#online flutter course

[santhosheswaran]

Flutter

Flutter is an open-source UI software development kit (SDK) created by Google. It allows developers to build natively compiled applications for mobile, web, and desktop from a single codebase. With Flutter, you can create visually rich and highly performant apps that work on Android, iOS, Windows, macOS, Linux, and the web.

Here are the key features of Flutter:

Single Codebase for Multiple Platforms: You can write one codebase in Dart (Flutter’s programming language) and deploy it to different platforms like Android, iOS, web, and desktop.

Fast Development: Flutter offers a feature called "hot reload," which lets developers see changes instantly without needing to restart the app, speeding up the development process.

Rich UI Components: Flutter comes with a wide range of pre-built widgets that make it easy to create beautiful and responsive user interfaces. These widgets are customizable, and you can also create your own.

High Performance: Since Flutter apps are compiled to native code, they tend to have high performance, with smoother animations and faster startup times.

Dart Language: Flutter uses Dart, a language developed by Google, known for being easy to learn and offering a balance between performance and productivity.

Growing Ecosystem: There’s a large community around Flutter, which means lots of packages and plugins are available for adding functionality like accessing device hardware, network requests, animations, and more.

Flutter is popular among developers for its versatility and efficiency, especially for projects targeting multiple platforms.

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[random-thot-generator]

Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.

>>>>>

Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.

It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.

His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.

His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.

Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.

Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.

For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.

And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.

When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.

Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.

Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.

And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.

By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.

And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.

It says 'Missus Riley', of course.

-

[techdemy]

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[netskill]

Flutter Developer is one of the most sought-after job roles in the tech industry in this digital era. This will enable you to develop your own app (industry standard) from scratch and publish it to the app store.

[prakalpanatechnology]

“The Future of App Development: Exploring the Power of Flutter”

What is Flutter? Flutter is an open-source UI software development kit that enables developers to build natively compiled applications for mobile, web, and desktop from a single codebase. Launched by Google in 2018, it has since gained immense popularity within the development community.

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The Advantages of Flutter 1. Cross-Platform Development Flutter allows developers to create applications that work seamlessly on both Android and iOS platforms. This cross-platform compatibility not only saves time and resources but also expands the reach of your app.

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4. Strong Community Support Flutter boasts a vibrant and active community of developers who continually contribute to its growth. This ensures that developers have access to a wealth of resources, plugins, and support.

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Challenges and Considerations While Flutter offers numerous advantages, developers should be aware of some challenges. For instance, Flutter apps may have larger file sizes compared to native apps due to the inclusion of the Flutter engine. Additionally, not all third-party libraries may be compatible with Flutter, so developers should plan accordingly.

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FAQs 1. Is Flutter suitable for both small and large-scale app development? Yes, Flutter is versatile and can be used for projects of all sizes, from small startups to large enterprises.

2. What programming languages are used in Flutter development? Flutter primarily uses Dart, a programming language also developed by Google.

3. How can I get started with Flutter development? To begin with Flutter, you can download the Flutter SDK, install it, and follow the comprehensive documentation and tutorials provided on the official Flutter website.

4. Are there any notable apps built with Flutter? Yes, some well-known apps, including Alibaba, Google Ads, and Hamilton, are built using Flutter.

5. Is Flutter a good choice for game development? While Flutter is not primarily designed for game development, it can be used for creating simple games. For more complex games, other game development frameworks may be more suitable.

[shouyuus]

VI FROM ARCANE WITH PILLOWPRINCESS READER?!?! PLEASEEE ILL TAKE ANYTHING DUDEEE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

yes bc i feel like she'd love this lowkey midkey AND highkey bc vi's love language is def like 50/50 acts of service and physical touch and she'd love the fact that you trust her so much w/ ur pleasure, the fact that she gets to have this control, and you're always so obedient for her, always asks for permission -- the first time she'd gotten you to the edge and you'd sunk your fingers into her hair, thrashing beneath her, but still forcing yourself to look up at her with your big, watery eyes, asking --

"p-please v-vi -- can -- can i?"

she knew that she was done for like done for, the way she knew if she said no, you'd listen. the thought had made her head feel woozy, so much so that her fingers had almost paused inside you, and you'd keened, thighs squeezing around her wrist bc you were so, so close.

"holy shit -- yeah, sweetness -- fuck, yeah, come for me --"

and it's not like she doesn't know how much you like it when she manhandles you a bit; she likes it too, she likes it alot actually, how she can jerk you down the length of the bed, press your knees up all the way to your shoulders, wrap her fingers around your neck, or just hold you down and kiss you till you're shaking apart beneath her.

she likes too that all she has to do is say the word, and you'd drop to your knees for her, pliant and willing, your lips falling open for her fingers or her cunt, how you'd make these happy little mewling noises when buried between her legs, so long as she got a hand on your head, a thumb rubbing your cheek.

"do you... do you ever wish i'd do more... stuff?" you ask one day, crinkling your nose, frowning absently down at vi's hair as you braid the longer bits into a single plait, only to tug it loose and do it all over again.

vi glances over her shoulder, "more... stuff?"

"yeah like... be more active when we're, y'know --"

vi laughs, tugging you into her lap, "if you're asking if i'm happy with our sex life, sweetness, the answer is yes, very."

you sigh, nodding even as you tuck your nose into her curve of her neck.

"okay. just asking."

she runs her thumbs against your skin, drawing circles into your waist.

"why? are you happy with it?"

you nod so hard that you almost topple out of her arms, but she catches you, grinning. "yeah! of course i am!"

"then, what's the problem, princess?"

"nothing! just..."

"c'mon pretty, spit it out," she takes your chin between a thumb and forefinger, giving your face a tiny shake. your breath hitches; satisfaction unfurls in vi's chest.

"i saw something online about -- how being too passive isn't a good thing and --"

"ooookay, i'm gonna cut you off right there --" she hoists you up, twisting you around so you're straddling her lap, your face now parallel to hers. she loves the way you're so easy to read, loves that you don't hide your attraction to her, how all she has to do is twitch her lips and you're already gasping.

"open your mouth for me, pretty girl," she says, and you do, your mouth dropping open as she swipes a thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it forward till it's resting on your tongue. you whine softly, hips shifting, but you hold still till she nods her head, "go on, suck."

you close your lips immediately, your tongue laving at the pad of her thumb. she lets out a clipped groan, watching. a few seconds later, she pulls it out with a light pop, grinning as she tracks the slick finger down your chin, tracing up the line of your jaw till she's got her hand cupping the back of your neck.

"that feel very passive to you?"

your lashes flutter, confusion gathering in your eyes before you lick your lips, blush, and give your head a tiny shake. she smiles.

"good answer. so? are we good now, princess?"

"yeah. we are."

"good!" she gives you a quick kiss, patting your hip, "what'dyou want for dinner? i'm thinkin'... it's been a while since we've been to jericho's."

you pout, "what about that other place we've been talking about?"

"what on the wharfside docks?"

"yeah...?"

vi rolls her eyes, even as she sits up and motions for you to get up. you jump up with a bright smile. she sighs, folding her arms.

"go get dressed. ugh, passive -- dunno what you were thinkin' when you asked me that princess."

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, mild language, mutual pining, reader is shorter than sylus, flirting, gendered terms (good girl), mild jealousy, 2.2k of self-indulgent dribble now playing: sweet time - raveena part 1 | part 3 | part 4

Coffee. 

Cuban, aromatic, sweet, bold. Nostalgic.

It’s the first thing to bring you to consciousness, followed by birds chirping outside, and the unbroken purr of a lawn mower.

You’re in your bed, swiping along the sheets in wide arcs as if chasing the remnants of sleep. Dreams of cerulean beach waves, sand caught in the interstices of your toes, the sun warming your cheeks.

Morning announces itself in the form of a golden strip cast over your eyes. 

You peek them open, throat dry, mouth sticky. A little sad to see you’re not at the beach, not tucked safe in your childhood home.

You push up with an unflattering yawn and crackling limbs. A glance at your phone reveals it’s a little past eight. It’s your day off. Still got some time to get ahead of the morning rush for grocery shopping.

The scent of coffee curls around you like a wispy shawl, and you’re warm inside. Smiling, lugging yourself off the bed to the window where you know he’ll be.

A glance outside and across the street reveals that familiar thatch of white, contrasting with the vibrant grass as Sylus pushes the lawn mower back and forth.

You’d almost forgotten he was back, kind of used to getting along without him. And of course, he’s up bright and early, helping your elderly neighbor tend to his yard. Made time to make you coffee on that expensive espresso machine he refuses to let you touch.

Funny. 

For someone who claims to abhor the sun, he’s best friends with it—the way it threads through his hair like he’s Atlas himself, bearing the sky on burly shoulders. How it highlights the rippling muscles in his back beneath a sweat-slicked tank, the tendons flexing in his legs as he works. 

You cross your arms and lean near the window, watching him push to a standstill when your neighbor approaches with water and a towel. Like clockwork, the old man draws him into conversation, nonsensical things in no particular order. And Sylus is always patient, letting your neighbor ramble like he’s got all the time in the world.

As if remembering yourself, you blink away your reverie. Shake it off. You sound like a lovesick fool. A secret admirer. Aren’t you? You’ve got better things to do than pine after your roomie.

So you strip down and crowd into the shower, the crisp spray a welcome reprieve for your stiff muscles. You slip into something that fits the heat—the kind that refracts light waves off the pavement, scorching enough to fry eggs outside and bring the mosquitoes out.

You sweep your hair into something passable, trotting down the stairs to the kitchen. The coffee’s still hot, warm in the mug between your palms and down your gullet. 

Not only is he a tolerable housemate, but he listens. Made it a point to stock your pantry with coffee that chased away your homesickness—imported—probably sick of you bitching about how much you missed it. Tired of asking why you’ll never go back.

A plate covered in a cheesecloth awaits you on the stove with a sad excuse for a cat scrawled onto a sticky note on top. You snort. Fish out a piece of bacon, pop a few blueberries strewn across your pancakes into your mouth. 

From the kitchen window, Sylus and your neighbor have moved to the old man’s porch. They’re seated on his rocking chairs, mouths moving, expressions easygoing beneath the flag fluttering in the balmy breeze. It’s infectious, that rare quirk to Sylus’ lips. Everything about him seems infectious these days. 

Swiping your keys from the counter and toeing on your sneakers, you push through the front door, and the humidity slaps you with zero remorse. 

Both men across the street perk up when you hit the remote start, your neighbor waving at you with a wrinkly, knowing smile.

You return his greeting, prickly when scarlet eyes track your every step as you round the car to the pooped-up trunk. 

You’re shuffling things around to make room for groceries when you feel him behind you—a tingly pressure between your shoulder blades, his shadow pressing into you and blotting out the sun.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, amused.

You jolt, a hand over your heart. You knew your roommate was back there, yet that voice is something lethal. Always manages to make you forget the world is a thing, breathing and thriving around you.

You turn, propping against the trunk’s edge, trying to play it cool over crossed arms. “God, warn me next time, will you? For your info, I’m going grocery shopping so my roomie doesn’t think I’m irresponsible and broke.”

There goes that lethal combo—that smirk, that chuckle. It’s not fair that he makes something as simple as roosting his hand on the edge of the trunk look cool, so close, you make out the veins and sinew jumping in his arm. Smell the sweat salting his skin, the grass staining his shorts.

“Irresponsible, yes.” Sylus pokes your forehead, and you sputter at how rough he pushes. “Broke, never. Not with me around.”

You huff, looking off to the side, pretending to be annoyed. Pretending like it wouldn’t take much to grab the front of his shirt and tug him down and—

Enough of that.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m assuming you’re done being a good Samaritan since you have time to talk.”

He straightens, that humor never leaving, that gaze sliding over you, stopping center mass, before finding your eyes again. He tugs on the towel around his neck, and you’re swallowing when his Adam’s apple bobs, chasing the sweat pouring down his throat. 

“Mostly. Want company?”

You jut your chin out defiantly, haughty, like you’re not giddy at the prospect of him tagging along. “Thought you didn’t like crowds.”

Something shifts in those lava fields. A glimmer of something burrowing deep before he’s back to his usual, smug self. Angles himself closer, making your heart skip a beat.

He’s all teeth when he says, “They’re bearable when I’m with you. Give me ten, and I’ll come with.”

You’re nodding like a lovelorn idiot, mouth halfway open, still processing what he said as he wanders into the house.

It’s hard to keep your walls up when he says shit like that. Chips away at those aged bricks you put up around your heart after you assumed he was seeing someone—the feminine name he’d say in hushed urgency, stepping out of earshot to take her call.

Whatever. 

It’s just a trip to the store. And he’s always been a tease. 

You brush it off, slamming the trunk shut, and slipping into the driver's seat to wait for this enigma of a man to clean up. 

—

Mornings have never been your forte. 

But you take advantage of them when it means getting a leg up on the housewives and boisterous teens who like to crowd the supermarket later on.

It’s eventless inside, a few customers scuttling about, music echoing from the speakers. The overhead lights compete with that of the sun bleeding through the windows, and your cart squeals and sticks.

One hand is tight around the buggy’s handle, the other pressing your phone to your chest. You’re tense, tight-lipped, pulse jackhammering in your throat. 

The source of your anxiety walks a comfortable distance behind and to the side, perusing the aisles with as much interest as someone out of their element. He’s not as close as he was before when he’d manipulated you into bringing him with you, but you’re still all prickly like he wrote sin into your bare skin with his fingers.

You always get like this when he’s gone for a while and comes back. Like meeting up with a stranger, sifting through the filing cabinet of your mind on what to say and how not to sound stupid saying it. 

You’re nestled between towering aisles of cereal when you glance over your shoulder, mouth moving, but nothing coming out. Sylus watches you, brow lifted, expectant. And your tongue’s suddenly too heavy for your mouth as you laugh it off, facing forward again.

You’ve never been this shy before. Never been this hesitant to fill the space between you with shit-talking and an interrogation on where he ran off to this time. Real estate conferences typically don’t last for most of the month. But you know your prodding won’t get you anywhere because he’s so good at diverting your questions and changing the subject.

“So,” you finally begin, attempting to break up the dense air between you. “We need milk, eggs, and bread. Maybe that bourgeois yogurt you like. Butter, oatmeal, and—ah, fuck. Forgot the plums.”

You stiffen, prepared to turn around, abandoning the cart in the middle of the aisle, but Sylus cuts you off. You almost run into him, that solid wall of strength, the heat of his skin overwhelming, the crisp notes of his cologne like chloroform. 

You look up to that knowing cant on his lips, and with a hand in his pocket, he tells you, “I’ll take care of it. You handle the rest.”

Nodding, you watch him walk off before venturing further down the aisle by yourself, grateful for the save.

At the end of the aisle, of course the oatmeal you want is on the top fucking shelf. And you’re straining on tippy-toe, fingers just barely grazing it. You purse your lips, contemplating stepping on the shelves for an assist, but it seems some higher being pities you today.

“I got you,” chimes a friendly voice from behind. 

His hand reaches over you before you put a face to a voice, plucking the tub of oats down for you. Almost close enough to crowd you against the shelves. You turn, following the stretch of his arm as he steps back, a nervous chuckle in your throat when he deposits the container into your hands.

“Hey, thanks,” you say, smile courteous, the container pressed to your bosom. “I owe you one.”

It’s awkward. Blinking. Staring. Averting your eyes. 

Your savior makes no move to leave, instead making himself comfortable, all teeth and confidence as he leans against a shelf. 

“Hard to believe a pretty thing like you shops all by herself. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in town. You live around here?”

You have this nasty habit of letting your face convey your emotions in place of your words. It’s instinctual. But this guy was nice enough to help, so you tamp down your discomfort, chuckling anxiously. Maybe if you entertain him a little, he’ll take the hint and leave you alone. 

“Um, yeah. Just out running errands. Trying to get my life together. You know.” 

Mr. Smug Smiles still doesn't budge, doesn’t pick up on your unease, instead taking you in like a starving wolf ogling skewered meat. 

“Maybe I could help you out. Grab anything else you can’t reach.” He steps closer, voice descending. “And maybe you could give me your number.”

Before you can work your mouth into a retort, you feel it—quiet, intimidating pressure behind you. Swallowing you whole, though the ire pouring off his skin isn’t directed at you. 

You nearly leap some fifty feet out of your body when a sizable hand falls to your back. The touch is light, but it’s hard not to sense the possessive flex of his fingers as he scorches you down to the bone.

You peer up as Sylus steps in, glare unrelenting on the man before you, and he drops a bag of plums into the cart like they’ve personally offended him. Your breath corks in your throat as his jaw pulls, the tendons in his throat twitching. If looks could kill, you’re sure he would’ve murdered this guy a thousand times over. It’s kind of…hot. And it convinces you just for a second that maybe your roomie’s into you, too.

Sylus’ demeanor shifts from murderous to sweet, giving you whiplash when he looks down at you. Asks, “Do you have everything you need, sweetheart?”

The way the name rolls off his tongue drips hot into your belly, and you’re nodding like a mindless little thing, lost in the soft stir of his irises. He reaches around you to grip the cart’s handle, trapping you between cool metal and sweltering strength. He turns you away from the sputtering man who had no idea you kept such company, walking you down the aisle into another.

Moments pass, and Sylus doesn’t let go. Doesn’t release you from the cage of his body, doesn’t loosen the clench of his jaw until you’re in the frozen section.

You start when he angles low, his hair tickling your neck, your cheek, lips a tease by your ear. It’s pleasant, satisfying, the way his voice drags like chalk against a sidewalk, igniting a flurry of goosebumps across your skin.

“The next time you need assistance, don’t ask a stranger. Wait for me. Understood?”

You have this nagging feeling there’s more to his words than what’s at surface level. And you have half a mind to tell him you didn’t ask for anything. Yet you stutter out a quiet, “Ye-yeah,” absently nudging closer to his mouth.

You feel it curve against your ear—his sly smile. Watch his fingers tighten around the buggy’s handle, forearms just barely brushing your sides.

“Good girl.”

And you don’t realize you’re still clutching the damn oatmeal for dear life until you drop it on your foot.

tags: @pemhpredo, @bluesidez, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @freeprincesslove, @raginginferno267, @dyeinsomniadontwake

[kashverse]

us and geto having a selfcare day together? haircare, skincare, masks, nails all that good sh★t

wishing all the gays and girls and everyone in between to find a man like this 🙉💗🕺💐 happy birthday getooo <3

self-care sundays with your fiancé suguru are an event. they require extensive planning, a dedicated budget (suguru’s black card), and, most importantly, the unwavering commitment to looking unreasonably good while doing absolutely nothing.

the setup is pristine: warm candlelight flickering on the dresser, a bluetooth speaker playing kali uchis like it’s a sacred ritual, and your bed covered in self-care products. you’re both dressed in matching cow-print pajamas, a last-minute online impulse buy that suguru pretended to be unimpressed with but now wears with a very unserious level of smugness.

“ready?” you ask, holding up a jar of an expensive face mask. suguru tilts his head, arms crossed. “depends. is this the one that tingles and makes me question my choices, or the one that smells like an overpriced smoothie?”

“the latter,” you assure him, unscrewing the lid. “but we’re double-masking today, so you’ll get to experience both.” his dramatic sigh is muffled when you smear the cold mask over his face. suguru, being the effortlessly attractive menace that he is, somehow still looks good—even with streaks of green goop on his cheeks. he doesn’t even flinch. a seasoned veteran.

“i see you got everything from the list,” you say, reaching for the body butter. “of course. do you think i’d let you down?” he grins, stretching out his legs as he watches you. “i was a man on a mission at sephora. dodged at least five aggressive salespeople, flashed my wedding band to scare off a few flirts, and even walked out with my dignity intact.”

“that’s debatable,” you mutter, scooping out a generous amount of cream and rubbing it into your arms. he narrows his eyes. “i’ll have you know i was very graceful.”

“you spent thirty minutes contemplating which cuticle oil was ‘more luxurious.’”

“and look at us now. thriving,” he retorts, wiggling his fingers at you. “unbothered. moisturized. focused. flourishing.” you snort and reach for his hands, rubbing the excess body butter into his palms. he watches you closely, eyes half-lidded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. suguru loves this part—where you take his hands and carefully massage each finger like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“i still can’t believe you dropped two hundred dollars on a serum,” you tease, reaching for the bottle in question. “oh, we’re still on that?” he chuckles. “you act like i don’t drop that on lunch.”

“lunch feeds you. this makes you glow.”

“and isn’t my glow worth every penny?” he flutters his lashes dramatically. you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile creeping onto your face. “yeah, yeah. close your eyes.”

he obeys without question as you pat the serum into his skin, gentle and precise. suguru has the nerve to sigh like you’ve just lifted all his worries off his shoulders. “you are so spoiled,” you murmur, rubbing the product into his temples. he hums, eyes still closed. “and whose fault is that?” you smack his arm lightly, and he chuckles, leaning in to press a lazy kiss to your jaw.

once your faces are sufficiently pampered, suguru lounges against the pillows, eyes tracking your movements as you grab the nail polish. “so, what’s the color of the week?” he asks.

“baby pink,” you reply, shaking the bottle. his brows lift. “not my usual black?”

“nope. we’re doing soft aesthetic suguru this week.”

he doesn’t argue. he never does. instead, he stretches his hand toward you with all the regality of a man who has fully accepted his fate. “paint away, my love.” you start with his pinky, carefully brushing on the color, while suguru watches you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

“i love you, you know,” he says suddenly, voice soft.

your brush pauses for half a second before you resume, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. “i know,” you say. “you show me all the time.”

his thumb traces lazy circles on your knee. “i’m gonna keep showing you. every day.”

your chest feels full. warm. like this moment—cow pajamas, kali uchis playing, suguru’s gentle affection—is something sacred.

“good,” you murmur. “now hold still, i’m not redoing these nails if you smudge them.”

he grins. “you're the boss.”

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ after the break up (prt 2)

˚ · . kenma kozume, iwaizumi hajime, tsukishima kei, ushijima wakatoshi & atsumu miya (prt 1.)

KENMA KOZUME — he feels really stupid. kenma does a lot after the breakup in order to distract himself. he buys more games, staying up until it's almost dawn. all of his attention goes into his video games and other devices that he completely stops taking care of himself subconsciously. it's only when he's lost almost 10 pounds is when he realizes how neglected he's become. it happened so fast it confuses him. why didn't you remind him to eat? or shower? oh.. right, it's because you broke up with him in the first place. still, he tries to forget. it's one night playing a game when he's dissociating randomly thinking about you does it all hit.

Super Mario Bro's plays in the background of his room. for once, his fingers are still but his eyes are locked on the pixilated screen in front of him. his eyes are red and dialted due to the bright screen contrasting to the dark dead of night. this game was very expensive, vintage and one of a kind—yet he's subconsciously stuck thinking about you.

did you know he thought about you so frequently? did you think the same of him? he drops the console, fishing his phone out from below him. his fingers tap on the keyboard, searching up your name into his contacts. he notices the last time you texted him was over a month ago. oh–, right. you broke up with him. right. kenma drops his phone back down, laying his face down into the same giant kirby plushie you bought him a long time ago.

a soft sniffle escapes through the thick material, mixing in with the almost taunting upbeat cartoon music.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME — your breakup was done on good terms. he was moving to the U.S., you were staying in Japan. neither of you knew the relationship wouldn't withstand such a long distance relationship so the relationship came to an end. the two of you still call and text over random things, but it's not like how things were before. time passes, and the two of you have less and less contact. iwaizumi is doing his weekly stalking of your Instagram when he realizes you've posted a photo of yourself.. but you aren't alone.

iwaizumi sighs with content when he's finally allowed to sit down, his legs sore from harsh muscle training. as always, he checks his phone. once he's finished going through his messages, ignoring almost everyone except his mom, he comes across your contact. the last you spoke with him was almost a year ago. he frowns, he wishes the two of you kept in contact, but you both were just so busy.

curiously, he indulges in his guilty pleasure and opens up instagram. as if on autopilot, he searches for your online handle. you both follow each other, but of course, never speak. he mindlessly scrolls through your highlights and posts, ending up on your most recent one. it's you. his heart flutters at the sight of you once more. even through a screen, you're still as beautiful as always. you're glowing and radiant as always.

his childish smile soon disappears when he realizes someone has their arm wrapped around you. a guy. a guy who is looking at you with the same loving look iwaizumi would give you long, long, ago. iwaizumi uninstalls the app shortly afterwards.

TSUKISHIMA KEI — he avoids you. he pretends you don't exist altogether. his heart cringes whenever he hears you around, regretting immensely when the two of you arranged your classes together in the previous year. it's childish. no, he's childish. especially because the breakup was more of his fault. still, he hides the fact that his heart is broken. he treats you like everybody else with such hate and bitterness, and only realizes how stupid he's being when it's too late.

"hey kei." you say, walking along aside the tall blonde. "do you want to work on the project together? sensei said that–," "i don't want to work with you." he says coldly. tsukishima doesn't even look to acknowledge you, staring straight forward as he walks. "o-oh, well i just y'know—" you stutter embarrassingly, "i just thought that because—" tsukishima finally stops in his tracks, swiftly turning to you, looking at you through clouded lenses.

"why do you keep on pestering me." his tone leaves you shocked. you can't even think of words to say, only able to let out incoherent stutters and mumbles. "all you do is stutter, it's annoying." tsukishima says nonchalantly, still looking at you with distain.

that seems to shut you up for now. tsukishima is relived when you do, if you talked to him anymore he probably would've accidentally spilled how he missed you. his relief is short lived when he sees the tears roll down your face and out of embarrassment, you quickly walk away from him. he's left standing still, gazing down at the floor. heart heavy and regretting.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — he thinks he's alright but he doesn't realize he's distraught. he continues on with his life like normal, seemingly at peace and happy with whatever he's doing. but, he does have to admit, he's been feeling a bit more.. confused? more like agitated. outside of his calm demeanor to untrained eyes, he seems perfectly normal. but, to those who are close with them, they can see what's actually going on in that seemingly perfect head of his.

hazel eyes watch closely as you walk past. ushijima awaits for you to come up to him like normal, talk to him and pester him with a million questions once more. he hated when you pestered him, he wished you were more quiet and reserved... or did he? he's not sure. because now you are walking away from him, not saying a single word. hell, you barely acknowledge his presence. how do you not? he's everything you said catches your eye, tall and muscular build, with a handsome perfect face.

"y/l/n." he rumbles out. the boom of his voice finally catches your attention, finally spinning around to acknowledge him. you seem defensive, like a cornered cat, a single eyebrow quirking up at his call. "..ushijima-san?" his heart, for some reason, sinks into his gut with the formality use of his name. what happened to toshi? for once, his words are stuck in his throat and he struggles to come up with something to say.

seeing that he's yet to say anything, you hurry out of his presence, trying to be released from the gaze of the man you are forbidden to love. meanwhile, ushijima is realizing for the first time, that maybe he lost someone who he isn't fine with leaving.

MIYA ATSUMU — he's like a pitiful dog. he plays off the break up like it's nothing, even to your face, he just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something under his breath and walked away. despite the two of you dating for a year, going through so many things together, hell, he even lost his virginity to you, but he still acts like it was nothing.. but everyone can tell it's not. much to his annoyance, even his twin brother tells him to take it easy following the break up. but he's fine. it was nothing. he definitely doesn't search for you in the crowd during his games, nor does he get the random pang of forgetfullness after school as if he should be waiting for you. he's fine.

a girl comes up to atsumu after his game, batting her long eyelashes and pouting her lips. "can i get your number?" she asks, making her voice as smooth as possible. atsumu blinks at her with a blank face before turning his back to her, ignoring her entirely. he ignores her whines and curses of embarrassment, his eyes scanning the emptying crowd.

"shes not here, 'tsumu." he hears a familiar voice say. atsumu snaps his head back to the direction of the voice, seeing osamu standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes low and unamused. atsumu scoffs at his brother, "yah i know." the two of them wait in silence, but for what? what is he waiting for? suddenly, his ears perk up at a familar body frame, eyes darting to the source only to be severally disappointed with the sight of a person who looks like you, but isn't you.

"let's go home, 'tsumu." osamu says, walking past the blonde haired man. atsumu waits a couple more seconds, taking another quick scan of the crowd before he's hestiantly following his brother, shoulders low and eyes to the ground.

please like and repost with tags

[optimusxwbu]

ೃ⁀➷ optimus prime x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: 18+, fairly vanilla tbh, needy optimus, praise. 3.5k words.

-> minors dni, you will be blocked!!

finally living up to my name and writing for optimus (he’s my number one) rather than megatron lol

︵‿︵‿ ❤︎ ‿︵‿︵

An exasperated ex-vent came from Optimus as he stepped into your shared habsuite. You were lying on your back, legs crossed, as you held up a datapad in the air, still trying to learn Cybertronian texts.

Your head rolled to the side to watch Optimus enter the room, a few datapads in his servo, splayed out like playing cards, his audial fins pushed back slightly like an unhappy cat.

“Bad day?” you asked as you locked the screen of your datapad, shuffling up so that you could swing yourself around and sit in a kneeling position, your butt on the heels of your feet.

Optimus was moving sluggishly through the room, only giving you a short nod in response. He discarded the datapads onto the desk, the force of it scattering a couple of them across the surface.

“Come here,” you instructed, reaching your hands out to him.

He approached your shared berth, lifting one leg to stand on it before expending the energy to mass-displace it down to a tolerable size, more compatible with you. 

You extended your hands further, giving an ushering gesture with them. He couldn’t resist obliging you, so he slowly lowered himself to his knees before leaning forward and placing his helm on your lap, turning his helm to the side.

His servos came up to loosely hold onto your hips, rubbing small circles into them.

A gentle hand found its way to the top of his helm, giving him a delicate stroke to soothe him. You could’ve sworn he softened a little just from your touch. You repeated the motion, head tipping to peer down at him, seeing his optics dim.

“So much fighting, hm?” You hushed, barely above a whisper, “so much pressure on you, the weight of it must be crushing. Even for a bot as strong as you.”

Optimus shifted slightly, his left leg hitching up to make him more comfortable.

“But you do such a good job,” you praised, “better than good. Your capabilities are endless, I couldn’t even to begin to list them.”

You ghosted your fingertips over the audial fin that was exposed to you, which made them flutter slightly, like an involuntary reaction. You smiled slightly at that, deciding to do it again.

“No one could even come close to you. To how noble, strong, kind, righteous, steadfast you are. There is no better mech to lead against the opposition.”

Optimus rubbed the side of his helm against your thighs, revelling in the softness of them. They made perfect pillows. The gesture his non-verbal way of asking you to continue, maybe?

“I count my lucky stars every day that I get to call you mine. For a simple creature like me to be blessed with the presence of the divine, it almost feels surreal.”

Optimus’ optics blinked back online, the bright blue shining brightly. He hummed in his chest before taking a firmer hold of your waist.

“You have it mixed up,” were the first words to come from him since entering the room, “I am lucky to have you. To have a beautiful being who has been so endlessly patient, so considerate, so understanding.”

You tutted at that, almost rolling your eyes at the statement. He really knew how to play it up, sometimes.

“I’m being serious,” Optimus countered before you even said anything, “your lifespan, it’s so- fleeting. Yet here you are, willing to stay here with me despite the war, despite my duties. I cannot help but sometimes feel like I have robbed you of your prime years.”

Your soft caresses ceased on his helm at that, eyes blinking just once.

“Optimus,” you voiced, “that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it?” The guilt he felt wracked his voice.

“Of course it isn’t,” you shook your head, “look at how much you have given me, despite your circumstances. You have loved me, cherished me, moreso than anyone that came before you. You have shown me galaxies, stars and planets beyond what any human could hope to witness. You have lengthened my life, broadened it, by doing everything that you do for me.”

Optimus stirred at that, helm coming up from your lap as he now rose to his knees, upper body leaning towards you and allowing his face to be in your full view.

“I love you, Optimus,” you confessed, “my heart will forever belong to you.”

The mech’s mask retracted back into the sides of his helm, his dazzling beauty now unobstructed.

“I love you so very much,” Optimus returned, before moving forward to kiss you.

Your hands settled on his faceplate as you enthusiastically returned the kiss.

“More than, any words, could convey,” he continued to express through broken kisses. 

Your heart fluttered, a shallow nod of your head non-verbally showing that you felt that same way, but he was always much better with his words than you were. 

One of Optimus’ servos found its way to your back, drawing you towards him to urge you into lying beneath him. Never one to deny him what he wanted, considering how he rarely ever asked for anything, you heeded his desires and untucked your legs from underneath you.

Optimus’ presence on you pushed you back, so that you were lying on your back once again, all whilst never breaking the kiss. 

“My one true love,” the mech uttered, moving his helm so that he could pepper kisses along your neck. 

His way with words always made you blush; he was such a smooth talker, and he didn’t even realise it. The servo still on your back pulled you further into him, connecting your bodies further, your head tipping back to allow him the space to kiss down your neck.

Even though you knew this is where the night would probably head, you weren’t expecting Optimus to start grinding his interface panel in between your legs so soon. You let out a surprised gasp, hands moving to settle on his shoulders.

“W-wait,” with that one word, Optimus stopped immediately, unlatching himself from your neck and coming up to look down at you. If you wanted to stop, he would stop, no questions asked. The look on his face reassured you of that.

“I do want to, but I want to treat you tonight,” you reasoned with him, voice meek. 

He cocked his head slightly, before you ran your hands from his shoulder to the windows on his chest plating. 

“Swap positions with me.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

A short, breathy chuckle came from you at his willingness. You escaped out from underneath him, allowing him to pivot himself and lie back on the berth, just as you had asked. 

You came to sprawl between his legs, your hands resting on his thigh struts, before lowering yourself to start kissing over his hip armour, dancing over the interface panel when you reached it. Your movements were slow and deliberate, you wanted him to savour every moment of this. 

Your dexterous fingers trailed along his transformation seams on his thighs, running your nails under particularly deep seams to make him shudder. Little did anyone know that he was actually incredibly sensitive in those crevices. 

“Will you open up for me?” You asked sweetly, feeling your breath against the warm panels of his plating.

The subtle hiss of panels whirring hit your ears as his interface panels drew back, his pressurised spike slipping free, standing tall and proud in front of your waiting lips.

“What a good mech,” you teased, giving a small kiss to the tip of his spike, drips of pre-fluid pressing up against your lips. You rubbed your lips together like it was lip gloss, before peeking your tongue out of your mouth to lick it up. He tasted good, it had a tingling sensation that ran along your tongue.

The sight alone made Optimus shudder with excitement. Even the smallest taunts for you sent his systems on the path to crashing.

His spike was such a marvel of creation, sleek and dark blue, with accents of red that ran up the length of him. He had small biolights that wrapped around it, spiralling down like a helter-skelter. It also helped that he was big. As you might expect from Prime.

You grabbed his stiff spike and guided yourself to his head. He watched you with tension, full of fervour. Your soothing thumb rolled over the tip, ridding the prefluid created just for you. 

Breaking his tension, at long last, you dragged your tongue up the underside of his spike, all the way to the top to lick off any remnant of prefluid left. His servo tangled in your locks, bunching your hair up into a loose ponytail.

"Please, please suck it," he cooed down to you. The neediness that clung onto every word of his plea shot a bolt of electricity through you, straight to your clit. 

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you from the sensation, and you enveloped your mouth over the head of his spike and swirled your tongue around it, bobbing your head down occasionally to fit more in your mouth. 

Your mouth was almost full of him, your tongue going around him faster and faster like a corkscrew. His servos held your head, clenching tighter the more eager you got. You tauntingly brought your mouth back up, pulling your tongue across the underneath of his spike, and he let out a lengthy, breathy sigh, "You torture me."

Optimus grunted in arousal before thrusting his hips up and pushing your head down. You gagged at the unexpected motion, his spike forced halfway down your throat. Quickly, you pulled yourself back together sucked like he wanted you to, using one hand to jerk him off from the base, it rotating gently to stimulate him further. 

Your other hand found its way to his valve, which was already soaked. Your featherlight touch teased the outer folds as your talented mouth continued to work his spike.

You could’ve sworn that a small keening noise erupted from Optimus, praising yourself internally for such a victory. 

Deciding not to torment the poor bot any further, you stuffed two of your fingers into his valve, the tight callipers clenching your fingers as you worked your way in knuckle-deep.

Optimus’ hips arched up at the feeling, forcing his spike further into your mouth.

You sucked hard, and brought your head up slowly to make him feel a vast increase in pressure with your ministrations; like a vacuum. Optimus sobbed out your name, digits tugging at your hair. 

You continued to suck and pump his length quickly at the same time, all whilst remaining coordinated enough to start thrusting your fingers in and out of his dripping valve. 

Every drop of transfluid his spike made for you was sucked up by your mouth, the taste oddly electrifying yet so addicting. You moaned at the back of your throat, the vibrations running down his length.

"Primus, you are incredible at this," he rewarded you with praise and a soft stroke to your hair, but his subtle moans and grunts were enough reward for you. 

The rhythm of your fingers changed, now using a beckoning motion to rub against his upper walls, teasing the rings that you felt there. He choked on his moan, he might’ve just died and gone to Cyberutopia.

He bit down on his derma and those studying eyes of his watched you suck him off, your pussy getting wetter and your thighs aching with desperation, your body screaming with the urge to be fucked into next week. But tonight was about him, about rewarding your big, strong mech for all his gallant actions.

You picked the pace up, slicking his whole spike with your saliva; the parts of his spike that you couldn’t reach were not free from your spit, as there was so much that it started to run down and pool at the base.

Optimus trembled beneath you slightly, his servos gripping the length of your hair tighter as he felt himself be pushed to the top of the mountain, his processor glitching as he released a heavy dose of transfluid into your mouth, his valve grasping your fingers as he rode out his high in the warm embrace of your mouth.

You gulped down as much as you could in one go, but the liquid was too heavy, too thick and far too much in quantity to take it all. Some of it slipped past your lips as you came off his spike with a ‘pop’.

Slowly extracting your soaked fingers from his valve, you stuck them into your mouth, all whilst his transfluid dripped down your chin, small droplets on it falling to your chest. Your tongue worked languidly around your fingers, making sure to get every last bit.

Optimus’ cooling fans were turned onto their maximum setting as his optics were blown wide, unable to fully process the downright filthy scene playing out before him. 

Once you were satisfied with how much you managed to lick off your fingers, you used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and lips, giving him a sultry grin.

“Ride me,” Optimus said, he almost sounded breathless, even though that wasn’t possible.

“Yes, sir,” was your response, the grin on your lips never faltering as you lifted your top within the same moment, throwing it behind you. When you were in the habsuite, you rarely lounged around with a bra, so you didn’t have to worry about taking one off.

Next came your trousers, which were loose-fitting and comfortable, meaning that it took hardly any effort at all to rid yourself of them, which you did so with your underwear in the same movement. The articles of clothing meeting the same fate as your top, discarded somewhere behind you.

You crawled your way up to him, settling your legs on either side of him, placing yourself just behind his spike before sitting down, letting it rest against your stomach.

“You see how deep you are when you fuck me?” You gestured to where his spike came up to against you, the tip reaching over your belly button.

“So deep that you’re basically rearranging my guts. And fuck, baby, it feels so good.”

Optimus whimpered at that, his servos clasping around your waist as he tried to usher you up. One of your hands settled on top of his, whilst the other grabbed the bottom of his spike to help guide him in as you lifted your hips and hovered yourself over him, letting your legs do all the work in dropping yourself to meet him.

Your cunt swallowed his tip happily, letting your tight walls engulf the rest of him as you sat on him fully. 

Both of you let out a subtle moan at him being seated to the brim within you, his digits twitching against your soft skin. You lifted yourself before dropping back down, cunt sucking him back in so that he could lose himself through the feeling of you.

Your cunt wrapped around him perfectly, you were like an addiction that he would never be able to sate. He was a glutton for the feeling of you, couldn’t tear his mind from the mental images of fucking you whenever he could, you are a very welcome distraction in the chaos of war. He needed it.

You could’ve melted on his spike right here and now as you bounced with wanton ambition, your toes curling as his spike made way inside of you, no challenge insurmountable. He would have you. He would have every part of you, without question. You belong to him, as he belongs to you.

Even though this was for him, you were getting so much pleasure from this as well. His spike is so thick that you want to ride it forever. Your mind is trained on pleasing him in this very moment, but it didn’t obstruct your own building heat.

“More, more, don’t stop, ah!” The baritone rumble of his voice pierced through your ears, his pleading so unbelievably sexy. You loved this side of the Prime, the side that wasn’t afraid to let you take the reins and fuck the life out of him.

You leant back slightly, placing your hands behind you and planting them on his thighs once again, now rolling your hips over him, causing the tip to rub so wonderfully against that spongy spot inside of you.

“Ohh fuck,” came an exasperated expletive from your lover, “fuck just like that, you’re riding me so good.”

Your eyes rolled back as you whined, chest heaving with heavy pants. The pleasure on pleasure is otherworldly, it's all yours to claim as you let your cunt give the Autobot leader all the loving he needs right now.

With his deft servos on your hips, he helped guide your movements and force you up and down at a pace that he deemed necessary. His vocaliser was simmering with static as he moaned for you, without restraint.

There was an unbridled sensation thrumming through his entire frame, one that he felt so often around you. It was as if he wanted to expose his very spark to you and ensnare you, trapping you against him forever, never letting you go.

You're working yourself over his unyielding length, going faster to draw more of those desperate whines from Optimus. His hips arch off the bed, giving an insane amount of depth. Your breathing is ragged and catching as you struggle to stay balanced on top of him, swinging your body forward to firmly steady yourself on his chest windows.

The heat rolling off of you caused a faint ghosted silhouette of the shape of your hands on his windows, which were staggeringly cold in comparison. You chanted his name like a hymn, vision blurring with the tears that built along the waterline.

Your mouth hung open, your brows creased as you screamed his name, as loud as you could. To hell with the others on the ship, you wanted them to know how good he fucked you. By how loud he was being as well, the others would definitely know what was going on. Your body was a maze in which he never wanted to find his way out of.

“I’d die a happy mech if I could stay buried inside of you forever,” he mindlessly stated, head lolling as you could sense he was nearing his end.

“We can have that arranged,” you recklessly promised with a harrumph, “just you and me, fucking each other forever.”

He nodded as his optics flickered with colour, “like turbofoxes in heat.”

You selfishly ride his spike whilst you swallow your moans and cries of arousal, your cunt being stretched out with each roll of your hips. You tilt your hips forward so that you can rub your clit against his pelvis each time you move up and down on him. The warm metal made such a good source of friction against your throbbing clit.

With the added pleasure, your vision began to double, and you could hear your pulse beating in your ears. The sounds coming from you were nothing short of pornographic, unable to compose yourself when you were on the end of his spike, like it’s where you belonged. 

The coil inside of you finally meets its breaking point, the wrapped metal snapping as you let yourself fall into the heat of pleasure, the orgasm sending lava through your veins as you cried out, your head being thrown back as you squeezed down on him.

Optimus truly wasn’t far behind you, his grip on your hips now bordering on bruising as he effortlessly fucked your body, his hips now raising to thrust into you as well. Your body jolted, and your hair swayed as he chased his own release as if he were competing for a medal.

“A-ah, I’m- overloading, I’m overloading!” His frame quivered.

There's a sharp tightness that winds in his core, then a burst of euphoria as his tremendous relief flows, paired with a strained grunt. He rolls your hips over his spike a couple more times for good measure, making sure that his transfluid is fully dumped into you. 

As he slowed you down, bringing you to an eventual stop and then lowering his hips, you were fruitlessly trying to catch your breath as his cooling fans still worked overtime to regulate his internal heat.

He looks up to you like you're the entire world, feeling fully satisfied.

You smile down at him, caressing a hand over his cheek plate.

In an instant, he flipped your positions again, so that you were now underneath him. You yelped at the unexpected movement, all with his spike still firmly inside of you. He ex-vented as he pulled out his length and then fixed his head to rest on your chest.

He was mindful that he might be heavy, so he was somewhat hesitant to let himself fully lean his weight on you, but you welcomed it nonetheless.

You wrapped your arms around him, gently playing with his audial fins as he lay on you in a similar fashion to how he was earlier.

He’s your big mech, and he decides when the cuddles are over.

“Thank you,” he muttered tiredly.

“Get some rest, my love. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[prakalpanatechnology]

Why Choose Flutter for Mobile App Development: 5 Key Benefits

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With the emergence of UI, an open-source UI software development kit by Google, developers are presented with an attractive option that offers several benefits. In this blog, we will explore why Flutter has fast become a preferred choice for mobile app development and what are its key benefits.

For More Information

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[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Online

Schlatt x gn!reader Summary: late night phone call A/N: this is another short little fluff piece, just so I can get back into the swing of things

The dim glow of your computer screen was the only light in your room, casting long shadows against the walls as you mindlessly scrolled. The clock on your phone read 2:07 AM, but you weren’t anywhere close to sleeping. Your bed felt too cold, the silence of your apartment too loud, and your thoughts wouldn’t stop running in circles.

Then, your phone vibrated on your nightstand.

Schlatt: someone's up late

You exhaled a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes as you see his message pop up on your discord. Of course, he was awake too. In the years you've known Schlatt you can't remember the last time he had a consistent, healthy sleep schedule.

You: You’re one to talk. Go to bed, old man.

Not even a minute later, your screen lit up again—this time with an incoming call. You hesitated only for a second before answering.

“You call me an old man again, I swear to God—” Schlatt’s voice came through the speaker, rough and a little groggy, like he had just woken up.

You smirked, rolling onto your side, as you stare at him through the camera, “what, does the truth hurt?”

“Jesus, you’re such a brat,” Schlatt’s voice rumbled through the speaker, rough with exhaustion despite the laugh he holds back. “Y’gonna pick fights with me when I’m just checkin’ in?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, “you’re not checking in. You’re just bored.”

He scoffed, “yeah? And what if I was?”

“Then I guess I should be flattered that I’m your first choice.”

“Oh, don’t get cocky.” there was a teasing edge to his voice, but it softened after a second. “What’re you doing?”

You sighed, rolling onto your back, your phone discarded on the bedside table as the camera stares blankly at the ceiling, “was laying here staring at the wall for a while, gave up and was watching some youtube,” you let out an annoyed huff, "just can't sleep."

“Damn. Tragic.”

“You’re not helping.”

Schlatt chuckled, the sound low and warm through the receiver, “alright, alright. Lemme help you out. I’ll read you a bedtime story.”

You snorted, “you don’t even own books.”

There was a pause, “okay, rude. First of all.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, “oh yeah? Prove me wrong.”

There was some rustling on the other end, followed by a dramatic clearing of his throat. Then, in an overly serious, Morgan Freeman-esque voice, he began, “once upon a time, there was a dumbass who wouldn’t go to sleep…”

You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, “oh my God.”

“Shhh, I’m gettin’ to the good part.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him.

“…And this dumbass, despite all logical reasoning, continued to stay awake. They ignored their tired eyes, their yawns, their good friend Schlatt’s wise advice—”

“Oh, now you’re wise?”

“Shhh,” he hushed. “Anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah—so this dumbass refused to sleep. And you know what happened?”

“I swear, if you say ‘they died,’ I’m hanging up.”

There was silence. Then, quietly—

“…They died.”

You burst out laughing, and Schlatt laughed too, full and unrestrained. You could picture him so clearly—head tipped back, a smug grin stretched across his face.

When the laughter faded, a comfortable quiet settled between you.

“…Y’feelin’ any sleepier?” he murmured after a moment.

You yawned, “maybe a little.”

“Good,” his voice was softer now, rough around the edges with drowsiness, “go to sleep, dummy.”

You smiled, eyelids growing heavier, “stay on the line?” you ask as you give in and let your eyes flutter shut.

There's a beat of silence as before his voice rings out, soft and gentle, “yeah. I gotcha.”