#oop my phone is on one percent

[junk-culture]

looks at you with my eye

[remyfire]

I have so many fucking incredible prompts in my askbox, so if you sent one, you own my fucking soul and please know I cannot wait to get to them, and I absolutely WILL get to them all, oh my word they're so GOOD

[kiss-inthekitchen]

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him. 

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.  

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone. 

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet. 

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum. 

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.” 

“Yeah.” 

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do. 

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics. 

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice. 

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.” 

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.” 

“But I think I should be right more often than that.” 

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock. 

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.” 

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?” 

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.” 

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while. 

“Spence?” 

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door. 

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.” 

“I’m already inside with the door locked.” 

“Man, I’m good.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already. 

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.” 

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.” 

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice. 

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic. 

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster. 

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.” 

You laugh. “For the whole day?” 

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.” 

“Okay, rest day all day.” 

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.” 

“Maybe the floor.” 

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?” 

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.” 

“Say no more.” 

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.” 

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?” 

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.” 

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.” 

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke. 

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.” 

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?” 

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.” 

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.” 

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates. 

You let out a little gremlin laugh. 

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone. 

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’. 

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs. 

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.” 

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’” 

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.” 

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part. 

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.” 

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.” 

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.” 

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.” 

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird. 

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice. 

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh. 

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it. 

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes. 

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.” 

“We did.” 

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy. 

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him. 

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters. 

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon. 

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[penfz]

Flirt

Sukuna X FemReader (Modern AU)

Summary: Yuji thought it would be nice to introduce his brother to the mother of the young girl he's babysitting. Especially since there's been countless time in the couple of weeks where she has left both him and Aika money to get themselves food, or treat themselves to ice cream. But why does it sound like his brother is flirting with her... and she's flirting back.

A/N: Happy New Year and thank you for all the likes and reblogs. Sukuna is definitely sounding a lil softer in this story I've just realized... oops LOL

Sukuna X FemReader Master List

The weeks would pass, and slowly you would get use to coming into the office. You weren’t use to not having the freedom to make a sandwich when you wanted, so you had made it a thing to casually make one in the lunch area when no one was around… and run back into your office with it.

You had slowly gotten to learn everyone’s names, which department they were working for, and which manager they were answering too.

And with that, you had finally learned who the fcuk ‘Sukuna’ is. You just wanted to hug Sukuna around his neck extremely tightly… but only with your hands.

~~

“Hey Y/N, are you free to come for dinner tonight?” Yuji asked on the phone, you were still at work and close to finishing up for the day.

“Dinner?” You questioned, that was a sudden gesture. You were aware that someone in the house cooks well, you assumed it’s the older brother. Cause Aika went over for dinner once, and continued to ask if she could come over again cause she likes the food. Perhaps you should accept, and bring something nice for the host for always allowing your daughter to eat there the past few days. Made it look like you either starved your kid, or your cooking was ass. T^T

“Yeah is that ok? My brother said to invite you since Aika has been having dinner at our place.” Yuji continued. Which was still slightly weird to him how easily he agreed once Aika asked. Or it was possible it’s cause he let it slip that he was pretty sure that you’re a single mother.

“No it’s fine.” You answered cheerfully. “I’ll be there shortly. Have you both started your homework?”

“Yup!” Yuji answered back. “Can you help me with mine? My brother is most likely going to busy and won’t be able too.”

“Sure, I’ll do my best.”

You sped all the way home in a panic, buying a nice bottle of wine along the way. Now you were having multiple debates on what to wear. You didn’t want to wear your work clothes, and maybe you shouldn’t be too casual. But you also couldn’t be to formal looking. Giving up, you threw on a pair of leggings and crop top. They’re getting you as casual as fcuk, oh well. And then you zoomed over to Yuji’s house… which was literally behind yours.

“Y/N!” Yuji answered the door.

“Mama!” Aika screamed right behind Yuji.

So yeah, Yuji wasn’t lying that it was Sukuna that said to invite you over for dinner. But this was after him and Aika twisted his arm, saying he should meet Aika’s mom. While yeah he can say ‘no’ to Yuji easily (which is what he would like to believe), he has a harder time saying no to Aika. With her big blue eyes and innocent expression, she was harder to say no too (and not the fact that Yuji let it slip that he thinks you’re a single mother).

So when he heard Yuji screaming your name, and Aika scream ‘mama’, he knew for sure he wasn’t 100 percent ready for this introduction.

“Y/N, this is my brother, Sukuna.” Yuji introduced, as you followed him into the kitchen and could already smell how good dinner was going to be.

Now, you knew that you already worked with Yuji’s brother, they pretty much look alike and carry the same last name. What you didn’t expect is his first name to be the exact person you have been looking for the past few days. And you even asked if his name is Sukuna, and he just laughed and said “nope”! Wtf!

“You’re Sukuna.” You said, irritation in your voice as he simply smirked at you, eyeing you as he did.

“And you’re Aika’s mother.” Sukuna repeated what he had heard earlier. Well this was a bit of a surprise, although it wasn’t a bad surprise. The person he’s been eyeing at work, is the mother of the kid that Yuji’s babysitting. What a coincidence. An even bigger coincidence is you don’t have a ring on your finger, and neither has Aika ever mentioned a father figure. Good, now he won’t have to home wreck anyone.

“Do you guys know each other?” Yuji interrupted confused.

“Yeah, we work in the same department…kind of.” You answered with a smile. “So we work close with one another at times.”

“So you and Suki are always together, just like how me and Yuji are always together?” Aika asked.

“Kind of, I guess.” You replied, but then a confused expression reached your face. “Wait, who’s Suki?”

“I am, princess.” Sukuna answered, not a single tone of embarrassment in his voice. How could he, when he watched the sudden light blush take over your face, and it took over your face quick.

“How cute, a big guy like you with such a sweet little nickname.” You replied back, keeping your tone levelled and confident. But deep inside, your ovaries were crying for this man!

And Sukuna liked that, he liked the little bite you bit back at him.

There was a reason he liked confident women, why he liked strong women who could hold their own. Cause in the bedroom, he loved taking that confidence away. He loved watching them become a puddle in front of him as he dominated them. He loved fcuking them dumb till their words were incoherent, and nothing but a mess.

And Sukuna so badly wanted to dominate you.

“Didn’t think ‘cute’ was a word to describe me.” Sukuna continued on.

“Oh I wasn’t talking about you, Sukuna.” Placing emphasis on his name, that he had the audacity to tell you wasn’t it!

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna questioned as he stepped towards you. “Then what would word you use to describe me?”

“I guess it depends…” you replied, stepping close, just as he did. “On the situation.”

“Are you guys flirting?” Yuji interrupted as fast as possible. He knew how Sukuna was with women, and he was slightly afraid he would break your heart too.

“No, brat.” Sukuna stepped back with a sigh. “Go be a good host.”

“Ok.” Yuji cheered, as he then led to give you a short tour of the house.

Sukuna was unsure where all of you ended up, but the cheering coming from the living room indicated that you guys were in the living room. Sukuna slightly frowned at the idea that Yuji may have decided to watch the baseball game, and not actually entertain their guests. But a quick peak proved him wrong as both you and Yuji were on your feet, adrenaline pumping through both of you as you watched the game. The screaming and cheering not just coming from Yuji, but you as well. He gave a small smirk as he watched, the scene was serene, something he wouldn’t admit out loud.

“I didn’t know you’re a sports fan Y/N.” Yuji said excitedly, a large grin on his face.

“My brother got me into the game when we were younger, I guess it kind of just stuck ever since.” You grinned back, as you watched Aika walking away and into the kitchen.

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching her leave. While it’s possible she could be grabbing a drink, you highly doubt it and feared she was going to bother Sukuna.

You quickly stood up about to call for her back, but reaching the entrance towards the kitchen, you stopped.

There was Sukuna carrying Aika, allowing her to stir whatever is in the pot while he rummaged through a drawer with his other hand.

“Be careful brat. Don’t touch the pot or stove, it’s hot.”

“Okay.” Aika replied back. It was a sweet, while slightly hilarious sight to see. Sukuna was carrying Aika slightly far from the stove, so her wooden spoon was barely touching the contents of the pot.

The scene was serene, while being bittersweet. It was a scene that you had wished before in the past, but never had. And now seeing it before you, wanting the same exact scene but with someone who was closer to a stranger than a friend currently, it felt surreal. So quietly, you slipped away and back to Yuji.

"Yuji, set the table brat." Sukuna called to Yuji as he was finishing cooking. "Coming!" Yuji called back, getting up immediately and running to the kitchen, just as Aika was exiting with a pout.

"What's wrong Aika?" You asked gently. It was a bit concerning onto why she was suddenly upset, when earlier she was happy.

"Suki won't let me help set the table." Aika announced with her arms crossed.

It took everything in you not to laugh at your own kid. It was kind if a funny reason though.

"You can help him next time." You answered, trying to hold back a laugh. “Can you tell me what you and Suki were cooking?”

And oh my lord, did she get on an entire escapade on how she helped Sukuna cooked. Which was mostly her just stirring the pot

“Hey Aika, Suku- nii said wash your hands before eating.” Yuji mentioned as he passed by.

“Kayyy.” She replied, instantly going towards the washroom as youu followed.

And dinner was served beautifully, Sukuna had actually prepared and cooked a lot. Unbeknownst to you it was cause you were coming by and he wanted to impress you. And impressed you were.

From what you’ve even noticed, Sukuna even cooked Aika’s favourite food. And apparently Yuji’s cause they both seemed to be extremely exited at the dinner table.

Dinner was more than enjoyable, listening to both Aika and Yuji talk, listening to how Sukuna interacts with them. As much as you told yourself to keep your hormones in check, you couldn’t help but notice how kindly he treated both kids.

“Y/n, is it ok if me and Aika finish her puzzle?” Yuji asked. He wanted to ask permission first in case you were tired and ready to go home.

“Yeah, you guys can go. Me and Sukuna here are going to bond here and finish the game.” You commented with a smile, an emphasis on his name clear. By this point, Yuji stopped paying attention since his favourite team was losing.

The emphasis on his name didn’t go unheard by Sukuna, it's like you said his name a certain way on purpose. Which you did... Lol

"Didn't think you had a child." Sukuna commented, eliminating the silence.

"And I didn't think your name was Sukuna." You bit back, giving him a side eye and unimpressed look.

Well Sukuna didn’t expect that. He was going to enjoy this.

“Well it is a bit impolite to be calling colleagues by their first name.” Sukuna answered back in a teasing tone, he wanted to rile you up.

“I’m sorry.” You teased right back. “Just wanted to know you in a more… intimate level, Suki.”

Oh now she was teasing, doing this on purpose now. I mean… he did start it though.

“Is that so, princess?” Sukuna challenged, using his most politest and most endearing nickname possible… although he was tempted to call you a brat. That’s endearing enough.

“Yup.” You answered back, gently leaning in closer to Sukuna. “But, I’ll refrain from any impulsive thoughts on my end. As your boss, it would be highly inappropriate.”

“And what if an employee was having intimate and impulsive thoughts about their boss?” Sukuna pushed, leaning in closer in return. He so wanted to brat tame you, it was such a tempting thought.

“I may have to call them into my office.” You answered with a smirk, it was slightly terrifying how it could almost rival Sukuna’s smirk. “You know, reprimand them… lock the door and all.” You finished in an almost sultry voice, your eyes dropping for a moment to his lips, before going back to his face.

Oh for fcuk sakes, Sukuna was so ready to pounce. To grab you and pull you right up against him. To grab every part of you, to feel your skin on his own, to feel your legs wrapped around his waist. He was so close to grabbing you and smashing his lips against your own, with how close you had leaned towards him.

And just as he lifted his hand to grab you, the fcukin brats walked back into the living room… with that stupid puzzle!

“Hey Y/N, do you want to help us with the puzzle?” Yuji asked as he placed the 500 piece puzzle on the living room room table.

“Yeah, I’ll help.” You answered with a smile, standing and walking around Sukuna. But not before lightly tracing your finger tips along the back of his hand as you passed. It took everything in him to not just grab you right then and there.

“Suki! Come!” Aika yelled. “Sit beside me.” She pretty much demanded.

“Coming sweetheart.” Sukuna answered with a small gentle smile, heading towards the living room.

You immediately moved over, giving Sukuna space to sit between you and Aika.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow at you, wondering what you were up to now.

“Come, Sukuna.” There it was again, the way you say his name on purpose. “You can sit beside me.”

“Isn’t that polite of you doll.” Sukuna answered back, sitting beside you. His knee purposely touching yours, claiming that there wasn’t enough space between the couch and table for him to really sit.

“Are you sure you guys aren’t flirting?” Yuji asked once more, a slightly weirded out expression on his face.

“N-“ Sukuna was about to declare with another sigh of being interrupted again by Yuji. But was quickly cut off.

“Yup.” You laughed in response to Yuji. It was a light laugh, one that Sukuna had caught himself smiling too.

“With my brother? That’s gross.” Yuji continued, causing you to laugh even more.

“I’m joking Yuji, just playful banter. Me and Sukuna don’t get to joke around much in the office, so it’s refreshing to be able to talk outside of work normally.” You explained with a gentle smile.

“Ohhhh!” Yuji understood. You were simply having a fun conversation with Sukuna, that was all.

Sukuna eyes you from the corner of his eye as he was leaning back on the couch. Could this possibly be playful banter, and you actually weren’t flirting with him at all?

But then you turned around slightly to eye him, giving a small smirk towards him. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, as he then felt you place your hand on his thigh.

“Just playful banter, right Suki?” You reassured once more, teasing him once again. And Sukuna caught on fast.

“Yeah.” Sukuna answered, grabbing your hand and moving it closer to his crotch slowly. “Just playful banter.”

[rosellacwrites]

I wanna be someone who believes

summary: Dieter knows it when he sees it.

pairings: Dieter Bravo x Reader

rating: teen maybe? I never know what to call this shit if it isn’t smutty 🤣

warnings: reader is a real estate agent and uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise undescribed; gratuitous use of double negatives; Dieter being Dieter

word count: 1650 (oops)

author’s note: posting late but written for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble Challenge — the prompt was a meet-cute with “Do you believe in aliens?” Please be kind, I’ve never written for any of the Pedro boys before 🫣

Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Please,” she coaxes you over the phone. “I’ll owe you big time.”

This is not the first time you’ve heard this from her, and you sigh. “What?”

“I need you to cover a big buyer for me this weekend. Dave got some kind of crazy deal through work, and he wants to take me to Cabo for the weekend, and my in-laws actually agreed to take the kids for once, but this is the only weekend he’s gonna be in LA between projects and I swear to God I’ll make it up to you, I’ll take your biggest pain in the ass buyer off your hands — “

“Danielle.” You take a sip of your coffee and rub the spot between your eyebrows. “Who is it?”

She takes a deep breath on the other end. “Okay — hear me out — he’s not quite as wild and crazy as you hear, more like… sexy eccentric? And the budget is good, all cash, I’ll send you his proof of funds — “

“Danielle,” you growl. “Who. Is. It.”

There’s a beat of silence, before she speaks. “… it’s Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” She’s your best friend in the industry, and you’ve watched her build her business, a solid roster of low-key celebrity clients who can trust her discretion, but this — this is the big time. “You really want to take a referral on this one?”

“It’ll be a healthy referral,” she points out. “He’s looking at five to seven, but he’s willing and able to go to eight for the right property. He won’t buy sight unseen, though — he’s gotta visit them all. The vibes, you know.”

You’re mentally calculating two and a half percent of eight million, minus referral, and you like what you’re coming up with, maybe even enough to genuinely enjoy this. “God save me from the vibes. Okay. Fine,” you say, exhaling. “I’ll do it — does he have a short list already?”

It’s her turn to sigh. “Vibes.”

“Vibes,” you echo, shaking your head. “Got it. Have fun in Cabo, you lucky bitch.”

“Have fun with Dieter,” she sing-songs. “You lucky bitch.”

*

As soon as you set eyes on him for the first time, you know you will. Everything about Dieter Bravo proclaims the fun kind of trouble, like sunshine that didn’t mean to burn you.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greets you, looking like he just rolled out of bed and wants nothing more than to get back in it, preferably with you. “Do you come with the house?”

“Only when the earth moves,” you retort sweetly.

He looks stunned for a moment, and then the grin breaks over his face like sunrise and he laughs, long and loud. “I like you,” he proclaims. “Danielle said I would.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His laughter is contagious, and you can’t help liking him too. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bravo.”

“Babe,” he says, looking pained, and you belatedly remember what Danielle had told you.

“Dieter,” you correct yourself, and he beams.

“That’s more like it,” he says cheerfully.

His assistant materializes from somewhere behind him, handing you a stack of papers. “Standard NDA,” they say. “I’m sure you understand.”

Dieter groans. “Do we have to do this?”

“I’m not offended, I promise.” You smile at him, and start to skim over the contract. It’s all fairly standard stuff, really, apart from the alien invasion bit inserted neatly into the force majeure clause. But it’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen turn up in a legal document — this is Hollywood, after all — and you shrug, and sign.

“Amazing!” Dieter claps his hands like a child. “Let’s go buy a fucking house!”

*

Six showings later, you’re exhausted, your feet are killing you, and Dieter’s assistant looks as fried as you feel.

“Food?” Dieter asks hopefully. “Or weed? Or both?”

“I’m not feeling great,” his assistant says, rubbing their forehead. “I’m starting a migraine. Dieter, do you think you can manage without me for the afternoon?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine.” Dieter waves a hand dismissively. “Go sleep it off.” He turns to you, and before he can say anything else, you nod and lead him away.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re seated at a tucked-away patio table at your favorite cafe, and Dieter’s looking much more relaxed, sunglasses pushed haphazardly up into his hair. “How’d you meet Danielle, anyway?” you ask him over the rim of your matcha latte.

“Hit on her in a club in West Hollywood,” he admits. “She was like ‘haha I totally would if I weren’t married, but hey, do you want to buy a house instead?’”

You can’t help laughing. “Yeah. That’s on brand.”

“It was fate,” he says. “Because I did want to buy a house, I just didn’t know it until she said it.”

“All that Cliff Beasts money burning a hole in your pocket?”

“I’m sick of hotels.” He shrugs, looking almost serious for once. “I travel all the fucking time, but — I want someplace I can come home to, you know?”

“Yeah. I do.” You look down at your drink and smile, toying with the already-disintegrating paper straw. “It’s such a stressful job sometimes, and the money’s not as great as everyone thinks it is, but when I can make that perfect match for someone, and I see their face light up when they walk in because they’re finally home — there’s nothing like it.”

“Yeah?” When you glance back up, he’s giving you the softest look you’ve ever seen, and it makes you wonder what his agent could possibly be thinking. The genuine sweetness he radiates is made for rom-coms, not half-assed action flicks. “Well, I’m glad you’re the one matchmaking for me.”

“Me too,” you say softly, your eyes locked with his, and you realize as you say it that it’s true.

It’s hard to remember that you’re working; you’re having more fun with Dieter than you have on any of the actual dates you’ve had recently. You linger at the table far longer than you should, talking about everything and nothing.

Finally, you crack, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “I gotta ask,” you begin, and you see him tense, just slightly. “Do you believe in aliens?” He looks at you quizzically, clearly not expecting the conversation to take that particular turn. “It’s in your NDA. Alien invasion is one of the situations that gets me out of the contract.”

“Oh, I never read that shit.” He yawns and stretches, and you get an eyeful of his tummy when his shirt rides up. You try not to look — you’re sure there’s something in the realtor’s code of ethics about not ogling your clients, even if they are celebrities — but it’s impossible to look away from all that freckled golden skin. “But… I don’t not believe in aliens, you know? Who knows what the fuck’s out there? My lawyers know better than to leave my ass in the wind.”

“Fair enough, and I appreciate the loophole.” You shrug. “If aliens landed on the roof during one of our showings, you bet your ass I’d be calling TMZ real fast.”

“And I’d support that. Get your bag, babe.” He grins at you. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

You consider your next words very carefully. “I don’t not want to have sex with you,” you admit, and his face lights up. “But I have to do my job, first.”

“Okay, so let’s go do your job and get it out of the way.” He stands up, all business for the first time all day, and extends a hand to you. His hands are warm, slightly calloused, and big, and you find yourself praying that he gets good vibes from this last one.

“I’ve saved the best for last,” you tell him. “I think you’re gonna love this one. It’s been on for a while, and they just knocked the price down to seven-four. I think if you offered a little low, they’d take it.”

“What’s the vibe?” he asks.

“Think Zen, but casual about it. It was built ten years ago, but it feels a little seventies in a good way — lots of stone, warm wood, skylights. Indoor-outdoor living. There’s a koi pond that goes under the house.”

“Funky,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“Separate guest wing with kitchen, ideal for live-in staff — yoga room with adjoining massage area — detached guest house with art studio potential — “ you recite. He’s weakening by the minute, you can see it. “Pool and hot tub, of course — there’s like a waterfall thing, it’s pretty cool — “ His eyes go all dreamy and you know, you just know, he’s thinking about having sex there.

Almost there, you think; it’s time for the clincher. “Six minutes to the Whole Foods on Sepulveda.”

He whistles, reluctantly impressed. “That’s the good one.”

“It is indeed.” You nod sagely.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, tugging you by the hand he’s still holding. “Let’s go.”

*

A few weeks later, you surface to the sound of your phone ringing.

“Can you look and tell me who’s calling?” you call out, hooking your elbows over the side of the pool. “I’m all wet.”

Dieter wiggles his eyebrows at you and answers the call. “Hey, babe,” he says. “How was Cabo? Did you get pregnant?” He laughs. “Yeah, yeah — she knows I have her phone. She’s in the pool.”

“Tell Danielle I’ll call her back,” you shout.

“Yeah, she found me the perfect house,” Dieter says, ignoring you. “It’s fucking awesome. Moved in last week — you should come over and hang. Bring the kids. There’s this koi pond — ” He pauses for a moment to listen to her, and you shake your head fondly.

“Dee,” you warn. “Get off my phone.”

“You were right, you know,” he tells Danielle, grinning and blowing a kiss at you. “I liked her.”

Thanks to @freelancearsonist and @reallyrallyauthor for convincing me this was worth posting 😂

[conan-hearts-u]

You didnt tell me you had a hot older brother !

wc:400+

a/n:Ok so like... I totally didnt get this idea while watching babysitters club (dont judge me its a good show) i wrote this real quick and i was planning on making it longer but then I just decided if you guys like this ill make a part two!

"Welcome to my room! " he said excitedly as he was opening his rooms door

"your room looks like its straight out of a stock image, Yuji." you went over to his bed and sat on it. You turn to his wall that has posters "Ah yes the Jennifer Lawrence poster, as accepted"

"You better shut up or this is the last time you step a foot here " we walks up to his drawer and opens it "Catch!" he throws you a candy bag and it hits your face "Oops sorry"

"Not even the good kind of Haribos shame " You start shaking your head pretending to be disapointed.

"Oh also by the way my big brother is home so if you here something dont mind it" he pointed towards the door using his thumb

"You have an older brother?!" you asked shocked and confused "You never told me!"

"I did!"he says quickly but then goes quite "oh wait actually no, i forgot to tell you " he starts laughing akwardly and puts his hand behind his head

"You have a serious memory problem "

"I DO NOT" he started getting defensive

But then you heard someone opening the room's door. It was Yuji's older brother Choso. He looked like he was in a hurry.

"I need to get something from the shops quick before they close need anything?" Choso asked quickly "Oh also hi Yuji's friend" he waves at you

You dont say thing you just stare at him and mouth Wow. He is so hot? is all you could think

"No i dont need anything" He replied and Choso left the room

"OH MY GOD. YOU DIDNT TELL ME YOU HAD A HOT BROTHER" You screamed

"Y/n... are you actually crushing on my brother right now?"

"Yes i am"

"And you arent a shamed of admitting it"

"Zero percent" Both of you just stay quite for a bit just staring at eachother and then Yuji starts laughing. "This is why I didnt want to invite you over "

"So you knew i was going to call your brother hot?" you look at him with a raised eyebrow

"Of course I do you are my soulmate after all" He says giving a small punch on your shoulder

"Erm actually your brother is my soulmate" You corrected him in a sarcastic voice raising one finger up

"You dont even know your soulmates name. Its Choso by the way " He takes out his phone and checks the time "Do you want to stay over for dinner by the way? " he asked

"Yeah sure why not." You said "Is Choso going to eat dinner with us?"

He just gives you a blank stare.

Made with love by Conan

[twstinginthewind]

Had a little private Secret Santa Story exchange w friends; by the luck of the dice, I got assigned to write a story for my bestie, @twst-the-night-away ! So, I did a Cater🧡Savvy story, before they get serious about one another. Merry Christmas, Daisy!

2100+ words. Cater-centric fluff just for Savvy, teeheeeee~. Cameos from the PMC and Trey. Music included in links towards the end. Happy reading!

A gift that’s uniquely you

“... and tbh? It’s not like I’m, like, actually competing with anyone? But it’s totes like a competition. And I don't want to come up short.”

The three members of the Pop Music club sat around the small club room table, deep in discussion over snacks and canned beverages. Cater idly adjusted the strap of his guitar, looking over at his clubmates with a pleading expression, and went on. “I just wanna get Savvy the perfect Christmas present. I’ve only got a week to come up with a real show-stopper. And I don't really know what I’m doing. I'm smelling a Top Ten Holiday Disasters in my future….”

“I think what you’re smelling might just be Lilia’s homemade trail mix,” Kalim piped up, then covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide. “Oop! Ahaha. Sorry, Lilia! I mean…”

The little fae chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it’s all right. I agree the feta cheese may not have been the wisest choice. It doesn’t seem to keep as well as the other ingredients. I only had it in the cupboard for a month...”

In a single motion, Cater and Kalim reached out and pushed the dish of trail mix further from where they were sitting. Lilia rolled his eyes at them. “That said.” He sat back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the body of his bass guitar. “In regards to your conundrum, Cater. While I do realize that the young lady you wish to impress is also receiving gifts from some rather generous individuals, are any of them approaching her with the same sentiment as yourself?”

“The same sentiment? I, um…” Cater’s face flushed red, nearly obscuring the diamond marking on his cheek. “Hehe. Well, I don't really know. But #AllsFair, am I right? If I happen to get an edge over someone else, sorry, but not sorry. I just need something really memorable, that Savvy’s gonna really like. Bonus if it's a ‘cammable moment, right? Something to look back on and def remember as one of the best gifts ever.”

“Okay Cater! That’s a great starting point!” Kalim bounced in his chair, smiling broadly. His eyes gleamed. “Now where do you go from there? Will it be a beautiful pet tiger cub, maybe? Oh, or maybe some breathtaking jewelry? A trip to a private island? Custom couture?”

“Easy, Kalim, easy!” Cater held up his hands. “I'm not exactly a one percenter, you know. I gotta work within a budget.” He shook his head, and tucked a loose strand of ginger hair behind his ear. “Besides, those gifts are all kind of…” His voice faded off, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully before continuing. “...kind of a big deal. For a really serious relationship.”

“And, I would assume, you are not quite that serious with the girl?” Lilia tilted his head. “I think I would have recalled if you mentioned having a girlfriend, after all.” His nose crinkled in an impish expression. “None of us have left our bachelor life behind us just yet. Unless you're hoping this will catapult you into the Taken Man category.” Lilia put a hand over his heart, and leaned towards his cheerful, white-haired companion. “Oh, Kalim. He's so young, and he's leaping into this romantic dream. Leaving us single men behind!”

“Does that mean you won't come to club anymore?” Kalim looked panicked. “Oh no, Cater! You're our best guitarist!”

“I'm the only guitarist, Kalim. But I’m not going anywhere!” Cater looked at his phone and sighed. “Aw, man. Club meeting time is almost over. Let’s get all this cleaned up. Listen, can you guys text me if you have any more ideas?”

“Sure thing, Cater!” Kalim bounced up, brushing some crumbs off of his sweater. “I hope you find something extra-special. But don’t forget us when you're off in Boyfriend Town!!”

“Some men never come back,” Lilia deadpanned. “But I hear it's quite the way to go…”

“You two are a couple of real pieces of work, you know that? Absolute knuckleheads, fr.” Cater slipped his guitar back into the gig bag and cleared some trash off the table. “Thanks for letting me get that off my chest, at least.”

The club members finished getting their space back in shape and headed back to the mirror chamber, bidding each other farewell before traveling to their respective dorms. Cater walked down the path towards the main hall of Heartslaybul, breathing in the thick scent of roses that always hung in the air. He was no closer to solving his gift-giving problem.

Another scent beckoned to him beneath the ever-present roses, and he let that guide his steps. Something savory was being prepared in the dormitory kitchen, an unusual switch from the usual parade of sweets that Heartslabyul was known for. His curiosity piqued, Cater stepped into the warm, cozy room, waving cheerily at a giggling curly-haired freshman who greeted him on her way out. Inside, he saw his friend Trey pulling a baking tray from one of the big steel ovens.

Cater dropped into a chair. “Whatcha working on, bestie? Whatever it is, it doesn't smell half bad. Maybe it’ll help me recover from Lilia’s idea of snacks…”

Trey looked over his shoulder and smirked, his glasses glinting in the warm light. “They’re for tomorrow's afternoon tea, Cater, and I’m not offering previews. But it’s cheese and onion scones.” He placed the hot tray onto a cooling rack and slid his oven mitts off. “I hope I got the flavor right this time. I was working on a couple of variations with Joker, since she was assigned kitchen duty today.”

“I saw her on my way in. You made her miss her club meeting, mister Vice Housewarden.” Cater leaned back on the wooden kitchen chair, balancing it on its back legs as he sat. “Not that we got much done, as usual.”

“Spent the time gossiping again?” Trey stepped behind Cater, and gently but firmly put his hands on the chair back. “Come on, now . You’ll break the chair.”

“Ugh, fine, Mom.” Cater repositioned the seat to its normal standing, then sat up exaggeratedly straight with his hands folded in front of him. “Is that better?”

Trey sat across from Cater as he straightened up. “Won’t earn you a scone, if that's what you were hoping for. What do you guys talk about every day, anyway, that keeps you from making any actual music? I couldn't imagine the science club getting so distracted.”

“That may be because you’re all nerds, /aff.” Cater relaxed his posture. “Naur, but fr, I was actually attempting to get advice from the boys. I know, me, admitting a problem? It's more likely than you think.”

A green eyebrow delicately raised behind heavy glasses frames. “Interesting. And here I thought you were maintaining that carefree façade campus-wide.”

“I’m getting less cautious in my old age?” Cater offered, shrugging. “It wasn’t THAT deep. I was just complaining about how I can't figure out a decent Christmas present for Savvy. You know, the same thing I bitched about with you last night.”

“You didn’t go for the water flosser? Shocking.”

“Again? The depths of your nerdity constantly astound and baffle me.”

Trey shrugged. “It’d be unique and show that you care. Ticked off all the boxes, in my opinion.”

“Except for it being fun, Trey.”

“I thought it was fun.”

Cater sagged slightly. “Yes, but you're definitely not the target audience that I’m aiming for. Think sweeter, cuter, blonder.”

Trey reached across the table to pat Cater’s hand. “I already told you before. The best thing to do, if you want to be impressive at this gift-giving game, is to give something that no one else can. Something uniquely Cater.”

This time, a ginger eyebrow rose. “You look at me and tell me; are you following your advice for your own gift exchange, buddy?” Cater drew his hand back cagily. “Are you doing something unequivocally Trey for your special little bae?”

“I don't have anyone fitting that description,” Trey said with a straight face. “But I do end up giving people a lot of homemade sweets as gifts. It’s something that’s a part of me, kinda. And that makes it special.” His voice lowered to a bare whisper. “And I’ve got a private baking lesson lined up for the ‘special bae’ that I certainly don't have.”

Cater smirked. “You sly dog. Something that’s a part of me, huh? But I don’t make anything special, anything OOAK like you do.”

“Don't you?” Trey pointed markedly at the gig bag and shrugged. “I could have sworn you were a member of our elite arts community.”

Cater sat a moment with his mouth agape, dumbfounded. “... actual galaxy brain thinking, Trey. OM7. Memorable, unique, ‘cammable, and hella budget-friendly.”

“Not as practical as the water flosser though,” sighed Trey.

“Enough with the water flosser.”

“But it works so well.”

“Trey.”

“Sorry.” Trey adjusted his glasses and snickered. “Anyway. I have to start getting those scones onto a rack to cool. I’ll make sure you get one tomorrow, okay? Now, go put together your gift. If she doesn't love it, let me know so I can shake my head in disbelief.”

“Yes, sir, vice-housewarden, sir!” Cater offered Trey a mock salute as both boys rose. They gave each other a complicated handshake-to-hug maneuver, ending with a back pat, before going their separate ways. Cater rushed up the complex series of staircases to his dorm room, and brought the guitar back out. He was already starting to get some ideas….

The next few afternoons, Cater rushed back to the dormitory after classes, and shut himself into his room. It was a lucky thing that, as a third year, he didn’t have to worry about roommates, because he found himself staying up until all hours practicing the same few bars over and over, trying to make everything sound just right. As it stood, he only had to deal with angry pounding on his wall once, before he figured out he could run his old wired headphones through his amp.

Finally, he sat back onto his bed. He tapped his phone screen a few times, and listened to the playback. Perfect. Perfect! He almost couldn't believe it was him he was listening to. Maybe I should start taking this whole music thing more seriously, after all, he mused.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he sent a quick text message to Savvy.

> Hey! Meet me 4pm in the pmc club room. I have something for u!

There, he thought, and he put his phone down on the bedstand to change into his pajamas. He had just pulled the shirt over his head when he heard the tell-tale ping! of an incoming message.

> I have something for you, too! I’ll bring it with me. See you then!

Well. All right. Cater smiled to himself as he slid into bed, exhausted but content. Tomorrow, he would give Savvy the most impressive gift she ever got.

The next day, classes couldn't end soon enough. Cater fidgeted anxiously through each period, watching the clock as if it were slowing down just to spite him. In his last lesson of the day, the moment that Professor Trein lifted his head and said, “That will be all, thank you,” Cater was out the door and on his way to the club room.

He hurriedly set up his equipment. Amplifier turned on, phone and guitar plugged in, levels checked, tuning done, tiny party lights set to sparkle, Santa hat positioned just so over artfully tousled hair; everything was perfect. Now all that remained was to wait.

At 3:59, he heard steps coming down the hall. Cater sat up a little straighter. Now, it was his chance to make Savvy feel really special. His hand hovered above his phone, waiting. And when she walked through the door, all beautiful smiles and shining eyes and with sweet anticipation on her face, Cater took his chance. He tapped play on his backing tracks, and started to play.

As the notes poured from his guitar, he felt more comfortable and more himself than he had in a long time. It was almost like the feeling he got when he was skating, pulling off a long rail grind or a sick jump. It was freeing, genuine. Even through the cliched holiday songs, Cater could feel his own heart beating; he hoped that Savvy would feel it, too. It was almost magical. This was something he could give that was uniquely him. And he hoped she could appreciate that.

Song 1 • Song 2

When the last few notes faded away, and all that remained was the crackle of the amplifier, Cater looked up at Savvy and took a deep breath. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. “Merry Christmas…”

[spaceumbredoggos]

So much for stardust Chapter Thirteen

Kenz’s POV:

The sound of Dipper’s coughing woke me up. I noticed that Ford wasn’t in the room. I looked at the couch and saw a brand new phone right beside me. It wasn’t an android or IPhone, but a new phone that’s Ford’s unique invention. I immediately started setting it up with my old contacts, as well as the new contacts.

I went upstairs and noticed Mabel and Wendy chatting. “So if Pokémon are technically the animals of their universe, does that mean it’s considered bestiality and zoophilic to fuck one? Is the vaporeon copypasta bestiality?”

I choked on my water at Mabel’s abrupt sentence and breathed a sigh of relief that there were no kids in the room. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, I mean, in the Japanese version of the Sinnoh games, a library book said that people used to marry Pokemon.”

Why the fuck are they having this conversation? I immediately left the room, walking into the living room. Dipper was loudly blowing his nose. “Dipper. Can you believe what your sister is talking about?”

“They’ve been having this discussion all morning.” Dipper’s voice was nasally and scratchy. I had to stifle my laugh because it kept cracking like a kindergartener’s. “What brought this up?”

“Someone asked if SpongeBob was a furry, so it escalated from there. It was an interesting morning. Also, we found your stash of—”

“Have you guys been going through my stuff?” I grumbled, suddenly aware that I have been out of commission the entire week and haven’t got a chance to move in. “We may have had to in order to set up your room. We didn’t find anything gross, but we found a lot of cringy OC’s in your art, which were well drawn.”

“Why would I keep anything sus within reach of you hooligans?” Dipper burst out laughing so hard that he started to cough again. “I’m going to make my fucking breakfast. If I hear a single one of you fuckers shout the vaporeon copypasta, I’ll scalp you and hang those scalps to scare the coyotes.”

I went into the kitchen, opening the cupboards to get some cereal, only for a bunch of ping pong balls to fall out. “What the fuck?”

“Oops. That was supposed to be for Soos.” Stan was laughing his ass off. “You know he’s sick with the flu? This is the last thing he needs!!!” I grabbed the cereal and poured it, then the milk, into the bowl. I started eating when Wendy walked in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I finished my food and washed my bowl in the sink, then sat back down. I sat down on the couch, then noticed Dipper was passed out on the couch. He was hardly breathing and his breaths were raspy and distressed. “Shit.” I put my phone down and felt Dipper’s forehead. “He’s burning up. Someone has to get him some medicine. Where’s Ford when you need him?”

I heard him cough in his room. “Out sick.” Wendy coughed, wiping her nose. “They’re dropping like flies.” I paced back and forth. “Someone should go and get some medicine from CVS.”

“I’ll do it.” Wendy volunteered, but I shook my head. “You look pale. You should head home.”

“But—“

“I’ll cover your shift. Mabel is the only one who hasn’t caught this besides me. I’ll send her to get the medicine. Go home and rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s time I start beating my weight around here.” I put my foot down, heading to the cash register. “Have you even worked retail before?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t work sick. You look like you walked out of your own open casket funeral. This is a bad flu, as in, it sucks more than anything. If it can knock out Dipper cold, it’s gonna get you. I’m not letting you take this chance.”

Wendy paused as she realized that I wasn’t backing down. “Fine.” She packed up her things and went home as I put on a name tag and sat at the register. I watched a pair of toddlers sticking their fingers in the gnome cage. I walked up to the toddlers, but before I can react, one of them got bitten and started bawling. I bolted over to the ice chest and grabbed some ice and disinfectant, as well as a first aid kit. I rubbed the toddler’s back and gave him a hug. “It’s okay. That gnome was scary, wasn’t it? Probably not a good idea to stick your hand in there.” I bandaged the toddler’s hand before a woman bolted up to me and swatted me away. “Ouch.”

“What the fuck are you doing to my kid, you pervert!!!!” The woman had a typical Karen haircut and she picked up her child, who started bawling again. “Please refrain from using that type of language in front of your kids, ma’am. He simply stuck his hand in the gnome cage and got bitten. I treated the injury with ice, an antiseptic and anti-gnome serum, then wrapped it with the bandage. But I had to calm him down first.”

“Kenz was really nice. They even gave me a lolly!!!”

“UNACCEPTABLE!!! YOU QUEER FOLK MAKE ME SICK!!! LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER TO GET A REFUND OR I WILL SUE YOU FOR GROOMING, YOU PREDATOR!!!”

Suddenly, I could see my father’s ice blue eyes staring back at me. Tears welled up in my face as the woman got out her phone and started filming. Rage bubbled beneath the surface, but I kept my cool and turned around. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Ma’am!!!”

“I am not a ma’am. I have no gender.”

“You are a Ma’am. God made you a woman, so be one!!!” The Karen slapped me across my face, knocking me down as I stared at her. Does she even know where she is? Gravity Falls has the highest queer population in the entire United States. Possibly the world. It’s the only US town that bans anyone remotely homophobic. How did she get in?

I tried to stand up, but I was smacked down again. “Come on, Timmy and Carter. We’re leaving this freak town. Let me call my lawyer.”

“But mommy, Kenz was—“

“A failure to society who only works retail in this town of freaks. Look at their TikTok and instagram. They’re a furry. I bet they use the litterbox and identify as a cat.”

I couldn’t hold back my rant any longer. “Y’know if you kids did half the research I did, you’d know that most the furry stereotypes are false, and furries with fursuits have enough money to be considered members of congress. A furry is just a fandom, like Star Trek and Pokemon. It’s basically people who like anthro animals, which have been a thing in human society since the dawn of time. I’m sure that as long as humanity has existed, furries have also existed, just in a different form. Now for individuals that NONPHYSICALLY, I repeat, NONPHYSICALLY, identify as animals or other species, that’s therians and other kin, which also has existed as long as there have been humans. People who physically identify as animals and actually use litter boxes actually have clinical zooanthropy and need to seek psychiatric help.”

“That’s something a furry would say—“

“And the whole litterbox thing. That’s a hoax spread by transphobic Tucker Carlsons who advocate for the legal genocide of innocent people who don’t fit the cishetero norm. I can’t believe that as a society we allow rich white geriatric pigs to stay in charge whilst our youth is struggling on the streets. Those pigs brand it as a substance abuse issue when it’s so much fucking more. It’s so fucking easy for anyone who doesn’t have an established wealth in this country to end up homeless, it’s sickening. Especially if you’re a minority.” I stood my ground, but the Karen wasn’t budging at all. “How dare you use Tucker Carlson’s name in that light!!! Shame on you!!! You’ll burn in hell for spreading your queer agenda.”

I kept my cool until the Karen smacked me in the face with her purse so hard that my ears rang and my nose bled. I laid on the floor as the Karen ran away towards the door. Feeling every sense of rationality fade from me, I rushed at the Karen and bit her on the forearm. She swiped me off and pepper sprayed me in the eyes, blinding me as I laid on the floor in a daze. I didn’t even realize that I was on all fours. I also failed to notice that I was a slate grey almost black wolf like creature with electric blue umbreon-like rings on my ears, forehead, tail, and legs, with black draconic like wings with electric blue rings. My wrists and ankles had barbs as well as my tail and wings. The thing that hinted me of the transformation was the Karen’s scream of terror. “FUR FREAK!!!” She immediately started calling 911 as I stood up, seeing my reflection in the mirror. No no no no no.

Everything was going wrong as I bolted outside, fleeing into the woods. I climbed up a tree all the way to the top, trying to force myself to transform back. “No. This is just a dream! A fever dream!! Yeah. I got sick with the flu too! I’m just passed out on the couch and having a fever dream!!!” I bit at my foreleg, and the pain was real. “Pain doesn’t prove anything.” I bit myself again, and this time, I had realized that this was indeed happening.

“No no no. The prophecy can’t be true. I have to turn back!!!” I fell out of the tree and realized that I didn’t break anything. “Fuck!!!” I then realized that a one armed lady with grey hair and one amber and one grey eye wearing a red shirt and black patchy pants holding a staff had broken my fall.

“Hey!!! Watch where you’re going!!” I bolted off before realizing that I had caught my neck in a snare. No no no!!!

[cozylittledream]

12/15/22 ((TW for gore mention and bird death :[))

only 10 days till christmas !! or in my case ... 9 .. we celebrate on the 24th ... BUT THATS NOT IMPORTANT DREAM TIME

as the title shows .. be careful there a gore and bird death mention and is it a bit graphic ..

okok NOW TO THE DREAM its sponsored by Killshare

ok so today i dreamed like .. first i was in school again annd tbh nothing 2 interesting .. some kid used a weird ai tts radio and charged it in class bc apparently the chargers were stupidly strong there .. but they made it say cuss words so they got punished .. weird . infact that whole school was gonna get like a Big tech rehaul showed like a cool tablet and stuff but i forgot what it did . and then it kinda cut to some other kid cause idk some school tech thing cussed at Him and his mom and the school were rly worried but they both thought it was him or something and also i was watching and commentating 4 some reason .. OK so then it cuts to me in this .. weird little store i dont remember what kind of store or wat i rly saw all i remember is a clown was probably there and Pointy Funko Pop . yeah . i remember how it felt in mai hands ..

BUT WAIT THERES MORE ok so like i go home and Oops ... dead pigeons EVERYWHERE turns out some people were just fuckin Shooting them 2 death ??? i think it became legal or something cause it was just gruesome made me sad in the dream .. apparently they got their heads heart lungs .. basically they just got everything but as the reporter put it "their chicken" idk i think they meant just their bodies but preeety sure no one was gonna eat em . OK SO REGARDLESS i walk to the train station home its COVERED in like pigeon blood and guts and maggots and i get it on my hands bc there THAT MUCH THERE ... i reach the train and i just kinda check my wallet for .. my metro cards for some reason ? i think i had to redeem them at the train instead which was weird .. but the train and cards were themed after cappy from mario .. ! ok so i get on .. ooh its the newer model train than usual .. maybe this is the Wrong train .. but i ask a girl next to me if this was going in the right station and she said YEAS .. well SHES A LIAR we get off and oough ... oops im in japan and there's like .. a weird region exclusive version of a pokemon starter here ?? but basically i start panicking cus my phones at 2 percent and i need to call Someone .. but b4 that i notice that i was able to redeem a thing on my phone that told me i would b able to skip 8 days of school with it .. ! seemed Weird but i took it and idk what happened much after that

oh yeah saw a kids shirt too of orenetchi growing a New planet cause he got sick of ai stuff too .. lol

[uniform-art]

I LOVE SHE SM AGH MY FAVORITE GIRL(S) <3<3

Also I know she wears traditional clothing but I was thinkin abt where she got it? Like it has different faces on it that resemble Nanika, plus it’s a more feminine outfit (based off of a Japanese shrine MAIDEN) and like her family wasn’t excepting of either of those things. So did Killua get it for her? Did a butler ? Or did Nanika ask for it :P idk it’s interesting

[transyivania]

HT characters as Queens Who Watch clips

[chimielie]

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

+

part two here

[lou-struck]

Reflections

Tooru Oikawa x Reader

~ The house of mirrors may not be the most thrilling attraction at the theme park, but Oikawa just has to show you what he sees.

This is the first of many parts of my 300 followers event which you could find HERE. This event will be open for a bit longer if you want to check it out and make a request!!

You are out of breath as the coaster you were riding on comes to a stop in its launch pad. Craning your neck, you are just barely able to make out your boyfriend's figure in the seat next to you. His chest heaving in exhaustion from the thrill of it all. 

The heavy safety bar finally gets released by the staff and Tooru helps you out of the car. Giggling like children you rush forward to see what your ride photos look like. After scanning the several panels you find the one with the two of you.

As usual Tooru Oikawa looks absolutely perfect, even against the wind there is not a hair out of place, he’s even giving the camera a playful wink. Curious as to how your picture turned out you turn your gaze to your picture.

To say you don’t look great is an understatement. Your face is twisted between a scream and a cry as your hair flies in every direction. 

Long arms wrap around you as you hear his playful voice over you shoulder. “We are so cute y/n, I wanna keep this forever” he coos snapping a picture of the screen with his cell phone.

“You only want it because you look great Tooru.” you groan with a shake of your head. Not wanting to be plauged with the unflattering image, you step away and let others see their own pictures on the screen.

A group of young women come gigging up to the screen and notice your picture in the search for their own. Their hushed whispers aren't exactly hushed as you hear what the topic of their conversation is.

“Oh wow, that guy is so hot,” one says pointing out Tooru. You couldn't tell from where you were but you were at least eighty percent sure her pupils took the shape of hearts.

Hearing this, you smile to yourself, Tooru usually attracts this kind of attention, especially now that he is a professional athlete. But what throws you off guard is what her friend says next.

“Eww, what is someone like him doing with a thing like that?” she scoffs pointing at your less-than-stellar image. “They must be loaded if he is here willingly.” The group bursts out laughing not noticing that you are literally right behind them.

Ouch… that stung a bit. Actually, it stung a lot. 

You are accustomed to the jealous whispers that come with dating Tooru Oikawa, but for a complete stranger to say something about you so unprompted like that just pushes you a bit too far. Your face falls as you begin to walk away.

“Wait, come with me.” Tooru says softly grabbing your hand and leading you away from the crowd. He mustve heard what they said about you too. Your face feels likes its about to boil over from the shame and embarrassment that you are feeling while his vice like grip on your wrist makes escape impossible. He leads you through the park until you get to the house of mirrors.

“What are we doing here?” you ask wondering how looking at distorted reflections of yourself would improve your self image.

“You’ll see,” he says mischevioulsy leading you further into the building. Looking around yousee the first room is covered wall to wall in mirrors. Taking a step forward you are jerked backwards suddenly by your boyfriend. You shoot him a glare as you gently rub your wrist.

“Oops, sorry about that, that was a bit rough he says taking his hand and knocking on the glass you almost walked into.

“This place is gonna kill me you shudder looking down at the marked path on the floor that is supposed to guid you through the attraction.

“Not if I have anything to say about it “ he laughs guiding you down the walkway making sure you dont break your nose on any more panels.

Finally, you get to the end of the last room, the glass and the illusions thin out to show only a few distinct mirrors .frames in bright colors

“Take a look around you,” tooru says pointing at the mirrors. They are warped and elongated but the images of the two of you are reflected back at you.

“Wow,” you chuckle, your laughter not meeting your eyes “We look amazing.”

“No, its more than that he says pulling you close and pointing to the mirror in front of you, your images are twisted and slightly green. “You look beautiful in this one, he says pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead.

 “And this one,” he says pointing to one in which you look like human bobble heads. 

“ And especially this one,” he says, his face painted with mock serousness.

Your gaze lands on the mirror and you burst out laughing. Your figure is stretched to the ceiling while Tooru’s is shrunken down to look like a tackle dummy.

“Okay okay, I get it.” you laugh wiping a stray tear from your eye. 

“As you should,” he says pulling you in and peppering your face with a few extra kisses “besides, I think you're rather cute.”

“Thanks, Tooru,” you hum giving him a kiss of your own before pulling back and looking around uncomfortably.

“But could we please get out of here, the mirrors are starting to freak me out alittle bit,” you say.

“Anything for my Cutie,” he laughs taking your hand once more. With a smile, the two of you go out to enjoy more of what the amusement park has to offer.

[whimsicallyreading]

You Don’t Even Go Here

Day Two for Rowaelin Month

A college AU

~

Aelin grins mischievously as she walks up the stairs of the men's dorm at Terresan University. The teal-blue waffle iron clutched under her arm.

Aedion didn't really need it. It had been on the fifty-percent-off rack at the supermarket, and he'd simply thrown it in the cart for good measure. Yet, when Aelin saw the box for it laying the hall, she'd seen opportunity.

It had hit her harder than she'd thought. Aedion leaving. They'd been raised like siblings but grew up something closer to best friends. It wasn't fair that he was nearly three years older and ready to leave when she wasn't prepared for him to go.

Aelin had cried the whole car ride home. Then when they finally got back to the house, she'd called him right away. He could hear how teary she was and happily obliged her call. Narrating his actions as he went about setting up his dorm room. He teased her about missing him, but she could tell that he missed her too.

So, armed with an excuse to visit him, Aelin made the hour-long drive to visit her cousin.

Aelin was halfway up the stairs but not paying too much attention to her surroundings. She was too busy repeating Aedion's room number over in her head because no matter how many times she checked her phone, it just wouldn't stick in her head. Maybe if she'd focused a little more on the things happening around her, she wouldn't have crashed into a half-naked man.

A solid and calloused hand darts out and grips her shoulder before she can go tumbling down the stairs. Its twin desperately clutching the towel wrapped around his waist.

Aelin looks up apologetically, and her jaw nearly falls to the floor. His white hair was still damp from the shower and swooped over the top of his head, and his biceps were too large for Aelin to wrap both hands around. An intricate tattoo coils elegantly from a cheekbone and down the length of his body.

He was a man indeed. Nothing like Chaol or Dorian or any of her junior friends. This was a new breed of man. The apex kind. Aelin is pretty sure she looks like a deer in the headlights, and she's too busy ogling him to understand the words he'd been repeating to her.

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows are furrowed as if he's afraid he'd literally struck her stupid. Aelin felt that wasn't far from the truth.

"Yes, sorry," she apologizes as she steps back, suddenly very aware of how in his personal space she was. "I wasn't paying attention. You just caught me by surprise."

Aelin was definitely panicking. Where was her swagger when she needed it most? Why would it choose now to abandon her?

By some miracle, he doesn't seem off-put by her awkwardness. In fact, a smile curls the edges of his lips, revealing a set of dimples that made her heart stumble.

Gods he had dimples.

"No, I ran into you. It's my fault. My name is Rowan.”

He holds out a hand, and Aelin shakes it clumsily. "I'm Aelin."

"Aelin." She loves the way her name rolls off his tongue. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you a freshman?"

Oh no. Aelin's eyes widen, but she recovers swiftly and smooths her features out. Rowan thinks she's a student. Not some crazy high schooler too emotionally dependent on her cousin.

"I'm actually a junior," Aelin laughs at his perplexed expression. "I don't go here, though. I'm just stopping by to drop off some things my cousin forgot."

White lies. What was a white lie worth? Aelin likely wouldn't ever see him again, and is it so wrong for a girl to enjoy some harmless attention? If Aelin spent more time thinking about it, she probably wouldn't like the answers she'd come up with, but that was neither here nor there.

"Is that a waffle maker?" Rowan's green eyes glint with amusement.

"My cousin loves to eat. What year are you?" Aelin crosses her fingers that he's the same age as Aedion and not a senior or something. Her cousin would murder her if he found out she flirted with a man five years older.

"Don't we all? I'm a sophomore, a bit younger than you, I suppose." Rowan drags a hand through his hair. "Listen, I know you came to see your cousin, but maybe I could get your number, and we could get a cup of coffee before you head out?"

Was this really happening? Aelin inwardly squealed with excitement. Lysandra would die when she recounted this story later. "Sure."

Just as she pulled her phone from her pocket, an all too familiar voice materialized behind her. "Aelin?"

Aedion smiles as he lays eyes on his beloved cousin. He takes a couple steps down the stairs, and that grin quickly fades as he sees the naked man.

Oops, she'd forgotten that detail.

"Rowan?" Aedion's eyes harden as they lock on Rowan. "Why the hell are you ogling my cousin with no clothes on?"

"You know him?" Aelin swears under her breath. She cannot believe her luck.

Aedion laughs coldly as he sizes up Rowan, "He's my roommate, but he's about to be a corpse. Why are you perving on my seventeen-year-old cousin?"

Rowan's looks between the bewildered. "You said you were a junior?"

Aedion laughs harshly as Aelin blushes. "I am...just in highschool. Not college. I told you I didn't go here."

"I didn't realize I was rooming with a pedophile," Aedion grabs Aelin and pulls her to his chest. "Was he bothering you?"

"Pedophile?" Rowan's dimples have disappeared, and he looks at Aedion disturbed. "I'm only nineteen!"

Aelin shoves away from Aedion's boorish grip. "The only one bothering me is you."

Rowan's cheeks are flushed red as the full impact of the situation they were found in dawns on him. Damn it if Aelin didn't find his blush endearing. He is a solid chunk of muscle. How is everything he does so cute?

"Look, I just got out of the shower, and I bumped into Aelin. It was an accident. She was just on her way to give you your waffle maker-"

"You brought my waffle maker?" Aedion cuts Rowan off, eyeing the box under her arm.

That's when Aelin sees it. The twinkle of mischief in his eye and the forced concern. Aedion was playing her. He obviously knew Rowan wasn't a creep and saw the perfect opportunity to cause chaos. Aelin scowls at him, and that spark grows brighter. It's moments like this she wonders why she ever missed her cousin in the first place.

Aedion tugs the box out of her grasp and smiles. "Wow. This is perfect timing. Vaughn and Fen were just talking about making breakfast for dinner." He looks at Aelin and forces a frown. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have invited you, but it would kind of be rude to bring a guest now."

"What?" Aelin sputters. She drove all this way, and he was really going to ditch her? It was embarrassing, but tears prickled at the edges of her eyes. He was an ass, but she obviously came because she missed him, and he didn't even care? She really thought they were closer than that.

"Yeah. Sorry, Lin." Aedion points at Rowan, who was just standing to the side, thoroughly uncomfortable. Yet, despite the awkwardness, he hadn't left. "Hey, you owe me one for creeping on my little cousin. Earn my trust back and see that she has something for dinner and gets to her car safely? She has my phone number, one bad text, and your ass is grass."

Aedion tosses her a wink, and it's all Aelin can do to keep from outright gaping. Rowan looks stunned, his eyes darting between the two Ashryvver's. They settle on Aelin for a moment too long. Some of the tension eases from his shoulders, and he smiles. "I think I can manage that."

"Good." Aedion turns back up the stairs pats the box. "Thanks for bringing it to me, Lin. I'll call you tomorrow, don't send me to voicemail."

Just like that, her cousin, a walking, talking agent-of-chaos, disappears back to wherever he came from.

"So," Rowan starts, "If you want, I know a perfect Italian place we could swing by, my treat seeing as I plowed into you."

Aelin frowns and fiddles with the end of her necklace. "You aren't upset that I lied?"

"You didn't lie." Rowan chuckles, a deep sound that sends a shiver of delight down Aelin's spine. "You don't go here."

Aelin tilts her head as if she's deeply considering the offer. "I suppose it couldn't hurt. What's good there?"

"They have an awesome kabob." Rowan tugs his towel tighter. "It's my favorite."

It's Aelin's turn to laugh. "Isn't that just meat on a stick?"

"Let's go, and I can show you how profoundly wrong you are," he moves to take a step down, but Aelin stops him with a hand to the shoulder. "What is it?"

Aelin points to his towel, "I don't think they will serve guests without pants."

The flush that Aelin loves his back full force as he scrambles the other direction up the stairs. "Shit. Give me five minutes. I'll be right back. Aedion better have not locked out or I swear-"

Rowan's embarrassed tirade quiets as he charges up to his dorm to change. Aelin smiling as he goes. She can't believe she's going out to dinner with a guy like that.

Opening her phone, she sends a quick heart emoji to her cousin. He instantly replies back with one of his own. Aedion may have moved to college, but he still had her back at the end of the day. Even if it wasn't in the most ideal way.

Rowan comes back down the stairs moments later, and she's not disappointed by what she sees. He took the time to put on a flannel shirt and comb some gel through his hair. While the view without clothes had been pleasant, Aelin could definitely appreciate this look too.

"I'm ready if you are," Rowan extends an arm to help her down the stairs.

It's such a fussy, old-man move, and she loves it.

"Let's go."

[paterson-blue]

Deep End Distractions; Part 3

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

Summary: As a swim instructor, you meet a lot of parents who are either overly committed to their kid’s lessons or couldn’t care less. You aren’t 100 percent sure where Henry Barber’s father lies on this spectrum, but man, is he hot.

Word Count: 4,984

Warnings: fem! AFAB reader, sexting, naughty photos, flirting, a cute moment with Henry & Charlie, teasing, date time y'all!, some finger-in-mouth action, teensy bit of Daddy!kink (it just jumped in you guys idk), fem! pet names, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV sex (without chance of pregnancy), creampie oop!— let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: this is the last planned installment for this little series. thanks to everyone who's read & commented such lovely things! and big thank you to @paper-n-ashes for her beta expertise.

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

You wake up the next morning to two text messages from Charlie. Your stomach erupts into butterflies, pulse picking up as you hold your phone to your face to read the notifications.

‘I came so fucking hard thinking of my cock in your sweet cunt.’

You shiver, sliding your thighs together under the covers. The other message is just a photo, one you can’t see very well in the little preview. You open it quick as can be, heart in your throat, and fuck—

He’s smart enough—or maybe, enough of a tease—not to show his face or his cock. Instead, it’s the pale expanse of his torso, from his neck to the trail of hair leading down between his strong thighs. His skin is all shiny, large droplets of cum spattered over it; a sizable amount was pooled on his stomach.

Fuck.

You stare at the photo a little longer than probably necessary. God, it was dirty; he was dirty—you absolutely loved it. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, trying to figure out what to say; there was so much to choose from. You wrestle with yourself before finally starting to type, quickly, so you couldn’t talk yourself out of it.

‘Filthy Mr. Barber. Hope you saved some for me.’

You hit send and promptly abandon your phone, heading to the bathroom to shower. You’d slept into the morning, and you’re considering asking him if he wants to grab lunch sooner rather than later. You wanted him, and at this point it was pretty clear that the two of you were on the same level of desperation.

He’d sent a response by the time you came back into the room, perched on the edge of your bed with a towel wrapped around you. You hold your breath as you read the words on the screen, a little smile pulling at your lips.

‘Oh I’ve got plenty for you, sweetheart. Whenever you want it.’

Sweetheart. Alright, yeah, early lunch it was.

‘What if I want it now? Maybe get some pizza delivered first?’

He answers before you can set your phone back down, and his eagerness makes you preen.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll order it to my place.’

‘I’ll be over soon.’

______________________________________________________________

You admittedly rush through your routine of getting ready, and not just because of the way your stomach was growling. You keep looking at the photo he sent you, your mouth fucking watering at the image. He was unfair. You grab a couple essentials before rushing out the door, deciding you might as well have some toiletries in the car--you know, just in case. You weren’t expecting anything other than a meal and what you’re sure will be an amazing fuck, but there was no harm in being prepared for otherwise.

The drive to his apartment feels like it takes ages, especially with the constant start and stop of Saturday afternoon traffic. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel, taking quick little looks over at the passenger seat, remembering everything that happened last night. It makes you fidget, nerves alight in your stomach. Shit, you needed to take a breath, to calm down--this was Charlie. There was no need for you to feel so… antsy. You knew him enough to feel comfortable, to feel secure with what you were doing, hook-up or not.

You pull yourself together in your car, sitting outside his apartment complex. He’s sent you the flat number, and you search the front of each unit as you walk down the shared sidewalk in the middle of the complex. Charlie pulls open his door the second you knock, and oh, he looks hungry.

“Hey,” he breathes, dark eyes sweeping over you. He’s wearing jeans and a loose burgundy colored sweater that accentuates his pale skin, even with the light tan he’s managed to acquire with his weekly swim sessions. He’s barefoot, clearly comfortable in his own space; you aren’t sure why that’s so endearing.

“Hi there,” you answer, stepping through the doorway as he moves to let you in. You study your surroundings curiously, looking around at his belongings. The living room was cozy, with a large couch and two oversized armchairs, plants sat around and framed pieces of art on the walls. You can see into the kitchen and dining area, and spot two large pizza boxes sitting on the table. “I see I got here just in time.”

Charlie chuckles, nods, spurred into motion from where he’d been frozen at the door. “Arrived just before you did. Make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink?” He brushes a large hand over your back as he walks past you, his touch lingering a moment too long, the two of you sharing a heated gaze. Christ, how were you going to last through a meal with him like this?

You ask for some water, following him into the kitchen after kicking off your own shoes and abandoning your bag on the coffee table. He moves around fluidly in the small space, grabbing glasses and plates and napkins. Your gaze trails over his form, admiring the way the material of his sweater drapes over his back, the way the denim of his jeans clings to his thighs. You were used to seeing him in either loose slacks or swim shorts—this was a happy medium between the two.

“You look nice,” you say, because you can. Charlie gives you a look, scoffing at your words even as his cheeks flush a pretty pink color, accentuating the freckles and moles that dotted his handsome face. He was pleased at your compliment, even if he wouldn’t say it.

It only takes Charlie a couple of his long strides to place the dishware on his dining room table and then come back to you, cornering you where you’re leaning against the countertop. “You look nice, too,” he murmurs, caging you within with his arms, voice low.

You grin up at him, reaching to fiddle with the hem of his sweater. “Do I? That’s good. I was a bit distracted while getting ready—kept stopping to look at a picture on my phone.”

Charlie’s eyes go dark, and he leans in closer, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah? You liked it?”

You nod, arching against him slightly. His gaze falls to your lips, your chest, and back up again. “I really liked it. Thought about getting off to it but decided to wait for the real thing,” you hum, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart. The two of you were walking a fine line, each trying to gain a minuscule amount of power over the other—though, honestly, you just liked pushing his buttons.

One of Charlie’s large hands comes up, settling against your neck, his thumb and index finger notching under your jaw to tilt your head up exactly where he wants it. You swallow hard under the slight pressure of his palm, and he makes a contented sound in the back of his throat. Your hand comes up to grip his wrist, and for a split second his hold on you falters, his dark brows knitting in concern—it lets you know that he’ll stop the instant you voice any discomfort.

You just pull him closer, wanting more of that delicious pressure. Charlie groans, cursing under his breath, and suddenly he’s surprising you by crashing his mouth down onto yours. It’s not soft—it’s desperate, biting, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. Christ, his hands were so fucking big, holding you in place so he can use your mouth the way he needs. It makes you think of how easily he could use you like this between his legs, hold you still while he fucks your throat.

Fuck, you want it.

His eyes are blazing when he pulls away, his plush lips all red and puffy. He grips your chin in his hand, the large pad of his thumb rubbing against your bottom lip. “Knew you had a perfect mouth,” he mumbles, pushing his thumb further; you take it, letting him press against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the base, hollowing your cheeks to suck, looking up at him the whole time. He’s got his mouth hanging open, face flushed. “Fucking tease,” he grits out through his teeth, voice betraying the tiniest bit of a tremble.

You just hum, blinking up at him; he tugs his thumb from your mouth, smearing your spit over your lips. “I promised you a date. So we’re going to sit and eat. And then I’m going to fuck you over the table.”

His words go straight between your legs, and you dip your hands under his sweater and the t-shirt beneath, needing to feel his bare skin. “You promise?” you ask with a pout, and Charlie huffs, shaking his head at you good naturedly.

“You’re going to kill me,” he tells you, finally stepping away so the two of you can breathe. You frown at the lack of contact, but at the same time, your stomach growls. Maybe having a bite or two would do you some good. With the way he was looking at you, you think you’ll need your strength.

You sit across from one another, gazes heavy, the air heady. Your underwear is fucking soaked, you can feel it when you sit down. You squirm in your seat, biting your lip as you serve yourself some pizza—the way Charlie’s white-knuckling his glass of water tells you that he knows exactly what you’re doing. You give him an innocent smile, even going so far as to flutter your eyelashes. “What?”

Charlie just huffs before taking a giant bite of his chosen slice, watching you thoughtfully. After a moment you feel a little nudge on the side of your foot, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads over your face. He scrunches his toes against yours, and you laugh. “Footsies? Really?”

Charlie just shrugs in response, grinning as he takes another bite. You shake your head at him, nudging his foot back, the potent need for one another fading into a nice sort of buzz. It was still there, and you knew it could easily be plucked back into the forefront of your minds, but it was toned down enough that the two of you could actually enjoy being together like this.

You talk while you eat—about everything and nothing all at once. It’s easy to talk to him. You already knew as much, but you’d been a bit worried things would be different in this particular setting. That maybe the pressure or the expectation of a date might change the dynamic between the two of you. And it had, but not in the way you’d feared. It was a welcome relief.

He’s in the middle of telling you he’s decided to go ahead with the theater deal when his phone starts buzzing on the tabletop. He makes no move to pick it up, only glancing at it briefly, but then a frown settles between his brows. “Sorry—hold on—“ He sets his slice of pizza down on the plate in front of him, reaching for the phone. “Henry’s iPad is FaceTiming me.”

He wipes his mouth before answering, brows arching when the call connects. “I thought you were doing homework.” His tone is schooled into something calm and even—his “Dad” voice, apparently. You haven’t noticed it before, but now it makes you smile. You make sure to stay silent and out of sight, listening for Henry’s familiar lilt to come through.

“I was but I finished, and Mom said I could have my games back.”

“If I call Mom, is she going to say the same thing?”

“Yes, dad.”

Charlie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he chuckles at his son’s exasperation. “Alright, alright, I believe you.” There’s a pause, and you watch Charlie make a funny face at the screen. Henry giggles, then speaks again.

“What’re you doing?”

“Iiiii’mmm eating lunch,” Charlie answers, stretching out the words. His brown eyes flicker up at you, expression warm and fond. It makes you feel all gooey inside. Henry is—thankfully—oblivious to it all.

“What are you eating?”

“Pizza.”

Henry sighs at his dad’s response, sounding mournful. “Does the pizza have meat on it?”

Charlie huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. It seems like he knows where this line of questioning is going. “Yes it does.”

“Mom won’t let me get meat on our pizza.” Henry sounds petulant; Charlie’s voice is kind and patient.

“Mom’s vegetarian, honey, she can’t have meat.”

“Well I hate vegetarian.” Henry states, resolute. You try to hide your smile in your glass, sipping at your water so you won’t laugh.

Charlie gives the phone screen a look, but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he changes the subject. “What are you and Mom having for lunch?”

“Spaghetti.”

“That sounds good. I like Mom’s spaghetti.” There’s the tiniest hint of melancholy in Charlie’s voice. Henry doesn’t notice it, going on about his day. Charlie takes it all in with genuine interest: wants to know how his homework went, what his friends are up to, where he’s going with his cousins tomorrow, what book Nicole is reading to him this week.

Part of you feels like you shouldn’t be intruding on their personal conversation, but you were already there, and you couldn’t exactly get up and leave. At least, not very discreetly. Charlie keeps shooting you looks that are almost apologetic, and you try to tell him with your own looks to stop that shit. He doesn’t ever need to apologize for caring for his son.

Still, Charlie winces after Henry hangs up, making eyes at you as he sets down his phone. “Sorry. I guess that sort of killed the mood, huh?”

You roll your eyes, giving him a (gentle) kick under the table. “Don’t apologize—Henry comes first, as he should. And no, it didn’t kill the mood.” Charlie gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you, and you stare him down. When you speak again you choose your words wisely, your tone dipping down into something akin to a purr. “Why wouldn’t I like knowing you’re a good daddy?”

Charlie freezes in place, staring back at you, and maybe you’d be worried that you’ve said the wrong thing if it wasn’t for the way his eyes go all wide and dark. You don’t even think he’s breathing.

Hook, line, and sinker.

His jaw works, and it takes him a while to respond. When he does, his tone is dark and clipped. “Alright.” He stands slowly, taking his time collecting the leftovers and dirty dishes from the table. You watch each and every deliberate movement, not daring to follow as he deposits everything in the kitchen. When he returns, he has a damp tea towel in his hands; you stand so he can wipe down the tabletop.

He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, as if nervous, or perhaps just figuring out where to go from here. Straightening back up, he catches your eye, and you see him reach some sort of resolution. He tosses the towel in the direction of the kitchen—it lands haphazardly on the countertop—before stalking towards you.

“Was it a good first date?” Charlie asks, voice low as his hands reach for your wrists, pulling you towards him. You go willingly, pressing close to him, and he lets you—lets you duck your hands under his shirts to touch his bare skin. His eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments as he savors the feeling, his palms smoothing up your arms to settle high on your shoulders where he can rub the sides of your neck with his thumbs.

He was so handsome. And he was all yours—at least, for right now.

“Oh, so the date is over now?” you tease, sliding your hands over his torso and up his back. You trail your nails back down and Charlie groans, the noise unabashed. You want to hear more.

His eyes open up to look down at you, and he moves one of his hands up to take your jaw in a soft but steady grip, his thumb on your chin. “Did you like it?” he asks, quiet. You nod, anticipation building in your stomach—you think maybe it’s been building for weeks now. He nods back at you, murmuring “good,” before he leans in to slot his mouth over yours.

He kisses you firmly, his large nose pressing against your cheekbone as his plush lips suck at yours. Charlie’s kisses are insistent but not frantic—he takes his time, like he knows you’re his to do with what he wants. He doesn’t need to rush; he can explore your mouth, swallow down your noises, savor your taste.

His grip on your jaw tightens minutely when he pulls away to trace the tip of his nose along the side of your face. “You want daddy to fuck you?”

It’s little more than a breath against your ear and his teeth graze over your earlobe, teasing. You knew your earlier words would come back to bite you in the ass but fuck, hearing him say it, you feel lightheaded. You nod quickly, and Charlie chuckles. “Bend over the table, then, honey.”

You scramble to do as he says, draping yourself over the freshly cleaned wooden surface, holding on to whatever you can reach. When Charlie’s fingertips brush over your ass you jump, still somehow startled even though you were anticipating his touch. He smooths one large hand over your flank, as if to calm you.

“… You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like, right?” he asks quietly from behind you, his tone gentle as he slowly pulls the bottom of your dress up, exposing you to him. “Any time you want to stop or change something, just let me know and I’ll do it.” Sweet, lovely Charlie, so concerned about you. It’d be even more endearing if you weren’t currently eager for him to fuck you six ways from Sunday.

“Yes, yes, yeah—I will, I swear.” You wriggle your hips back against him and he laughs, the sound settling all soft and warm in your head.

“Don’t be greedy,” he chides, hooking his fingers into your underwear and tugging them down your legs. He helps you step out of them before he’s pulling your thighs apart, settling a hand on your lower back and pushing you to arch more for him—presenting yourself for him. “I’m going to give you everything you want.” The words are murmured, and you shiver, wanting to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of relief but not daring to.

There’s silence, and then a dull thud. You don’t realize it’s Charlie’s knees making contact with the linoleum floor until he’s yanking your hips back and onto his face. You let out a little yelp, mouth agape as his large hands spread you open for him to press his tongue through your folds. He moans at the first taste of you—pulls you closer like he can’t get enough. Fuck, you wish you could see him like this.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbles against your pussy, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to himself or god or what—honestly, you’re not even sure how he’s breathing with how tightly he’s holding you, but you can’t bring it within yourself to care. Especially not when he adjusts just slightly, and suddenly he’s licking at your clit with his nose pressed inside of you.

It’s just a tease, really; the knowledge of it is probably making you more dizzy than the actual sensation. But oh fuck, that nose, that nose, that beautiful fucking nose—if you’d known he’d do this you might’ve jumped his bones a lot sooner. “Shit, Charlie, yes—“ you whimper, cheek already smushed against the tabletop.

When he pulls away you mourn the loss as well as the position you’re in; you want to see his pretty face decorated in your slick. But then he’s pressing one long, thick finger into you and you’re keening, already clenching around it as he pumps the digit in and out.

“Fuck, look at you. Perfect little pussy just for me. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long, you know that?” he talks as he fingers you open, rambling, breathless as his free hand palms your ass. “First second I saw you, you were so fucking pissed at me, so gorgeous. Thought you were going to yell at me right there in front of everyone and just the thought got me so hot.”

You let out a shuddering breath as his scissors two of his fingers inside of you; you arch up onto your tiptoes, angling yourself towards him, wanting more. He twists his fingers, curling them in search of the place that will make you whine for him. He finds it much too easily to be fair.

“Never thought you’d want me,” he continues, sounding strained. His free hand disappears from your skin for a moment and you hear fabric rustling, the clink of his belt, the soft sound of a zipper. Your heart rate speeds up in anticipation, but after a moment his hand returns to your hip as if nothing has happened. You wonder what he’d do if you fidgeted, turned around to get a good look at his cock.

“I want you,” you say, trying to make a show of it as you clench purposefully around his fingers. “Please, Charlie, I’m ready—I can take it.”

He curses under his breath, hesitates, but then apparently decides to believe you because he tugs his fingers out of you. There’s some more shuffling, and Charlie lets out a soft, shuddering breath. “Condom?” he asks, all quiet, and you reach out behind you blindly, trying to make contact with any part of him that you can.

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s fine—come on.”

Your hand comes in contact with one of his massive thighs, and you hum happily, rubbing your fingertips against his bare skin. He steps closer and suddenly his cock is right there, pressing all hot and urgent against your cunt. Your pussy squeezes around nothing and you sigh in frustration.

“Easy, honey. Be patient.” His voice is low and level, much like the calming voice he’d used for Henry earlier; it makes you squirm. The thick head of his cock slowly smears through your folds, back and forth, back and forth. Charlie lets out a soft groan, one of his large hands settling onto your hip to hold you steady. He makes no move to press into you, the fucking tease—he seems content just pressing himself against your cunt, between your thighs.

“You hear that? Hmm? Hear how wet you are for me?” His voice is little more than a purr, all quiet so you can listen to the slick, sticky noises your pussy is making. You feel your face flush, and you tense up a bit, nearly embarrassed. Charlie tuts, landing a sharp slap to your ass that makes you gasp. He palms over the sting, leaning over you to nuzzle against your ear. Fuck, he still had all his clothes on.

“No hiding, not from me. Let me in, sweet girl.” His breath is hot against your skin, there for a moment before his body heat disappears again as he straightens back up. There’s a moment where you’re holding your breath, and then he’s slamming into you, splitting you open all at once. All your breath leaves you at once in a cry, and you scrabble at the tabletop to find some way to anchor yourself.

“Fuck,” Charlie grunts out, his hands gripping your hips hard, holding you onto his cock. You take a couple shuddering breaths, closing your eyes as you adjust to his size. Shit, he was huge, you could feel him in your fucking stomach. His cock was a delicious ache filling you, and you can’t help but squeeze your pussy around him, like you want him deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, voice hoarse, and he shoves your dress further up your back so he can arch himself down and press a kiss to the middle of your back. He trails his kisses upwards until he’s draped over you again, pressing his nose to the side of your face. “You okay?” His question is murmured to you, shaky and almost timid.

You reach up blindly to brush your palm over the back of his head as you nod. “S’good, Charlie, fuck, you’re so big. Need you to fuck me, please—please.” Your fingers tangle in the ends of his hair, tugging lightly, needing him to move.

Charlie hums, the sound dark and pleased. He starts moving his hips torturously slow, the drag of his cock inside you making you whine. “You need it, do you?” His voice rumbles in his chest, vibrates against your back. “Like this? Or more?”

You want to scream; want to shove him back onto the floor and ride him into oblivion, to take what you need without his teasing. But you swallow back the urge, fumbling for the words he’s searching for. “More. More, please, Charlie. Harder.”

His hips snap forward and your eyes roll back in your head, mouth falling open as you keen for him. He presses kisses over your jaw, sliding a hand up and around your neck, pulling you up just a little so he can press his lips to yours. His palm presses deliciously against your throat and you moan into his mouth, kissing him hot and hurried.

“Mmm, fuck, you taste good. Feel even better.” Charlie nips at your bottom lip before arching up just a little to get better leverage, hand still around your throat. “Such a wet, sloppy pussy, just for me, yeah?” Yes, you chant, yes, yes, yes, yours. And then he’s fucking you in earnest, holding you steady by your neck and hip as he pounds you into the tabletop.

You think you’re probably drooling onto the freshly cleaned wooden surface but you don’t care. All you can do is focus on the feeling of his cock in you, the smack of his hips against your ass, the squelch of your pussy. You’ve got wetness dripping down your thighs; his balls keep slapping against them with each of his powerful thrusts. You know you’d be sliding up the table if he wasn’t holding you down so tightly.

Have you ever been fucked so good? If you have, you can’t remember. There’s nothing in your head but him. Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. You think maybe you’re saying his name out loud but you’re so out of it you don’t know for sure. He says your name back to you in a ragged breath, groaning afterwards as if the very word went straight to his cock.

“Next time—“ he pants, leaning back over you to snarl into your ear, “-next time I’m stripping that fucking dress off of you so I can see your pretty tits, have them in my hands.” One of his giant hands paws at your breasts, squeezing over your clothes to accentuate his words. The sensation makes you clench around him hard, and he fucking growls.

“Fuck, honey, you feel amazing--” His voice breaks and there’s a pause, his hips grinding into you. Charlie lets out a hoarse laugh, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna make me cum.” The words make you moan, and you nod, fumbling for any part of him you can touch. The thought of him cumming in you, because of you--fuck, it’s all you want.

“Give it to me, Charlie, I need it,” you encourage him, arching your back slightly. He groans, hips stuttering, and you smile, breathless. “C’mon, baby. You wanna cum in me, don’t you? You wanna show me who I belong to--wanna fill me till I’m dripping.” You’re not fully conscious of the words you’re saying, not with your head spinning the way it was, but they seem to do the trick because Charlie shudders and yanks you back against him.

He sets a brutal pace, chasing his own pleasure now that he has permission. He’s fucking impossible noises out of you, ones you aren’t sure you’ve heard yourself make before. It's nearly animalistic, his pace, his grunts, his hands on you.

You love it. You fucking love it.

“Gonna cum--you’re gonna be so fucking full of me, fuck!” His hand moves from your throat to slam beside your head, his long fingers stretching to grip the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. “Gonna f-fill you up and then l-lick it out of you, eat you till you cum all over my face,” he grits out between his teeth, sucking in a strangled gasp--and then he’s slamming his hips into you once more as he cums, filling you with warmth.

Charlie lets out a shaky moan, trembling as he slumps on top of you, chest heaving. You’re still on edge, but you know--you know--he’ll take good care of you, just like he promised. And he does. Because as soon as he’s caught his breath, as soon as he’s planted a kiss to the back of your neck, he’s helping you to the couch and falling onto his knees in front of you.

“Spread those legs, honey, let me see you.” You do as he asks, reaching out to run your fingers through his damp hair. His eyes are dark as he admires your pussy; as if on cue, you clench, and you feel his cum drip out of you. Charlie lets out a quivering breath, licks over his bottom lip. “Oh, you’re perfect, you sweet girl. Let’s see how many orgasms you have for me, hmm?” And with that, he’s pressing his face back between your legs.

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