampire ain't just about the vibe in the book. You bring something to your chronicle: choices that reshape and filter what's going on. It helps to locate your chronicle, decide where and when your story is happening, and then pull some era-appropriate tunes that tie to moments/vibes you want to curate.

This is one I did for a chronicle that started in 1954, moved to 1969, and was planned to roll on until the start of Vampire's original moment-in-time. There's a mix here of "banger, y'all know this" and "the algorithm threw this up, it fitted, the date was about right" and something I always like to throw in: the mildly anachronistic title track.

This is probably the best one I've done. I put a lot of thought into the soundtrack for my first V5 game, because I was overthinking everything at the time, coming back to the seat of power after a few years away and not really knowing the new system yet. I knew these characters were all going to be Toreador Anarchs; I knew they were sharing a house near their art school, which had recently burned down; and I had an idea of who the major players in the city were going to be, I'd put together their names and clans and agendas.

I'm gonna break this one down in detail, actually, and hopefully that'll show what I think peak performance looks like. I started out with the first eight tracks and added the rest either as the coterie met particular characters, or in response to the coterie's choices. Listening to this before a session was an emotional recap, and emotional continuity is very important to me, more so than exact factual adherence to what may or may not have happened four weeks ago. In track order:

Vibe for the first session - our Kindred have technically graduated, but they've also been Embraced, and they're staying in their student house in the weeks after the ceremony they couldn't show up for, and summer isn't a great time to be a vampire anyway.

This is the political vibe the characters are starting out with: they want things to be better, but they're not super riled up about it yet.

This is the threat: the aggressive, unseen, unknown agenda behind the destruction of the art college and the sudden intrusion of Alistair Fucking Dunsirn into their world.

This is the player characters activated: twenty-first century spin on a classic of young outrage.

This is player character Callum's song, suggested by @stained-glass-sphinx.

This is player character Cali's song, suggested by @pathogenic.

This is player character Frankie's song, and I don't recall if I suggested it or @mxviatrix did.

There was one other Kindred active on the coterie's patch: Jamie, the Tremere who ran the Third Eye arthouse nearby. Jamie existed because I wanted to give them an early rival or ally, and have access to someone with an Intelligence + Investigation pool that existed and could succeed at things. He had a crush on Frankie, everyone else thought he was a pillock. This is his song.

Baroness Kilkennie! Malkavian, anachronism, gunrunner, ran the north side of town. Ally? Threat? Loose cannon? This track was perfect for her, and also set up the idea that she'd killed the previous Prince.

The split between run-down East and gentrified, collegial West Ends was part of the theming in this game. As well as being the theme song for Prince-in-name-only Alexandra, this song riffs off that tension and gives some late twentieth century energy reminiscent of prior conflicts.

Another Nineties banger, suggesting that prior hostilities are about to bubble over again, and this whole art school thing is both a continuation and only the beginning. By this time the coterie were lining up the Nosferatu primogen Barry Ross as the guilty party, and he was starting to flex in their direction too.

Enter @sorchamidnite! I needed a couple of weeks' vamping to prepare the finale of the first act, so Sorcha came along with a guest player and a theme tune. This was the start of the obsessive "new playlist for Sorcha" tendency that haunts me to this day - this one is just a clubland riff on her terrible pun username that sort of conveys her drug dealer/pays for everything energy. She's got you covered, babe.

Frankie hooked up with the detective constable who'd been investigating the coterie. DC Flynn, under the influence of Lingering Kiss, would turn out to be a real slow burn of a threat, and also a slightly pathetic figure who was passed from Kindred to Kindred, fed on and controlled, before the end. Under Your Spell indeed.

Cali stole a revolver belonging to Baroness Kilkennie, which he was going to hand over to the Camarilla to set her up as the BBEG, trying to create a power vacuum into which the coterie had decided to propel Alistair Fucking Dunsirn - and Cali was going to ride that old man's coattails to the top. All about personal responsibility, personal responsibility, that riff just going and going.

Frankie and Jamie hooked up for dinner. She brought him a police detective, he brought her a beautiful drugged-out-of-her-wits girl, there was a warehouse apartment, it was very tentatively sweet and schemey. I'd end up using this song as a leitmotif for this couple.

The first act ended with the coterie hosting an open-air rant in their domain. Everyone who was everyone in the Anarch Movement showed up with their bro up. This was the moment of articulacy - why were the Roses doing what they did? Because it's artful. Because they're beautiful. Because they owe it to themselves.

Title track. I just looked up "Wild Roses" once we'd named the coterie that, and the lyrics here - in the month of May, I think I wrote my own pain - fit really well, while the tune itself is a palate cleanser for the end of each session.

I hope all that provides... some sort of insight into how I use music in and around my chronicles? You don't have to go this hard, straight out of the gate, but I can say it was really rewarding to do in the first place, and to revisit now. Even if my notes make next to no sense five years down the line.