#((Me: * just chilling in a server. all is right with the world.* ))

[pinky-in-blankets]

I look at discord servers sometimes

And be like "man those sound like fun"

But alas. I have come to realize most discord servers can't house me.

Not that they are bad or anything

But because I'm like an Actual Rose and if the environment isn't perfect I hit the bricks because I take video game character levels of Damage.

[textmel8r]

HOLY RETRIBUTION. geto

(3.5k) non sorcerer bitches’ only use is to choke on pp or something like that

↝ cw . fem reader , reader def mentally unwell , extremely dubious consent , sadism , blow job , extreme degradation , cult leader geto , condom stays on because geto doesn’t wanna touch you lowly non sorcerer ew , facial , gagging , he legit almost kills reader with cock like,, chill girl

↝ an . this is so embarrassing guys im still taking time off but i was looking through my drafts and i wrote this so long ago for @inciseleviathan and i just never posted it so here are crumbs because you all are so nice to me. this is my first stand alone oneshot(n like first time i’ve ever written a sub reader…. i was shaking the entire time) + it was written so longgggg ago its so bad im sorry levi i suck butt at writing geto

↝ join my discord server! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Welcome, F/n L/n.”

You stand there, letting the heavy door to his room swing shut on its own. With a curt nod, you offer a gentle reply. “To be in your presence like this is an honor.”

Geto sits before you, spread-thigh and wide on his personal throne. A large, cushiony loveseat crafted from royal purple leather, its seams stitched in yellow twine. Resting an elbow on its arm, the man cradles his chin in the dip of a palm and regards you with an uninterested gaze. A stark contrast to the ways in which stars inhabit your eyes when you look toward him. Like you love him or something. Utterly pathetic. 

You move, bending a knee toward the ground, but Geto halts you. “Not yet.” So you rise back up to your feet. The obedience is appreciated; Geto enjoys this dynamic, holding the reins to your useless body. You’re the type to relinquish control in the face of high beings, he can practically smell the submission that permeated your aura. Geto smirks behind the fingers that cage his jaw. “So eager to sing praises.”

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, you nod. “To you? Of course.”

“So I’ve seen. Your latest donations have been entirely too generous.” Cheekily, he giggles. “Does my cause really mean that much to you? Or were you just hoping to catch my attention?”

“I am just a humble follower looking to support,” you reply, bowing your neck. “I don’t want my actions to be misconstrued, this hasn’t been some sort of attempt to get in closer with you. I swear it.”

The devotion is so potent, it sends his nose wrinkling. “Raise your head. I told you it’s not time to pay obeisances yet.” Your head snaps forth, Geto can see the lump get swallowed down your throat. The hand he held to his face drops, and up the man sits, straightening his shoulders. Widening himself in all the ways similar to a predator intimidating its prey. “You’re not a sorcerer.”

You avert your eyes, bearing the shame in all its glory. “That’s right.” 

“You’re not much of anything, are you?” Not much besides a wimpy money bag he could suck dry. 

Again, you wilt. “No, Master Geto.”

It’s unbearable, the way you crumple so easily. Geto expected more, expected a little banter. Maybe a sweet smile, like all the other women liked to flash him with. A lame attempt at flirtation, to be likely shrugged off without a hitch. But this? This is utterly pathetic. 

Geto’s grin is forged in desolate disgust, eyes lidded and neck craned forward. “Step forward, will you please?” That sullen face, he must see it up close. Such a familiar expression, depression carved into the permanent frown lines that hang near the corners of your chapped lips. He knows them too well. Knows the dark circles and the permanent pout. “Look at me, and tell me what’s been troubling you.”

You stand closer, before his throne with awkwardly stiff posture. He awaits your answer patiently, calmly, giving you time to take several wet, wavering breaths of courage. “Do you see room for someone like me in your ideal world?” The question quivers with diffidence, those fingers of yours clawing restlessly into the hem of your worn sweater. “Someone… Someone as…” You struggle to find the word. “Unusable as me?”

He bites his lower lip. He has to, to stave off the cacophony of cackles knocking at the back of his teeth. “Unusable?” From an objective standpoint, you are wholly purposeless in his blueprint for the new world. A non sorcerer would only serve to poison the bloodline, it would never work. So he lies: “Please mind your tone. I don’t appreciate you speaking about my most faithful and devout subscriber like that.”

There is a moment of disbelief that glints happily in your somber, little eyes. The ghost of a smile echoes against your lips, weary, like you refuse to let yourself relish in feeling good. “Do you mean that?” There is a lilt of desperation lacing your words, like you need them to be true for your life’s sake. 

“I mean everything I say.” Oh, the irony. “Put your worries to rest, my dear. Your Master will always find a place for you.”

“I’m��uhm, may I bow now?” You sniffle and—here come the sweet tears, collecting in glassy beads, pulling down your lower lashes. “I’d like to bow, please.”

Still smiling, Geto shifts in his comfortable seat. The wooden zori sandals on his feet scrape against the traditional wooden floorboards as he widens his thighs graciously. A vacant space between his open legs that he points to; “kneel.”

There is a handful of seconds you spend hesitating, but you comply. You always do. 

“You’ve come to worship.”

“Yes.”

Your head blooms up towards him, as if Geto was the very sun. He studies, finding a deranged eroticism in the way your cheeks glisten under the warm, golden light of his room lamps. They’re sodden with tears of gratitude; gratitude towards him. Geto touches himself, a hand flattened against his own hulking thigh. Rubbing down towards his knee, then back up near his hip. A subtle gesture indicating the change in mood. 

“You know how I accept reverence.” That roaming palm of his dips down to swipe along the inside of his thigh. “Show me your glory and your love.”

Fatigue thrives in your movements. Slow as molasses, you shimmy your sweater up your torso, then over your head. Your undershirt comes off next, and his nods. “Bra too.” Your glory. Your love. You look pained, but strip nonetheless, discarding the underwear to the pile of clothes behind you. Geto makes a pleased grunt, subjecting your bare chest to his own minute of silent examination. He lets you stew in a pit of humility, glancing away while he strokes his sensitive spots to your frigid nudity. “You’re gorgeous.”

Embarrassed and short, “thank you, Master Geto.”

“There has never been a non sorcerer as beautiful.”

You wither, curling deeper in on yourself. With what? Discomfort? Or maybe chagrin, Geto muses. For such a useless bitch, you had a decently quick mind. He has no doubts that you sense the bullshit he hawks with all this sentimental beautiful garbage, as if he doesn’t sell every spineless broad that line. “Thank you, Master Geto.”

You know this, and still you donate. Still, you come back to service him. 

Thick robes bunch up around the circumference of his waist. Geto’s erection was prominent, even though the bagginess of his bontan pants. It’s a visible hard-on, stiff and poking out towards you. He massages his rod through his clothes, still watching you. The way you sit there and take it, let him beat off to your pitiful tears because this is how he’s trained his members to properly worship… “You must enjoy this,” he poses, breathy. 

“I… do.” Hesitance again. 

“Don’t you?” Geto presses, constricting the clothed head of his cock in a bruising grip. “This is a privilege. This is sacred.” He reaches for his pocket, nabs the tin package and fishes it out. A condom—he expected this from you today. Ever the greedy slut, or so he’d make you feel like you were despite your apprehension. “You should be grateful to receive my love.”

“You don’t love me…”

Truthful, he could never love something as insignificant as you. But he’d never say that aloud. “I love you,” Geto lies so easily it nearly scares himself. He loves you, he loves the troubled non sorcerer who came to him yesterday, he loves the one that came the day before that, and so forth. The man splits golden foil with his teeth, plucking out the condom and tucking the litter back into his pocket. “I love you,” Geto reiterates, reaching into his pants and pulling his hardness out over the waistband. “I love you,” he says one more time, while holding himself firm in one hand, rolling a sheath onto himself with the other. It’s purple latex, strangulating his shaft all the way down to his pulsing balls. The appendage hangs heavy between his legs, and you gawk at its every minute twitch. 

“You…” You flounder, stumbling over words. “Are we g-going to have…?”

“Have sex?” You nod, and Geto casts a scornful gaze upon you. “And disrespect the sanctity of my clerical celibacy? I should bleed you for thinking something so ridiculous.” Geto took an oath, a vow of abstinence and truth be told, he upholds that vow. Though, perhaps it’s his aversion to touching ordinary people that is the reason he’s made good on his sacred promise thus far. He can’t stomach the idea of flesh to non sorcerer flesh. 

“I’m sorry. I just assumed, w-with the protection.”

Geto takes his dick, pumping slowly. “You understand my caution. I don’t want our skin to meet, it’s unnatural.” Still masturbating himself, he huffs, “Tell me you understand.”

You nod absentmindedly, maybe even a little hurt, he thinks. “I understand.”

Geto smiles kindly, puffing out a cute chuckle. “Good.” He shakes his cock, wags it around in your face like he’s teasing a puppy with a piece of meat. “Go on, then. Idolize me with your mouth.”

He doesn’t moan—Geto never moans when he gets licked by useless bitches. It’s unexcitable, your perturbed kitten licks, nervously laving around the crown of his cock head like you’re afraid it’ll grow teeth and bite back. Brilliantly ordinary, and his jaw tenses in sexual irritation. 

“I said to idolize me.” 

“I’m trying!” And there you go, crying again. He throbs at the lowly mess of tears and snot and humiliation you wallow in, jaw shivering in quiet sob. “I’m trying, I promise!”

“Maybe you really are unusable…” He mutters as though he hasn’t already come to that conclusion thirty minutes prior. “Cannot even lick right.”

You plummet into a deeper bow, clammy forehead sticking to the filthy ground at his feet. It’s an abhorrent sight to see, and he watches with stone-face stoicism as you grovel. “I’m sorry!” Your shoulders stutter with each cry wracking your lungs, “I’m sorry, Master!”

He lets you spill tears, watching and waiting with his cheek perched against his balled fist. For fuck’s sake, he curses himself for overestimating your brittle psyche. Had that morose little visage you wore not been so devastatingly provocative, so worth salivating over, he’d have given you the boot already. Finally, Geto yields, nudging the back of your skull with the sole of his sandal. “Sit up.”

As always, even in your worst states of mental stress, you abide by his words. His law. Bare chest presented to him again, and Geto sighs, pleased. You really were a sexy thing, all squishy and damp and so very sick. The struggle will be worth it. “Good,” he praises loosely, “good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, voice reduced to a wet, little whisper. 

Geto is quick to shake his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I can’t make you…” 

“Make me cum?”

You fluster at his bluntness, but nod sheepishly. “Not today.” Your eyes, they scamper to your top, forsaken to the floor. He sees the way you long to grab your sweater. “I don’t think I can today.”

“Today is as good a day as any.” Geto will not accept your retreat. Not now, not when his crotch yearns for the warmth of an esophagus. That plastic smile never wavers; it sticks to Geto’s lips like tar, mouth corners sharp as shards of glass. He cinched the muscles at his waist, his groin, and made his dick jump. It bobs, up and down and up, and the man sighs. “Can’t you see how it aches for you?”

You bear a grimace, looking past the swelling thing to regard Geto with empathetic eye contact. “It… Does it hurt?” 

“So much, I can barely stand it.” And the way you show your guilt so transparently has Geto’s intestines whirring. Because you wouldn’t do anything to cause pain to your Master. So sweet of you, honest. Still, he siphons your half assed consent by challenging that unshakable compassion within you. “Do you want me to hurt?”

“No,” the answer is abrupt, eager. “No, never.”

So easy. “Then you must wish to remain useless to me.” Geto laughs dryly. “That must be it, isn’t it?”

Distress oozes in the way you lunge forward, a shaky hand quickly finding purchase around the girth of him, and he sighs one more. “No,” you protest again, “no, no I’m sorry. We can do this today.” Lips purse against his cockhead; Geto lets you press your stupid kisses to him, even if the stimulation is hardly good enough to consider it worthwhile. 

“Settle down,” he commands gently, showering you in his pitying stare. “Do you need some help?”

“Yes, please, Master Geto.”

“Okay,” he softens to you. You’ll need every ounce of softness he decides to grant. He can feel that numbing chill torment his spine; despite the layers, Geto shivers with the weight of the chill. It’s a customary routine that has been written into his genetic code—to summon a curse was as easy as breathing. It’s an ugly thing, dispelling into the air, levitating above your crown like a fucked up halo. Vivid hues of sickly greens and oceanic blues meshed together in an amorphous, amalgamated fish-like curse. It blinks at him with one large, bloodshot eye, begging to be manipulated. 

“Take a deep breath, and put me in your mouth.”

The trust you’ve invested into Geto must be researched. You complete his every whim, inhaling a gulp of oxygen before ducking down to take his thick head. It sits in your mouth, against the plate of your twitchy tongue, bracing for something to happen. Geto has you right where he needs you.

The curse sinks through the atmosphere, plummets down to latch onto the nape of your delicate neck. You don’t miss its noticeable weight, and your eyes widen comically as your skull begins the slow descent down his shaft. He feels the tip of himself prod the webby back of your mouth; you feel it as well, lurching upwards with a strangled gag. 

He doesn’t feel sympathy. He doesn’t feel much of anything towards you besides twisted lechery, seeking rapture in every excruciating retch you shed on the impalement. It sickens him—when had he begun to seek release over women’s tears like this? At what point in his miserable existence did sex become a syrupy conduit to sadism? 

“Do not vomit on me.”

Nails bleed into the meat of his shins. You clutch at them, scratching for mercy through a layer of cotton. Another disgusting gag vibrates his dick when your chin meets his balls. He breathes ragged, uneven breaths, watching with parted lips as his cursed spirit forces your nose into the wiry tuft of his pubic bush. 

Visceral revulsion stickies Geto’s mouth. Your skin, your drool, it touches him. Rivulets of saliva and tears and sweat collect in the pit of his groin. “My love is in your throat.” The mess is hard to overlook, but Goddamn it, he can’t focus on anything past his own pleasure. A malevolent smirk is what Geto wears as he hunches forward. Chest heaving from over your head. “You’re turning blue.”

He giggles in excitement like a school boy, fixating on your struggle. Poor nostrils flared, and the frenzied inhaling tickles his sopping pubic bone. The claws in his legs grew weaker, your pupils rolling backwards and—oh no.

“Hey.” He lifts his hips, a quick and sharp thrust that knocks the consciousness back into your stupid brain. You choke violently, windpipe seizing so fucking nicely around him. “Hey. Wake up.”

Unintelligent babble fizzles out of you, and along with that, more globs of soapy spit. You’ve been shoved down for so deep, for so long, that Geto could actually get charged with battery assault. Or perhaps animal cruelty is more fitting for such a situation. As much as having your neck bulge like this really, really turns him on, Geto also needs you alive. Needs your income, your impressive donations. 

 “I’m ready to finish.” You must be so relieved, because you burst into tearful nods. “Let me have my way with you for a minute longer. That’s all I need.”

The cockwarming was a good preemptive to get the juices building, but Geto needs more to grab onto that climax. He needs more noises, and more struggling. He needs that repetitive back-and-forth of plunging a hole, the primal motion of pumping and pumping and pumping until he explodes. Leaning back and getting comfortable, Geto hoists his bulky thighs up and slides them onto the shelves of your bare shoulders. The angle is orgasmic like this, perfect trajectory to carve into the innermost core of your throat. Geto digs the heels of his stiff shoes into your upper back, and now, he points two lazy fingers towards the curse. A signal.

It grips your head, slimy body leeching between hair follicles, sucking onto your scalp. No warning permitted, the thing begins to oscillate in sporadic up-and-down movement. “Yes,” he cracks, infatuated by such a flawless display of submission. Your head gets bounced in his lap, mouth teeming with man and just giving in. Every single jolt and gasp and gag and sob and sniffle makes him preen, ass lifting to meet your vigorous throat with rough humps. “Fuck. I’m…”

It was a hasty in-the-moment decision when Geto exploits his curse, using it as a vestige for his impatient hands. The fish rips you from his cock, and you scramble to take in a glutinous gasp of spit-soaked fresh air. He’s on the edge, toeing the line of his orgasm, and in his lust, he kicks you back to the floor with his foot to your chestplate. Drained and malleable, dumb from his meat, you fall. Tits bouncing sluttily on your strident impact, and Geto wants to spank them ‘till they bruise. 

He’s already doused in you. Your saliva coats him like a second layer of skin, soaking his pubes so grotesquely that he feels compelled to reciprocate. His knees slam down hard enough to creak the floorboards, bracketing your head as it lolls back limply. “You impressed me,” Geto murmurs, swallowing his repulsion to wade his fingers through your DNA as he strips that futile tube of latex from his erection. He splats it lusciously against your forehead where it lays almost as useless as you. “I’d be a fool to question your loyalties after that display."

“Ngh…” It’s a small chirp, a barely-there sign that you’re still alive. He coos, sitting upright to kneel above your fucked-out skull.

“I thought I was going to dislocate your jaw,” Geto laughs breathlessly. You don’t return his laughter. He masturbates himself, one hand stroking your spit down his length in rough tugs, the other resting below to palm his sack. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t reply. Hell, you barely move. That’s alright, Geto enjoys this visual all the same. He’s fucking his fist, choking out stuttered breaths, aiming himself inches away from your wet face. “I accept your reverence,” he pants, “this is your purpose. This is what you m-mean to me.”

Your purpose in his new world is no greater than a Kleenex. A rag for him to spend his seed on and then toss behind the bed. He cums with an obscene groan, thumb pushing down on his throbbing tip to funnel gooey semen into the sliver of openness between your dry lips. Geto’s jaw hangs for the entirety of his orgasm, massaging out every last drop of his essence to feed you. It spurts, some whipping out over your cheek, down your chin, into your nostril. You whine in exhaustion, not even trying to combat the cock spraying your face. He bites his lip. 

“This is what you wanted, right?”

“...”

He shakes himself off, harvesting one last drip of cum that splashes against your upper lip, before tucking his ruined, slimy prick back into his pants. The urge to bathe bored into him; he was never a fan of that sticky post-sex grime, especially not a non sorcerer’s grime. “Well, this is what I wanted.” Geto stands in a smooth motion, despite his trembling thighs protesting. He cringes at the way his dick sticks to the fabric of his briefs. 

“A-Are you l-leaving?” You ask, still lying unmoving in a puddle of fluids, shivering against the cold wood. Your words come out croaky and soft, and Geto suspects he might’ve bruised your voice box.

“I am.” You flinch at his shortness. “You should clean yourself up.”

And then he leaves, sliding the door to his room shut. Geto could’ve stayed. He could’ve found a towel somewhere around the estate, he could’ve held you in his lap and stroked your hair and wiped away the remnants of his orgasm from your ruddy cheeks. But why would he waste his time? None of that bullshit will change the fact that, aftercare or not, you’ll still come to him at the same time next week for your holy retribution.

You’re addicted to receiving his love, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bluesidez]

Hi I saw your req open and I flew here ehe-

Hear me out please 😭

Miguel is a geneticist (someone who works around denetics) and sometimes he doesn't understand the programs that he 'made' and Lyla has to help him. That makes Peter B. and the spider-teens very suspicious of him.

What's even more suspicious is that once a month he leaves the Spider HQ to who-knows-where.

After some stalking investigating, they find out that every time that he leaves; he goes to a park to meet [Reader], that is the one who helped with all the tech he has at HQ.

When he returns the next day, he is confronted about it and explains that [Reader] is an old friend and he trusts them with the Multiverse secret. However Peter B. and the others obviously saw the mutual attraction between both of them so they help out Miguel confess to [Reader].

Fluff + a little suggestive with Gn Reader please ^^

Anyway drink lots of water and keep yourself healthy!! ❤❤

[Undercover Lover]

lab tester: @hikaru-sama 🩻

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: Miguel is willing to stop the world for you, you just want to be the small part of his world that makes it better.

content warning: fluff, longing from reader and Miguel, the spider-teens are all menaces (as in they all have chismosavirus), Peter is Peter, a little suggestive but nothing crazy, I also made Miguel’s relationship with the teens pretty adorable (Papa Miggy 🥺)

word count: 5.8k, halfway proofread (don't ask...)

a/n: This request is not outlandish in any way, btw. It's very cute! I hope you don’t mind that I added a little extra to the programming aspect. THANK YOU TO THE MIGGY SERVER FOR YOUR HELP AS ALWAYS! I have been wallowing in the chats for who knows how long. I thought it would be cute and funny. Also, I've been doing better with my water intake! I hope you're proud. 🥺

Miguel blew out a tired breath, eyes blurry after staring at the same set of files all day.

“Lyla, could you replay the scan from this morning?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

Miguel frowned as his eyes panned to the flickering yellow glow, “Are we doing this right now?”

“Doing what?” Lyla posed with her head tilted in her hand.

“Lyla. Replay the scan from Earth 450-”

“Here’s what I found on scams on 4chan.”

“I said scans not scams- what are you talking about? And what is 4chan?”

Lyla switched to a pose that mimicked The Thinker, her heart-shaped glasses morphing into ones made of stone.

Miguel shifted his weight to one side, hands on his hips as he watched Lyla float around his desk.

“Pull up the LYrate Lifeform Approximation code.”

Lyla snickers, glasses shifting to match the marks of a clown’s face, “You don’t know how to work that, buddy.”

“I didn’t ask you to tell me that, I asked you to-”

Lyla opens the file before he can finish his spiel.

“Now, what?” Lyla whispers with glee. “Gonna hack into the motherboard? Break down the firewall?”

Miguel ignored her and read through the constant formulas, coding that he's never even seen before becoming longer and longer.

Lyla popped up right in his peripheral view, pulling out one of the smaller codes to highlight, “What’s this one mean?”

Miguel squints at the line, “Something about how you respond to tone?”

“It’s my hair color,” Lyla’s voice is high and giggly like she was anticipating his completely wrong answers. “What about this one?”

“I, I don’t know. Your jacket?”

“Voice modulator,” the code danced around him as Lyla switched her voice to something of an old Hollywood star. “You’re not very good at this, tuts.”

Miguel felt a strange chill as Lyla walked around with a long white dress instead of a jacket and her brown hair in curls falling down her back. She laughed at him some more as she pulled her now, thick-rimmed triangle-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Lyla-”

Miguel’s watch jolted, a notification blaring at him. He answered with haste, mind frantic.

“Miguel? Is something up with Lyla, because I asked her to find this Mysterio’s dimension, and she started playing some wrestler’s theme song instead,” Jess huffed, throwing the villain's body over the back of her motorcycle. “Now, he won’t stop singing it.”

Miguel felt his head start to pound, “Something’s going on with her. She’s not functioning at her normal state.”

“You’re never functioning at a normal state,” Lyla sighed dramatically, arm over her head with wind blowing around her. “Always so tense!”

“Oh my god?” Jess’s eyes went wide as she took in the Lyla at Miguel’s side. “Why does she sound like that?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m shutting her down until I can fix it. Just send the Mysterio back here.”

“You can’t turn me off, Miggy! Don’t you want me to sing for you?”

“Yeah, hurry up and log her off. She’s freaking me out.” Jess ended the call with a disgusted face.

With her gone, the room was filled with Miguel’s thoughts and Lyla humming and brushing her hair in a vintage mirror, something she would have never cared to do on a regular day.

Looking at the lines of coding in front of him, there was no way he was going to find what was happening.

He reached across his desk to a new screen, searching for a certain folder. Miguel laughed to himself as he read the title.

Don’t open unless it’s ABSOLUTELY crucial to your health…and well-being. .3.

Miguel would consider this a crisis.

He tapped the folder, watching as a sprout of several different colors surrounded him. He shifted it through the lights, some of them being pictures of you and him, some of them being animated GIFs of cats, and others being helpful guides to small technological problems. He kept searching until he found a yellow tab that read “LYLA? LIGHTS OUT!”

With one click, Lyla went from twirling and singing in heels to being dormant, gone to the Spider Society. Letting out the breath he was holding, he shifted the files back into the folder and geared up to make the announcement.

“Attention Spiders,” Miguel held his watch up to his mouth. “Lyla will be down for maintenance for a couple of hours.”

He could hear the collective groan from the society all the way in his office.

“And I will try my best to get her up and running for future missions. Until then, please send any anomalies directly to Margo and stick to local crimes as well as protecting your respective neighborhoods.”

As soon as he ended the announcement, Margo was flooding his watch with back-to-back memes. Miguel remained confused watching a little girl in a cowboy hat complain to her grandpa while he dismissed her.

“I can send someone else down there to help you.”

“no because if anyone breaks my tech, it’s coming out of YOUR 🫵🏾 paycheck”

“Everything comes out of my paycheck.”

“whatever dad”

“?”

Perturbed, but not wanting to waste any more time, Miguel locked his office and called your number.

Two rings and you were picking up the phone.

“Hey, Spider-ider!”

“Hi,” Miguel refused to admit how the nickname sounded cute coming from you. “I need your help with something.”

“No ‘How are you?’ or ‘Sorry I haven’t checked on you in forever.’ Just straight to business, huh?”

“Sorry,” Miguel collected himself. “How are things? Did you manage to get the job with that tech company?”

“Why, thank you for asking, Miguel! I’m pretty good. Things are different! I did end up getting that job, but the manager is eerily creepy, so I’m trying my best to pile up the meanest HR case or try to wiggle my way into a new department. So far, the former is slowly but surely working, not sure if my sanity can take much more. How are you?”

Miguel's eyebrows shifted a bit, “You know you can just call for my help if anything goes wrong, right?”

“Miguel, you’re protecting so many people. More than I can even fathom, actually. I’m not going to ask you to stop to check on me.”

You should. He’d drop everything.

“It wouldn’t take much from my end, I could just-”

“Miguel.”

He bit his cheek, knowing you wanted to move the conversation along.

“How are you?” you asked again, tone back to normal.

“I’m neutral. Same thing as always. Now, it’s just that Lyla was really unbearable today.”

“Unbearable how?”

Miguel went into every detail, pulling in some last-minute reports from other Spiders that managed to use her before he shut her down.

“So you’re telling me she glitched out, wore an alligator head, and integrated ‘Flat Fuck Friday’ into every conversation?”

“Well, that was just one of the many cases. Is that, is that all you heard?”

“No, I got it,” you fixed your face to try and hold back your laugh. “It sounds like she hit her funny bone.”

Miguel looked up at the ceiling and back at you, “This is serious.”

“And I’m being as serious as I can be!”

“She’s causing all of this trouble because of a funny bone.”

You laugh at Miguel’s deadpan tone, “Ok, so technically it’s called a laughing virus. It’s been hitting a lot of major search engines for some reason, but Lyla is the closest to human-like AI there is, so it’s a funny bone!”

“As stupid as that is, I need your help to come fix it.”

“Aw, you need me to come check your work?”

Miguel avoided your gaze, “There is no work. I couldn’t tell one line from the next.”

“But Miguel, you were doing so good last time. What happened?”

“I-I don’t know, I thought I had one right but I mixed up tones with shades.”

“That’s still on the same playing field, so you got something right! That’s good progress, Miguel.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t do anything crazy, although you’ll probably just loom over the desk dramatically.”

Miguel opened his mouth to rebuttal but you already ended the call with a laugh.

With truly nothing but his thoughts, he hurried to clean his space. There were a few loose wires and an empty box from the cafeteria scattered around.

By the time you were tapping the code into his office door, his platform was back on the ground and he’d just swept up some dust that managed to build in the corner of the room.

“Don’t clean up now just because I’m here,” you watched as his shoulders jumped a bit at your voice.

“I’m not,” Miguel huffs and sets the broom against the wall.

“Sure.”

Miguel comes closer to you with his hands on his hips.

You were probably the main reason that Lyla was the way she was, sarcastic and immature.

The only difference was Miguel could mute Lyla or switch modes for some peace. For you? It was non-stop. The only way he knew how to get you to stop was a method that’s been crowding his dreams ever since he met you.

He saw your lips moving at a mile per minute, but nothing was really reaching his ears.

They looked so soft, so perfect. He wondered if he should just let the society function on its own for just a few more hours.

“Miguel!” You waved your hands in front of him. “Lyla being down has really stressed you out, huh? You’re unfocused.”

He cleared his throat, “I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, let’s get to it!”

Miguel moved so you could walk to his desk, heart racing.

Whatever it was you were about to try to teach him wasn’t going to stick. He just knew it.

“Hey, Miguel! You know, I was wondering if we could implement some type of spider-baby daycare? MJ is pretty busy these days,” Peter strided into Miguel’s office with a wiggly Mayday strapped to his chest.

The platform was down, but the serious figure was nowhere to be found.

“Miguel?”

Peter tried to feel him out, but there’s no way anyone could miss Miguel in plain sight.

“Hm,” Peter put two fingers out for Mayday grab. She squealed glee, taking one finger to chew on. “If I were a Miguel, where would I be?”

He pondered through the halls, eventually finding himself at the entrance of the cafeteria. Mayday looked up almost as if she was disappointed.

“I need fuel to think!”

Peter ran down the line grabbing his usual: a 2099 burger, a large fry, and a medium cola, he’s dieting!

At the end of the line, a familiar voice called his name.

“Hey, kiddo! How’s it going?” Peter made his way to the table occupied by the younger spider crew.

Miles squinted at him, “Not a kid, but it’s going good! Have you seen Miguel? He was supposed to be training me an hour ago, but he’s not answering his watch.”

“Funny that you say that,” Peter stuffed his mouth with a handful of fries. “Went to his office and he wasn’t there.”

“What is with him and disappearing lately? It’s not like him,” Gwen mumbled. “I was supposed to report to him not too long ago and he wasn’t here.”

“Time is an enigma,” Hobie was tuning his guitar. “Glad he’s finally taking advantage of it instead of chatting about doomsday.”

“True, but he missed part of the big party we planned three months ago, too,” Pavitr supplied.

The table stopped and stared at Pav with various deadpan looks.

“What? He promised he’d try my special dish! He never breaks our promises.”

“He did pile a load of work on me when Lyla broke. Usually, he would come down and help me, but he said he was busy fixing her,” Margo turned to Peter.

The table sat and pondered for just a second then the teens started spouting out nonsense.

“He’s retiring!”

“He’s going to give HQ up.”

“He’s not going to another universe again, right?”

“He’s finally taking breaks.”

“He’s dying!”

Again, the table stopped to look at Pavitr.

“False alarm?”

“Look,” Peter held his hands up. “I don’t think it’s any of that.”

“What makes you so sure?” Gwen sounded nervous.

“Uh, he would tell me!”

Miles snickered at that which caused Mayday to fall into a fit of laughter.

“What? He’s told me things before. We’re buddies!”

“And where is your so-called buddy right now?” Margo folded her arms.

“Touche,” Peter took a giant slurp of his drink, cupping a hand under it to make sure nothing dripped on Mayday’s head. “But don’t you have a way to find him?”

“The Grumpy GPS? Yeah, but I’ve never used it because he’s always here,” Margo sighs.

“How about the next time he disappears, you let us know?” Gwen suggested.

“Love it,” Hobie fist bumps Gwen.

Miles scratched his neck, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Says the guy that snuck into the Spider Society,” Pavitr shook his head.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Gwen raised her eyebrow. “Margo is on Miguel-duty. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, right guys?”

Everyone nodded their head in determination.

Peter smiled. He’s still got this mentor thing down!

Margo was down near the Go-Home-Machine running Style Savvy through an emulator.

“That is so ugly,” she sang as she watched another contestant’s outfit go down the runway.

Her judging was interrupted by a dancing cartoon spider with bushy eyebrows.

She paused the game and stretched her arms to the other side of the room to give everyone a call, “Mission ‘Where is the Old Man?’ is up and running. The Grumpy GPS has been added to you guys’ gizmos. I’ve got everything ready to hack.”

“It sounds like we’re doing a lot more than tracking,” Hobie mumbled.

“But what if he actually is dying?” Gwen was lacing up her ballet shoes tight. “He would tell us, right?”

“Oh, but when I said that, it sounded crazy,” Pavitr pulled his mask down. “The double standards are appalling.”

“He could be just avoiding us. Can’t say it hasn’t happened before,” Miles’ voice was low and testy.

“He wasn’t avoiding you, Miles, he was just…projecting,” Gwen said matter-of-factly.

“Are we back on this? Sending the entire society after me is projecting. Missing our training sessions that he set up multiple times? That’s just foul.”

Gwen and Miles went back and forth, fussing over little things.

“They’re bickering again. How cute,” Pavitr stage-whispered.

“1 mission on Miles winning?” Hobie asked.

Pavitr thought for a second, “Deal.”

“You’ll probably be the most upset if he really is sick,” Gwen comments.

“Says who? I’m not worried,” Miles zipped up his jacket halfway.

“Then why are you bouncing around like that, Miles.”

Hobie sighed while Pavitr cheered.

“If you guys are done, Miguel’s moving on foot heading down 5th. I pinned a checkpoint,” Margo sent the coordinates to their watches.

“Time to go see if big man’s a killer,” Hobie yawned. “Or not.”

Peter felt the ground shake under him, hair rising on the back of his neck. His senses were screaming at him to turn around.

The thing is, if he turned around, he'd lose track on Miguel who was currently inside of the very building he was standing on top of.

The shaking grew, pebbles and vent plates rattling around him, then everything fell back into place.

One, two, thre, four pairs of feet hit the ground.

“Where’s Margo?” Peter asked, eyes not leaving the ground under him.

“In our ears singing,” Gwen groaned. “Where’s Mayday?”

“Enjoying a lovely Mommy-Daughter date with MJ and her girlfriends. Glad to have you all join me.”

“How’d you know he was going to be here?” Hobie crossed his arms.

“Like I said, buddies!”

“You waited outside of his office, didn’t you?” Pavitr pointed his finger at Peter.

Peter turned around with an offended face, “Details-schmetails!”

“Well, do you have any idea what he’s up to now?” Gwen put a hand on her hip.

“Well, we’re on the roof of an apartment, super expensive might I add, and I’m assuming his apartment is here. So maybe he’s just getting a nap in.”

“He’s on the move,” Margo’s voice buzzed through all of the teens' ears and they ran to the edge of the building, practically pushing Peter to the side.

“He’s wearing normal clothes for once,” Gwen’s voice was shocked.

“His trousers are quite nice,” Hobie nodded as if he was looking at a magazine.

“It’s so…weird,” Miles shuddered. “I’ve never seen him in anything else but his suit.”

“He wore a nice button-down to my Zoom celebration once,” Margo hummed.

“Guys?” Pavitr’s voice went high. “Where’s Peter?”

The three of them turned around to see a missing pink-robed Spider.

“Oh, come on!” Miles jumped from the roof to the next one, following the pink fluff. Miguel was walking fast on the sidewalk and Peter was keeping his trail from up high.

“Really, Peter?” Gwen swung alongside the two with the rest right on their tails. “Some mentor you are.”

“I’m a great teacher! You’re all catching on quite well,” Peter swung lower as Miguel crossed the street.

Colors flew across the sky, contrasting with the constant grays and small specs of green of Nueva York. Scaling from building to building was a lot easier with flying cars added to the mix, but it was a little odd to see wobbling vehicles every now and then.

“I think you guys should slow it down. His pace changed,” Margo noted. “He’s stopping at…a park? Didn’t know they still had those here.”

With a sturdy pull, Miles used his web to stop Peeter from running any further and the now quintet landed on the ground a safe distance from the park.

“A little dreary for a park, innit?” One eye on Hobie’s mask went higher than the other.

From where they were hiding, steel statues stood tall, tufts of greenery growing up the structure. There was more pavement than grass and the walkways contained several dips and turns.

“I think there’s some flare to it,” Miles countered. “Could use a lot more color.”

They quieted down as they watched Miguel find an empty bench. He sat down and started to rub his hands against his pants. He sat for a minute or so before he checked his watch and his leg started to bounce.

“Is he waiting on someone?” Gwen whispered.

“Oh, I wonder who it could be?” Pav whispered back.

“Why are you guys whispering?” Margo paused her side mission of trying to find any security cameras in the area.

“Doesn’t he have super-hearing?” Miles asked.

“Over this much noise?” Hobie brought the talking level back to normal. “If he doesn’t suspect us of following him, there’s no need for him to focus on us.”

After about five minutes of watching and making a game out of how many times can Miguel check his clothes, with Peter mumbling about how the pants aren’t going to get any looser with those thighs, everyone holds their breath as they watch someone take a seat next to him.

Miguel’s entire demeanor changed.

His face lit up, his back straightened, and the tension from his body fell.

“No way,” Pavitr whispered excitedly. “Guys!”

“What’s going on? I still can’t get into the security cams,” Margo’s voice was impatient.

“Miguel…has a partner?” Gwen tilted her head watching the two react. The mystery person got up to hug Miguel as he sat on the bench. He hesitated a bit, fingers twitching awkwardly before he hugged them back. “Or not.”

“If one of you could get closer, I could pitch the sound to everyone. And, I could see!”

Everyone turned to Miles.

“Why is everybody looking at me?”

“You can turn invisible, genius,” Gwen said.

He just sighed and faded from head to toe.

“How’s it going Spidey?” you lean back from your hug to look down at him. Your hands rub his shoulders. “You look nice today.”

Miguel averted his eyes, “You’re not supposed to call me that-”

“Outside of HQ or our phone calls. I know, I know. Seriously though, why are you so dressed up today? Got a hot date waiting?”

Miguel tilted his head, “Do I really look nice?”

The shirt he was wearing was barely hiding anything, any tighter and it would have been considered a muscle tee. It was tucked into some slacks with a belt that made his tiny waist even smaller. The pants hugged his thighs just enough.

“Yeah!” More than he could imagine.

“Thanks,” he smiled a bit. “There’s no hot date. Just wearing something casual.”

Your shoulders lifted at the words.

“Cool, cool.”

“You look nice, as well.”

“Really?” you looked down at your last-minute outfit. Some gray joggers you found at a thrift store and a hoodie you’re almost certain has a random bleach stain somewhere on the back. “You’re digging the midnight chic?”

“Midnight chic?”

“Yeah, an outfit you wear when going out for a snack in the middle of the night.”

Miguel pursed his lips, “It looks soft. Comfortable.”

You involuntarily gripped your bag tighter, watching Miguel’s eyes roam you from the neck down.

Lately, he’s been saying things that make your stomach flutter, from being willing to beat up your boss to fussing at you for running errands so late to remembering small details from months ago.

Only recently has his eyes began to wander. He doesn’t catch on as fast when you explain things to him. You’ve caught him staring at you while you’re looking at other things. His smile lingered a little longer. His hands were a lot more careful. Sometimes, he’d tense up when you touched him.

It was all so confusing and the feelings you’ve pushed down for years have crawled their way back up, waiting at the back of your tongue to be announced.

Still, you were just here to help him for as long as he needed you. Nothing more, nothing less.

You cleared your throat, “Okay so, you said you needed help with…Excel?”

��Mm hm,” Miguel nodded and locked his eyes back on your face.

You pulled your laptop, turning up the brightness so that the scenery wouldn’t shoot straight through the transparent device.

“So, this program is like, extremely old.”

“I know, but it's a middle ground for all of the Spiders. Anything newer would be too much for about a fourth of them and anything older would take ages for anyone to complete.”

“Got it,” you inch close enough to Miguel for his cologne to dance around you. He leaned closer to squint at your laptop and you had to will your hands to not shake like jelly. “So, the program is actually pretty simple. You just enter formulas, charts, numbers, or information in these boxes. There’s a lot more manual work than we’re used to, but it won’t take much to get used to.”

You walked Miguel through everything you’ve taught yourself over the past few days. Having him put in formulas and waiting for the result.

“Like this?”

“Almost! You’re missing a letter here.”

“Can you go over it again?”

Miguel's hands would hover over the keyboard, eyes focused and nose scrunched. Sometimes you would fight the screaming in your head and place your hands over his, helping him punch certain numbers in.

“Miguel, I think you’re messing with me. We’ve repeated this same thing on four other sheets now. I know you’re smarter than that.”

He poked his tongue in his cheek, “I’m just quadruple checking. Gotta teach this to some older people.”

“Fine,” you snort. “One more time and then I have to get ready to go.”

“Already?” Miguel turned to you. “I thought you didn’t have to be somewhere until this evening.”

“I don’t, but I can’t go looking like this. You spent 30 minutes arguing with me about the interface. Don’t you have to go back to HQ soon?”

“No.”

There was a noise behind you. You turn around to see nothing but a curved wall embedded with vines.

You put your heart to your chest, “God, I thought that was a reporter or something. Just the wind I suppose.”

Miguel’s eyes stayed planted on the empty space, “On second thought, let me walk you there. Don’t want any surprises.”

“So you don’t need me to go over this for the fifth time?”

“Nope,” Miguel grinned down at you. “I got it the first time, actually.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh as you hit his arm. He doesn’t even flinch. “You’re such a jerk.”

He looked around and got behind you to squat down, tapping on his gizmo. You could only hide so much of him. “Would a jerk swing you to your apartment?”

You look up at him equipped with his mask.

“He probably would, actually.”

“Aw,” Miguel said, red marks for eyes holding so much sadness. “Oh well.”

You yell as he yanks you up by the waist and shoots his web up to the nearest flying car.

“Miles! You almost screwed us over!” Margo did her best to wipe their trace.

“I panicked!” Miles tried to explain himself as he ran on the windows of a skyscraper.

“For what?” Gwen flipped as she connected from one structure to the next. “It was so clear that he meant that he wanted to be with whoever that was, not because he wants to quit HQ.”

“Seeing him like that feels like we met a new man,” Hobie said. His boots were light in the air. “Don’t like it.”

“You say that like he doesn’t let you get away with everything,” Pavitr said.

“Like what?”

“Like giving away food to the street cleaners.”

“Or like pasting your band stickers everywhere.”

“Or painting an ACAB mural.”

“To be fair, Miguel aligns with every single one of those things,” Hobie shrugged.

“This is great and all, but talk about a major fail,” Peter sighed. “He clearly needs a wingman.”

“I thought he did pretty good!” Miles said.

The rest of the group made a range of judging noises.

“His game definitely needs some work and he’s already on his way back to HQ, so hurry it up, guys. We need to hustle and huddle.”

Miguel was at his dock again, preparing to go check out the anomalies of the week. 

He was back doing the thing that distracted him most: thinking about you. 

Yesterday only confirmed what he’s been thinking about ever since you opened your mouth. 

He’s absolutely infatuated with you. 

At first, he thought it was a fluke, a blip in his timeline. No matter how many times your jokes made him chuckle or your smile brought him warmth, he wasn’t going to lean into it. 

But then, you called him one night and your voice brought him back from the darkness that was consuming him. Stories of your life, an exchange of nostalgia, a whisper of hope for the future, and the confirmation that he was more than the error in time that he thought he was. 

You’re something that he more than adored. 

And yet, he still hasn’t figured out how to tell you. 

He wanted more than the monthly meetups to refresh his memory on the stupid tech that kept this building running. 

Truthfully, he could call Gabriel, or worst case scenario, Xina for help, but every time he got a chance it was your name that crossed his mind. 

Miguel sighed as he started to shut some tabs down. 

“Spiders incoming,” Lyla popped up to inform him. 

Miguel saw the gaggle of teens plus Peter walking to his office. 

“Here we go,” he grumbled. 

“Turn that frown upside-down! Company is always good,” Lyla said. 

Before Peter can open his mouth Miguel is beating him to it. 

“What do you want?”

“Ouch!” Peter laughed. “Not up for a bit of family bonding time?”

“Not with you.”

“Oh c’mon, Miguel,” Peter inches forward as Miguel’s platform comes down. “Hear us out.”

“Make it quick.”

The teens all stared at Peter who looked back and forth between them. 

“Do any of you not know what the word ‘quick’ means?” Miguel asked with irritation lining his voice. 

“Well,” Miles started. 

“You see, we were thinking that you might need some help,” Gwen finishes. 

Miguel crossed his arms, “Help with what.”

“Your sad flirting,” Hobie says. 

“What?”

“You know,” Peter puts his arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “You need a wingman!”

Miguel’s frown grew deeper, “What are you talking about? Did you guys spy on me?”

Six voices overloaded Miguel’s eardrums, all explaining their part of some convoluted scheme. 

“Alright, alight! Quiet!” Miguel holds his hands out. “Margo!”

Miguel pinned his eyes to her with his eyebrows pinched. 

She danced from foot to foot, face scrunched, “We just! We were worried about you so we followed you and saw you making googly eyes at someone!” The words spilled out of her like water. 

Everyone but Hobie looked at Margo incredulously. 

“What?” she whined. “He was giving me his disappointed look. The disappointment was torturing me!”

Miguel turned and paced, pinching his nose as he whispered to himself. 

“Miguel, they could help you!” Lyla said cheerfully. “You’ve only been crushing on them for what…multiple years?”

“Lyla!”

“Multiple years? No wonder you’re always so tense. That’s pretty sad, bro,” Pavitr hummed. 

Miguel pointed his finger, “Don’t bro me.”

“Still seeking authority in his moment of weakness. Something’s got to give,” Hobie went to lean on a wall. 

“We really thought something terrible was going on,” Miles’ shoulders drop. “You also go M.I.A. whenever you have a problem.”

“We just wanted to help,” Gwen supplied. 

“Hey man, don’t blame the kids for this one, alright?” Peter’s voice lowered so only the two of them could hear it, albeit a bit useless in a room full of power-holding teens. “Say the word and we’ll stay out of it, but the kids deserve to know why you were canceling on them at least.”

Miguel looked at Peter with an exasperated face before looking at the teens, three of which looked like they were about to cry. 

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a deep breath, “I’m not sick.”

“But lovesick?” Margo asked. 

He gave her a tired look, “Yes.”

“Well why not say that instead of just disappearing?”

“They’re the one who helped make the tech for this society. Without them, there would be no updated gizmos, no updated Lyla, no new ideas. Every time I left it was to…get insight on something here. To fix broken tech.”

“And to stare in their face,” Pavitr snickered. 

Miguel panned his eyes to the floor, too embarrassed to admit it. 

“What’s the hold up in telling them how you feel?” Peter asked. “There’s no time like the present.”

“Don’t tell me yesterday was an example of what happens when you try to confess?” Gwen’s face twisted up, teeth clenched in second-hand embarrassment. 

Miguel’s silence was enough of an answer. 

“Tío,” Miles closed his eyes then looked back up dramatically with his hands out. “¡Vamo’! Sácale, llévale al cine.”

Lyla put a spotlight on Miles and held a microphone out to him while Miguel groaned. 

“Cómprale, un ramo de flores!”

“Ya no puédo mas,” Miguel swiped through the holographic mic. “Eso no va a funcionar.”

Miles slumped, “But how do you know? You haven’t even tried! Bañate, junto con el-”

“Don’t finish that song, Miles,” Miguel’s fingers went to his temples. 

“You should really listen to the lyrics-”

“Why don’t we help you win them over?” Margo stood in between the two, ending the squabble. “It’s clear that they seem to like you too.”

Miguel's eyes went softer staring at Margo’s pleading face, “How do you know?”

“We quite literally saw it,” Hobie spoke as if Miguel lost his mind. “No one ever talks to you that sweet.”

The teens all nodded their head in unison and Peter did a horrible job at hiding his laugh. 

Hobie wasn’t done, “Don’t let someone like that slip through your fingers.”

Miguel was at the park again, dressed up even more than last time. An open navy button-down was tucked into his pants, his slacks were dark gray, and he had on one of the more expensive pairs of dress shoes he owned. A chain he borrowed from Gabriel adorned his neck and he let his hair natural and loose for once. 

Under Miles’ advice, he did buy some flowers. Hobie told him to remain calm, Gwen told him to just talk, Pavitr gave him a bullet point list of what and what not to do, and Margo told him that he was the best no matter how the confession turned out.

Peter went on and on about the importance of love and relationships but Miguel was never inclined to listen to him. He did keep the comment about letting you know how much he means to you to heart, though.

He was so in his own thoughts when you showed up in front of him that he didn’t even notice you at first.

He jumped when you tapped his shoulder.

“Woah, it’s just me. And you’re super dressed up today. What’s the occasion? I’m not taking ‘casual’ for an answer this time.”

Miguel swallowed dryly, grip on the bouquet of cool-toned flowers almost enough to wilt the stems.

“Flowers?” your eyes went to his hand.

“Yeah, um.”

Just breathe, Miguel!

Margo’s perky reminders sounded off in Miguel’s head.

“I brought them for you,” Miguel placed them in your hands.

“Oh!” your face lit up. “These are beautiful. Thank you so much. I didn’t get you anything, though. I didn’t know we were bringing gifts today.”

“No need. I wanted to get them because,” Miguel felt his throat closing in. “I really, really like you.”

The smile on your face dropped as you stared at him.

“It’s been particularly hard over the past years to try to focus without you running through my thoughts and I don’t want the fear of myself or my circumstance to stop me from having a chance to be with you.”

Maybe his ears could pick up how fast your heart was going, too.

“So if you’re willing, will you please go out with me?”

You dropped the flowers and brought him in for a tight hug. 

“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

Miguel was quick to wrap his arms around you today, burying his face in your neck, “No hesitation?”

“I’ve been wanting and honestly, waiting for one of us to make a move for years. You’re always so busy, so I was too nervous to even bother,” you look back at Miguel’s face, smiling from ear to ear.

“Sorry to keep you waiting then.”

You looked from his lips to his eyes, “Can we skip a few steps?”

“Such as?”

You pushed forward, melting into him as you slotted his lips against yours, head full of warmth and clouds. Miguel matched your pace, hand on your back as he pressed against you. When he opened your lips you pulled back, breath dancing against his. 

“Swing me to my apartment?”

Miguel smirked, “Always.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[starry-fame]

18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

Like a moth to a flame, you follow.

Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

It burns.

The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.

Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.

It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—

Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.

One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.

Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.

What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.

The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.

You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.

The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.

The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.

A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.

“Caleb…”

“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.

Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.

Like always, he watches. You look away.

“Thirsty.”

“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?

“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“

“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.

“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.

You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.

When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.

Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.

From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.

He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.

It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.

“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.

“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?

“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.

“I… know that. It’s just….”

A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.

“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”

You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.

Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.

Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.

“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.

“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.

“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”

“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”

“Demands?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.

“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?

“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.

“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.

“I see.”

Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.

“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.

“I missed you.”

Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.

The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.

“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.

“You tell other people about me?”

“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.

“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”

“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.

“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.

“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.

“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.

Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.

“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.

“Yeah… I… I guess—“

“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.

Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.

“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.

You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.

“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.

They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.

“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”

This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.

This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.

“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”

Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.

Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.

He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.

“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.

It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.

Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.

You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.

“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.

But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.

Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”

You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.

“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.

“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”

“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.

Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.

“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.

“Never?”

“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it — innocently enough. His breath stutters.

Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.

“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.

“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.

“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.

“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”

You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.

“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”

Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”

And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.

You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.

The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”

“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.

Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.

Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.

“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.

“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.

“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”

The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.

“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.

Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.

“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.

“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.

“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.

“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.

“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.

“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.

“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.

It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.

Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.

“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.

You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.

“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”

“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.

He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.

Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.

“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.

And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.

“I told you—“

“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”

You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.

“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.

“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”

And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.

“Finish what you started.”

Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.

“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.

It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.

“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.

“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.

“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.

He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.

“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.

“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.

“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.

“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”

“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.

“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.

“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”

Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.

“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.

That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.

It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.

“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.

“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.

“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”

“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.

“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.

“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.

“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.

“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.

“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”

“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.

“You have a list?”

“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.

Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?

“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.

You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.

“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”

“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”

You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.

“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”

“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.

You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.

Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.

It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.

—

Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

[jellieland]

It’s a while before Scar reappears on Hermitcraft, after his victory.

When he does, Pearl is doing one last sweep over the server. Things are starting to slow down a little as the server is shut down, colours muting and mobs stumbling to a stop, but it’s nothing half so violent as it was last time.

Xisuma has backups of backups of backups, and Pearl has been repeatedly assured that last time was the exception, not the rule.

Still. She checks things over.

She is flying over Scarland when she sees Scar, sitting there at the end of Main Street and staring pensively out across the server.

She hasn’t seen him since he killed her, almost a week ago.

She flies down and alights softly beside him. “Hey Scar,” she says.

His eyes flicker to meet hers. He gives her his signature half-smile. It looks a little strained. “Well hello there, Pearl!” he says. “You know, I forgot about this place!”

Pearl looks at him for a moment, and heaves a sigh. So, they’re talking about this, are they? She sits down on the bench beside him.

To be fair, she isn’t sure who else he would talk to about it. If not her, it would probably be Grian. Grian, who just this morning had snapped at her to make sure she didn’t miss out Scarland in her final loop, in that way he had of transforming a remarkable amount of the worry he felt into irritation as soon as it left his mouth.

“Yeah,” says Pearl. “Me too. Nice to be back, right?”

“It’s ending,” says Scar, and Pearl winces. He isn’t wrong. The timing on this isn’t brilliant, but they couldn’t really wait much longer. “Why do things keep ending?”

“What, just sort of things in general?”

“Everything always ends,” says Scar, staring at her intently. “It ends and ends and ends. How in the world do you not go mad with it?”

Pearl chuckles ruefully. “You're asking the wrong person, mate.”

A villain, but not a demon. Forced into wickedness, but not made with it inside him.

No. No, he wouldn't understand. Not really.

“I don’t think it’s the going mad that’s the problem, really,” she says. “I think it’s the keeping going afterwards.”

“Oh.” He sighs. Then he narrows his eyes in suspicion, glancing up at the sky. “What about the moon, Pearl?” he asks. “How’s that been looking? If that’s gone all funny again as well, I don't know what I’ll do.”

Pearl looks up at the sky.

She looks up at the sky for a while.

It’s been more than a year, now.

“I reckon the moon’s still worn out after last time, mate,” says Pearlescentmoon, still staring at the sky. It’s the easiest place to look, at the moment. “You can’t do that kind of ending twice, you know? It would be too much to do it twice.”

The sun is bright, but she feels a chill, deep in her bones.

“Well,” says Scar. “Well! That’s good to know. But still, it’s very nice of you all to wait for me for so long.”

Pearl shrugs. “I mean, we didn’t really wait. It’s only been a week.”

Scar blinks. Blinks again. “Huh,” he says. “A week. Interesting!”

“Interesting?” Pearl squints at him. “How so?”

He stares at her for a moment before he speaks again. “I thought that was it,” he says. His eyes look far away. “I thought that was all there was, Pearl. I thought there was nothing, after.”

Pearl opens her mouth, but he keeps going.

“I thought that was all there was,” he says again. “So I wasn’t going to just give up. You know? That would be absurd! I was going to keep going. I did keep going!”

“You did,” says Pearl. It’s halfway to a question, but not quite there.

She doesn’t know if she would have kept going, if she had been given the choice, and not handed victory and death in one fell swoop. That’s one of the few things about her victory that she hasn’t wondered about much. She hadn’t even considered it before, to be honest.

She thinks, probably, that she would have kept going.

She’s less sure that it would have been pretty.

“I did,” says Scar. “You have to, don’t you?”

Pearl thinks of Grian. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think it’s a choice, sometimes. I think that makes it mean more, actually.”

“Well. Maybe,” says Scar. “It just- I couldn’t waste it, you know? It was a whole world.”

The weight of that settles over her. A whole world.

A whole world, and refusing to give it up, until you are made to.

“How did you die?” asks Pearl. “In the end.”

“My elytra broke,” says Scar.

“…Huh.” says Pearl, taking a moment to consider the implications of that statement.

“I was trying to get more shulker boxes,” says Scar. “Do you know how annoying it is trying to get stuff done without shulkers, Pearl?”

“Yeah,” says Pearl. “I have an idea.”

“Well,” says Scar, “I was trying to get more but my elytra broke. Did you know, the void kills you no matter how many hearts you have.”

“Oh,” says Pearl. “Yeah, I guess it would. You see Lizzie down there?”

Scar snorts. “No. Everyone falls alone, Pearl, don’t you know that? Martyn, and Lizzie. And me too.”

Pearl looks around at the world, slowing down around them. “Well,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re not falling now. You’re here now.”

“…Yeah,” says Scar softly. “Would you look at that? I sure am.”

They sit in the quiet for a while.

“Why would you not kill me?” asks Pearl abruptly.

Now is not the time to ask. She knows this. But it’s been burning at the back of her mind for the past week, and there will never be a time to ask.

Scar blinks at her for a moment, but recovers without missing a beat. “But Pearl!” he says, all wide-eyed innocence. “I did kill you!”

She gives him a look. “When I asked, Scar.”

“I-” he stops, and sighs, serious again. “Look. I know that was what you wanted. But- it wouldn’t have been fair.”

“Why?” asks Pearl.

“It wouldn’t have been fair,” says Scar again. “You can’t talk about it, first. You can’t volunteer, you can’t plan it out, you can’t draw a line in the sand. It ruins everything, if you do that.”

He looks at her, eyes intense.

“If you do that, that makes it a choice, not a reaction. That's what it is, I think. That must be what it is. You said it yourself—if it’s a choice, it means more.”

“That was my choice, Scar.”

He shrugs, unrepentant. “And I made mine, too.” He frowns for a second. “Think of it like this: I was fighting Gem. And when she died, I just kept fighting.” He shifts slightly, looking almost uncomfortable. “It doesn’t have the weight it would’ve had if we stopped and decided to make it matter more.”

“You’re saying it doesn’t matter?” asks Pearl flatly.

“No!” exclaims Scar. “No, that’s not what I was trying to say at all! But- I wasn’t given your life. I didn’t just accept it. I fought for it. And you didn’t have to give it away. It’s worth more than that, Pearl. Someone should have to fight for it.”

The look he gives her then… she has to look away.

“That’s what I think,” says Scar firmly. “That’s what I wanted to say.”

Pearl stares down at her hands for a while. “I don’t know if I totally agree with how you chose to do things,” she says. “But… thank you, Scar.”

They are, again, quiet for a while.

“What do you think I did, while I was still there?” asks Scar eventually. “You know, if someone was making you guess.”

Pearl leans back and looks at him intently, considering. “I reckon you caused chaos, and made something beautiful.” She shrugs. “That’s what you always do, yeah?”

“Oh,” says Scar, looking genuinely touched. “Why thank you, Pearl. I certainly try.”

“You sure do. You know, whatever else you do, I have to give you that,” says Pearl wryly.

Scar looks at her for a moment, then tilts his head slightly to the side. “You know, Pearl,” he says, serious, then pauses.

“Yeah?”

“I left a whole pile of shulker boxes in the Mounders’ base.” His voice stays serious even as his typical sly smirk creeps across his face.

Pearl takes a few seconds to register what he’s just said. “I- you- Scar!”

“Completely unsorted,” he says airily. “It was just a real mess, honestly.”

“Why would you tell me that!”

He snickers at her. “I can’t believe you would leave such a mess, Pearl! I mean, who else could it have been? It’s in your base, after all!”

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Pearl narrows her eyes at him, laughter bleeding though the mock-annoyance in her voice.

He shakes his head. “And you call yourself a cleaning lady!”

“Right, that’s it!” says Pearl. “I’m finding this server and tidying it up whether you like it or not.”

Scar jerks back slightly, humor suddenly shaken.

…Right. She’d almost forgotten.

He looks away. His expression, though, is thoughtful rather than pained.

“I don’t think you need to do that, really,” he says.

Pearl watches him. “Why not?” she asks. “Are you the only one who’s allowed to keep trying?”

He sighs.

“There’s always going to be some things you can’t clean up,” he says. “But you can’t always be going backwards to get them.”

They look out at the world around them gently, carefully slowing down to a stop.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong,” says Pearl. “I guess it’s a balance. What you can fix, and what you need to let go.”

Scar nods. “I think so.”

He gives her a warm look. He looks up at the sky, where the normal sized moon is just beginning to rise. He glances around him at the remarkable things he has made, that this time will be left just as they are.

“And there’s always a new sunrise,” he says.

[gooseworx]

Hi Goose!

I really want to tell you about something.

It's kind of related to TADC.

So I joined a discord server where i could chill out, talk about the show, that stuff, etc.

And I was like "I should share some things about the story I'm making!"

It's basically one where the reader and the canon character (the setting was Demon Slayer: it's an anime where demons exist and there are people who serve to destroy these demons. The specific canon character I picked for the story was a Swordsmith, who is also kind of important in the storyline.) that has an 8 year age gap. Back in the old days of Japan, you could marry someone if you were 13 or older. The reader was 29 while the canon character was 37, it's not really a good age gap, but it's acceptable, right? A few people in the world has that kind of age gap.

I was inspired by the song Older by Isabel Larosa in making the story.

I went on to tell the other members, but they were all acting weird about it. They kept saying "wtf" and "uhhh" and I had a feeling they were uncomfortable, so I apologized, and they warned me for it.

They also went on to kick me out of that server.

And then I went on to realize they thought the reader was 13 and that the canon character was OLDER. They thought I was being a weirdo and actually supported a child being married to some adult.

Their reason for kicking me was: "for discussing writing a story about having an 8 year age gap. even if the practice of marrying an older person as a child to continue a bloodline is apart of a country’s history, modern ethics are different."

And I was so confused!

I know this isn't really related to any of your works, and I apologize for that, but I needed your opinion.

Were they right for kicking me? Was it all just some big misunderstanding? Do you think what they thought was wrong and should've asked me for confirmation instead of thinking what they thought of? Or was it something to let go, don't let it come back and never let it return to you, because it's not worth my time?

Either way, I'm glad I'm not there to cause any more trouble. I feel deeply ashamed for mentioning it in the first place.

Again, I'm so so sorry for talking to you about this. I just needed some clarification from you.

Feel free to ignore this. But if you could, I'd love to hear a reply!

Hope you are well, and continue your marvelous work!

Huh?

[woman-respecter]

On the topic of tankies,

THEY HATE AO3 SO MUCH THAT THEY TREAT IT LIKE THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL AND IT NEVER FAILS TO MAKE ME LAUGH 😭

Pre October 7th, most of the blogs I followed had always been very political but seemed normal for the most part.

Now, they're all constantly rage posting about AO3 like it's the most of everyone's problems 😭 it's giving 4chan talking about Jews every second and bringing us into everything not gonna lie.

"You evil queers support Ao3 but question Palestinians on Tumblr, racist genocidal zionazis 🤬" these people are sooo insane. People donating to Ao3 bothers them so much that whenever anything happens now it goes back to Ao3..it's giving Trump blaming everything on the libs

Whenever any sort of injustice trends on here the response from tankies is automatically "you use/donate to ao3 you guys are evil monsters" ???? 😭🤨

Oh and don't forget the constant "this is tumblr staff's fault". They're sooo extremist that suddenly whenever anyone gets banned it's prejudice from the staff. Like girl! You posted blatant antisemitic shit straight from mein kampf but you being banned is somehow *checks notes* a result of the staff silencing Palestinians? 🤨 if you cannot criticise tumblr without immediately diving into batshit crazy conspiracies where every move the tumblr staff makes is bigotry and an attack on minorities idk what to tell you.

Idgaf about anyone hating ao3 but it's very strange to watch how they decide to hate it in the most extremist way possible lmao.

Also obsessed with how they go so left they end up right. Popular responses from leftists about the fake Palestinian scammers was "you people are always poor and ebegging but you draw the line at giving Palestinians money" 😐

Wow being classist towards the people you don't like will surely show them! Also obsessed with how only Palestinians matter in this case. They are allowed to say these things and then get cheered on by many (these posts get thousands of reblogs and likes lmaoo) because Palestinians are experiencing the Worst Thing in The World which means only they matter and anyone who supports them are allowed to say whatever they want in support. Therefore making fun of poor people who ask for money on Tumblr is progressive actually because it's in support of Palestinians.

Funny enough tankies are also homophobic when it comes to hating ao3 and everyone who dares to use that evil website but they're #gay so it's okay 😭😭😭 they'll say shit like "you queers have money for ao3 and never Palestine" first of all targetting gay people when I know many straight people who use ao3 is insanee. 2) where do they get this info from because they are always saying this but i only ever see queers donating to palestinians 😭 are they seriously making shit up to be angry about ? they talk about it like every gay person in the world is donating to the evil ao3 instead of palestine when it's a much smaller number than they exaggerate it to be.

i made a post in like 2021 (which got like 30k notws but i can’t find it bc tumblr search function sux) about how tumblr users would act like its evil to donate to ao3 instead of people’s (like fl****s******e) personal gofundmes but once again you can just replace personal gfms with palestine scam asks this time. really nowadays donating to anything that doesn’t have to do with The Omnicause is seen as EVIL. like chill, people can care about multiple things. plus i bet most of these people raging against ao3 still spend many hours on the site and get free entertainment from it so its like. do u want this site to exist or not because servers cost money and it can’t exist without donations.

[leafofkudzu]

Hello and Happy New Year!!! The first Saturday of a new month will soon be upon us, which means it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, Verdant Shield [VS]! But this one is extra special, because exactly one year ago was my first real foray into the world of event hosting - that's right, it's the one-year anniversary of [VS] Art Party!!!

The very first [VS] Art Party was held January 7th 2023, and was a very quiet experiment with no visible tag, announced only two days before and hidden away in an obscure corner unlikely to be noticed by non-participants. I was nervous, but with a modest 20ish-person turnout and a chill energy not dissimilar to the current EU parties, it seemed to go over great! As art trickled into the tag over the following days and weeks, people started asking about future parties, and even about hosting ones on EU servers, which I could certainly do since I already had an EU alt. And so, a monthly tradition was born!

For those unsure of what an art party is, they're a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! Grab your character and outfit of choice, head to the party location, find someone that inspires you, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! The tl;dr I've been repeating since the very first announcement post is simply this: the 'goal' of an art party isn't to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

It's a bit tricky to get to if you're F2P, but there was no way I wasn't returning to the location of the original party - the uninstanced asura home instance in Rata Sum, the Applied Development Lab! I've even dusted off my original map image, complete with hand-drawn arrows:

(That's Magustan Court Waypoint, by the way.)

This area is only accessible via flying mounts or with the use of a Teleport to Friend, so be sure to have one (or both) handy when the time comes!

Time & Squad Details:

As per usual, there will be two 3-hour parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People do tend to arrive early though, and those with multiple accounts often jump directly from one to the other, so don't be surprised to see things running late and/or starting early!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Time (aka 3pm Eastern Standard Time or 4 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Paranomalous Plexxi for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Standard Time (aka 1am Central European Time or at in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Teekzi for an invite.

Closing Words:

The engagement, energy, and love in these events always blows me away, and words can't express how happy I am with what we've all created together. I'm so glad that I took that first step last year and extended an invitation to what would've likely just been a throwaway guild event to the best section of the GW2 community I know. GW2 tumblr, keep being amazing. I love you guys so much, and I can't wait to see you guys on Saturday, and for many more first-Saturdays-of-the-month to come!

Ever your diligent cat herder,

Meka ♥♥♥

[teecupangel]

So this idea has been bouncing in my head like an excited rabbit on caffeine. (I also don't know if anyone else thought of this but I thought it would be cool) so you remember the reblog chain where the players are all in Desmond head talking like a twitch chat, and the other reblog chain of Desmond's ancestor data gaining sentience because isu bstm, right? Well I had a thought, what if we combined the two, like maybe something like the part of the main group + Desmond are trying to get to the others who are in another part of Abstergo or the assassin's network and Desmond, let's say that while he was split he couldn't hear us until they passed through this really corrupted part of an ocean map (let's say it's in Edward's time) then all of a sudden Desmond hears one of us. (Sorry if this doesn't make sense. I hope you have a heath day/night)

I think this is the AC characters data in Abstergo’s database regaining sentience AU reblog chain with @piratekenway you’re talking about?

The Ratatouille AU where the ancestors can hear Desmond while ‘playing’, its more unhinged cousin, the Ratatouille AU where Desmond can hear us and the outside POV of Al Mualim thinking the Apple broke Altaïr and the sidestory of Altaïr accidentally connecting with Ezio while looking for Desmond (I hope I didn’t forget anything else)

Okay, so the idea is that we’re using the setup for the character data gaining sentience and we’re setting this as sorta like the ‘epilogue’ to the Ratatouille AU.

Instead of letting the world burn (“As a treat!” one of the voices chirped), he sacrifices himself. When he wakes up, he’s in Abstergo’s database, chained as a digital copy of Sample 17.

He can’t hear any voices anymore.

Are they disappointed with him?

Did they think they wasted their time trying to help him?

Did he… make the right choice?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed… when the virus started taking over the database and servers.

.

In this one, the virus isn’t made by Erudito + Assassins. It’s of ‘unknown origin’.

All they know is the name of the virus is “for desmond!” and it is targeting Desmond. Of course, Sample 17 is in one of the more secured encrypted ‘part’ of the database so it mutated to wake other data up.

Data that has connection with Desmond.

Along the way, the virus inside them starts waking up other data nearby, creating a strange team to rescue Desmond.

We can sorta play with this a bit and make Arno, Evie and Jacob become part of Abstergo’s database because they do have data of Arno’s descendants and it makes sense that the reason why the Templars knew where the Shroud is because they can access the twins’ memories as well and the Assassins just stole their DNA for their own Animus instead.

So they get to Desmond who is staying in the Grand Temple, just sitting there, staring at the devices, doubting and double-doubting himself if he should have activated the device when the people who care for him the most asked him not to.

Of course, Abstergo’s anti-virus and probably the entire security system is chasing after them so they don’t have time to actually talk.

They just run.

Well, they sailed using a fusion of the Jackdaw and Aquila…

… into a corrupted part of the West Indies.

The idea was… the virus didn’t harm them but it definitely fucks with Abstergo’s anti-virus and security system.

At the very least, they were hoping it would slow them down.

What they did not expect was for the entire thing to collapse under them…

And drop their modified ship into a different unfamiliar ocean.

“Holy shit!”

Desmond blinked.

“That scared the crap out of me. Goddamn it, Ubisoft. I know this is still being betatesting but Jesus Christ, loading the entire ship and dropping it from above??? What kind of programming does this game have???”

“Lollol. Dude, chill.”

“Is it an enemy ship? Like… can you shoot it?”

“Should you shoot it? Check its level first.”

They were all familiar voices.

“You don’t want a repeat of-”

“Guys?” Desmond asked, his voice a bit too quiet.

Hesitant.

He didn’t dare hope that it was them.

Not all of them.

But some of the ones he was most familiar with.

The ones who stayed with him the most.

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god, Desmond?!”

“What’s Desmond doing in this game?!”

“Is it our Desmond???”

Desmond’s lips curved into a smile and his voice croaked as he said, “Yeah, I’m your Desmond.”

“Oh my god.”

“Desmond!!! You’re okay!!! We were sooo worried!”

“You think this is [Bored Anonymous]’s work??? Did their plan to use all our computers to try and connect with Desmond’s world and send our gift work?”

“Gift?” Desmond tilted his head.

Did they mean the virus?

He felt someone nudged his arm and he turned to look at Ezio. Everyone else seemed confused but Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton seemed to have an idea on who he was talking to.

Wait.

They can hear them!

Before Desmond could tell the voices that everyone could hear them now, one of them said hurriedly, “Oh fuck! Someone get [Bored Anonymous] quickly!”

“Why?”

“I only have 1 more hour to play this beta! What happens to Desmond if he stays in this beta server after the time is up?!! We can’t lose him!”

“Ohshitohshitohshit!”

“I’ll alert the discord server!”

“I’ll try to message them in Tumblr! They’re always online there!”

“Pretty sure that’s their queue…”

“We can still try!”

Desmond simply laughed.

Sure, the time limit they’re talking about was worrying but hearing all of them worrying about him…

It felt like he was finally home.

[feligamifebruary]

Parisiens, Parisiennes, dragons and birds of all horizons,

Once again, Feligami February is just around the corner, and you may already be thinking of the wonderful creations you will bestow upon us throughout the month. It will be our pleasure to archive them on this blog, in case our timeline gets erased, and to answer your most burning questions below.

1. Tell me about the event!

As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Feligami February is a month-long fandom event dedicated to our favourite lovebirds. The principle is simple: to tickle your brains (and hearts!) with our prompts, so you are inspired to create the content you want to see on Tumblr on AO3.

When the time comes, simply upload your creation(s) to the #feligami february and #feligami february 2025 tags, and make sure to tag this blog: it will ensure we spot your work, as easily as Felix spotted the Peacock Miraculous under Gabriel’s tie.

2. What kinds of content/themes are welcome?

Any and all creative media are welcome: art, fics, AMVs, playlists, cosplays, moodboards, web weaves… as long as you do the creating yourself, and not through AI. The only thing we’ll be stealing this month is cursed jewellery.

While you are welcome to explore the themes of your choice, we reserve the right not to interact with smut and potentially triggering content based on our own comfort levels. Please make sure to tag your pieces appropriately to ensure the event remains fun and safe for everyone.

Poly ships are welcome, as long as they include Feligami of course!

3. I’m not sure I can cover all prompts/post on time. Can I still participate?

Of course! The entire point of this event is to have fun. Don’t overwork yourself.

4. I have an idea, but it doesn’t align with any of the prompts. Can I still post it?

Please do! The prompts are here for inspiration, not to suffocate you. Break your chains.

5. The creative process can be a bit lonely. Where can I meet other cool, motivated, brilliant Feligami creators like myself?

We have a Discord server, where you can hang out with fellow Feligami fans, share your ideas, and take a peek at the amazing content coming your way! Think of it as our own little window, on which we all draw hearts for each other.

If you’d like to join, please follow this link to the art room, where you will not be subjected to a creepy hallucination-based play.

Without further ado, we wish you all a lot of fun, inspiration, and bone-chilling musical numbers! 🎶

Full prompt list below! 🦚🐉

Week 1: Tropes 🪶

1. Once upon a time

2. Duel

3. Anti-hero

4. You & Me Against The World

5. Alternate Universe

6. Monster

7. Home

Week 2: Celebration 💎🌹

8. Diamonds

9. Flowers

10. First kiss

11. Reunion

12. Birthday

13. Family

14. Valentines

Week 3: Freedom 💍

15. FREE

16. Amok

17. Miraculous

18. Emotion

19. Pretension

20. Disobedience

21. Waltz

Week 4: Art 🎨

22. Watercolour

23. Stage fright

24. Representation

25. Journaling

26. Re-creation

27. A new world

28. Happy ending

[edutainer2022]

I keep amusing myself with the idea IR, the Tracies and their typical Tuesday shenanigans probably land A LOT on the (quite exasperated) Counterterrorism and/or Special Ops Division plate. A wider context can be found in PERSON OF INTEREST and a reference to that one background headcanon could be traced to the UNREQUITED-verse.

PERSON OF INTEREST TOO

"Whoa! You okay down there?!"

"Caramba! Yes! Just act normal! Pretend you're giving me directions."

That came out as a hissed whisper from behind the bench in Central Park, where the older of two women ducked to pretend retying the running shoes. The hastily pulled up hood added to the camouflage.

"Tell me when he passes by!"

"Alright."

The girl on the bench shrugged and tracked a tall figure in jogging gear, that just turned a corner at a distance. The man was balancing a cardboard stack of four take away coffee cups and a paper bag of baked goods from a world renowned place in Manhattan and still maintaining a running pace without a tilt in balance. When he was safely out of earshot, her counterpart unfolded a lithe form from behind the bench and watched the man disappear over another bend of the path.

"You should have told me he was in town already! I wouldn't have showed up myself for the briefing!"

"The World Expo starts only Saturday. I didn't think it was relevant."

"It IS! Scott Tracy is a stickler for routine. That's his Route 2 for running - the longer one. It's good for clearing the head and ditching the security detail. Which is just sweet, given there's a bomb threat!"

Her younger colleague followed the hushed, yet agitated muttering with increasing confusion.

"I thought the threat referenced the Expo!"

"It DID! And now we have two more high profile potential targets to cover. Coffee and bagles means brothers. Multiple."

"He had four cups."

"Two're for the Artist. But you're right - the Blond Fish doesn't drink caffeine. So there could be three more potential targets to cover. We'll need more feet on the ground!"

"There's the fifth brother!"

"Yeah, but the kid will likely be with the household security detail at all times. Unlike Scott! I can't leave that to chance! And we can't tip them off - we don't know where the leak leads, yet."

"You don't trust their head of security?"

"I generally don't trust international terrorists and their immediate family members. Not with Scott's life, anyway. How're things on your end, in Tracy Industries?"

"So far - nothing."

The girl on the bench adjusted the glasses and rubbed her hands against the morning chill.

"I'm toiling in the trenches with the interns. Which is fun, but is getting old. Everyone's hyped for the Expo and for sighting the CEO Dreamboat. There's no trace of suspicious activity or breaches in data. Well, except for Eos."

"Does the bot snoop around often?"

"She's an AI and no. She pops in here and there, but mostly to check in on the CEO or to tweak his schedule. She's not a part of any ongoing workflows at TI, from what I can see."

"Good! At least they're smart enough not to expose themselves to integrity lawsuits from competitors. Keep an eye on her, though!"

"You don't trust Eos either?"

"We have no record of her between escaping containment on our servers and resurfacing at Five. In the meantime she attempted an act of mass terrorism twice. Nearly successfully. We don't know what code may still be dormant. Neither do the Tracies."

"You think the Hood could have trained her neural network and set her loose?"

"The Hood. Or worse. The crowd whose chatter on the planned bombing we picked up make the Hood look like a cartoon villian!"

"I'll update the tracking protocol! Permission to speak freely, Captain?"

That earned her a quizzical arch of a dark brow.

"Permission granted."

"Why didn't you and Scott Tracy... I mean... you obviously care and worry about him! And you were engaged... it's in his GDF file, sorry! I looked the classified portion up before this undercover gig! What I mean to ask, with all due respect... He's Thunderbird One! How does one even unlove Scott Tracy?! Apologies if I overstepped..."

"You don't."

"Pardon?"

"The answer is "You don't. Ever unlove Scott Tracy." But sometimes the best thing you can do is walk away and do your job. We've got lives to protect, Dr. Simpson. Dismissed!"

The taller woman adjusted a well-worn oversized Yale hoodie and resumed jogging, leaving the silence hanging viscous in the morning mist.

[thedrarrylibrarian]

I know I always say this, but it’s always true - I am so excited for this month’s guest reccer! To say that Grace, who writes as @mintawasalreadytaken, has excellent taste would be an understatement - she is a tastemaker. I realized as I was looking through a server that we’re both in that I read Coyote Ugly (which I recced a few weeks ago) based on her recommendation first! She’s also an accomplished writer herself, so if you like her rec, be sure to check out her works.

I leave the format of the rec up to the guest reccer - sometimes people use emojis, sometimes they give the rec as bullet points, and sometimes people prefer to write paragraphs. Grace asked if we could have a conversation about this fic together, and I eagerly agreed! I’ll be TDL below, and she’ll be Grace. Just as a heads up, there are minor spoilers for the fic below the cut.

Without further ado, I present the May Happy Hour Recommendation - in conversation with @mintawasalreadytaken!

I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (228,290 words, Rated M)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that's essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home.

In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy's relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love.

A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

TDL: You picked I Do Not Love You for this month's rec. Would you start by telling people who have never read it why they should give it a try?

Grace: I think I speak for a lot of us in the world of fanfiction, specifically Drarry fanfic, that we're not generally known for being chill about our obsessions. So, as someone who's read a lot of hurt/comfort and angst, I Do Not Love You stands out to me because it does a number of interesting things with its key trope, amnesia. It's a love story told backwards, and a love story that's as much about hate and how hate destroys as it is about love and how love builds.

TDL: I appreciate that you brought up the love story told backwards - I think that's one of the best parts of this story. The way, especially at the beginning, that the two plot-lines contrast makes it stand out to the reader about what Harry's lost, even when Harry himself doesn't realize.

Grace: Mmhmm, agreed. We start very firmly rooted in Harry's POV, with an eventual back and forth POVs between Harry and Draco, at opposite ends of the timeline of their relationship. So there's this wonderful tension there, right from go.

TDL: I think that's something very smart and enjoyable about Writ's writing. She's very good at creating that tension and then trusting the reader with it. She’s excellent at showing one perspective, and letting the reader infer the other perspective. It would've been easy to write from Draco's POV and get all of his angsty heartbreak firsthand, but instead she writes it from Harry's POV and we get his anger and are left to come to our own conclusions about Draco's hurt. It makes the conclusions more powerful to the reader.

Grace: Trusting the reader is certainly one of her strengths. Part of my deep enjoyment of this fic is how it begs to be re-read. It's only on the re-read that certain details, "tells" in Draco's behaviour, for example, become clear indicators of what will happen. But you need to learn them from Harry's POV first. It makes for a very fun circular read, in that way. Another way that trust is established masterfully is the contrast between Harry's anger in the present and the vignettes of his empathetic, whole-hearted earnestness in the flashback scenes. The distance between the two Harry's emotional states is enough for the reader to draw their own conclusions of how much it must pain Draco to go through this experience.

Though I will say, the angsty heartbreak moment we do get to see firsthand gets me every time. It's the most delicious stab in the heart!

TDL: I know it’s a spoiler, but will you be specific? What part exactly are you thinking of?

Grace: “I lost my husband.”

TDL: I put that quote down in my notes too - and "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Grace: It gets to the heart of the worst part of a beautiful relationship: the fear of loss.

TDL: So we've done our favorite angsty moments. This fic, while angsty, is also really full of fun and funny moments. Does anything stick out to you along those lines?

Grace: Two stick out to me immediately. One is a callback to the Pablo Neruda quote off the top, from which the fic takes its title. "Your hand on my chest is my hand,” only Harry adds his own sexy twist to it, lol. The second is this incredibly tense moment mid-fight where Harry snaps about how long it would take to fall back in love with Draco and Draco's deadpan response of "You said 'when'" which is peak Drarry to me. That stubbornness in the face of literally anything, even the other avowing their supposed hatred.

What's your favourite funny moment?

TDL: Oh it’s got to be when we find out later that Pansy laughed at the toothbrush incident. It's just such a best friend thing to do. It felt like something I'd do to my sister or that she'd do to me and I think it added a realness to their friendship. They’re ride or die for each other, but they also laugh at each other, even in the hard times. I also love any scene Jules is in!

Grace: Agreed! The toothbrush moment was hilarious. And Jules is one of my favourite of Harry's familiars/pets-with-speaking-roles, ever.

TDL: I'm obsessed with the idea of a chameleon speaking Parseltongue! I also feel like Jules' character had a lot of thought put into it - what would be important to a chameleon? What would a chameleon notice and think in this situation?

Grace: Yes, his take on death and his sense of humour about it – that bonds Harry to him. The lens of his understanding of the relationship between Harry and his "ice queen" and the purpose of molting. It was all so well done. The fact that Jules can infer Harry's emotional state and then decides on whether and to what degree to argue about what kind of feed he requests is so spot on. Amazing characterization work.

TDL: With all of Harry and Draco’s friends and family, this fic had an ensemble of characters. Were there any other favorites?

Grace: My two favourites live on opposite sides of the spectrum. Ron, for his stoic, constant style of quiet and level-headed support. And Blaise, a true wild-card, who is ruled enough by ego to do things that endanger his relationships with both Harry and Draco, just never too much. They love him for it, even though he can be a chaos monster.

TDL: Blaise was on my list too! I thought his shenanigans brought a lot to the fic and I thought it was cool to see him portrayed as an equally important friend to both Harry and Draco that Harry saw him as someone to turn to for help, not just “Draco’s friend” but “my friend.”

Grace: The melding of friend groups, as most often happens when you're in a long term relationship, was done masterfully here. and the lines drawn in the sand becoming murky in places and crystal clear in others when a break-up looms, too.

TDL: Which brings us back to that relatable fear of loss - this loss is not just one person but friendships, community, a life and a future.

Something else that I want to mention is how immersive this fic is, even in a re-read. I knew what was coming and was still hooked.

Grace: True! It begins with a focus on interiority. We get the emotional punches first, and then the plot to underpin it. But in my view, the plot comes second to the feelings. It's a fic that invites you as the reader to put yourself into Draco's shoes. We all experience loss and so when we get thrown into this situation of experiencing what, for both of them, they consider a world-ending loss, we relate. The troubles only begin there, because after that there's still waking up every day and trying, again and again.

TDL: For a fic whose title refuses love, what better description is there for love than waking up every day and trying, again and again.

Is there anything else you’d like to add before we end this rec?

Grace: Just to say thank you for entertaining this, and for your thoughtful questions! And to thank Writ for writing this masterpiece of a painful, quietly beautiful love story. And to end on a quote – one of the ones I come back to constantly, as a reminder to self of the usefulness in trying at the things we find the most difficult: 

"Aw, don't get smart to wash off all the vulnerability, you wore it so well," he replied, eyes sparkling. As he backed towards the doorway, his arms opened wide. "Bask in the beauty of a difficult, emotional conversation." 

xoxo minta / grace

❤️ As always, if you enjoy this rec, please bookmark abd leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Friday!

PS - If you're interested in knowing what Grace and I are reading next, @writandromance just started posting a new Pride and Prejudice based fic. It's not complete, but chapter one went up today and we are so excited!

[dsaf-confessions]

I’m going to start this post by saying that I’m genuinely very confused by the entire situation.

I’m aware this wasn’t the best blog in the past, and that the screenshots provided were old, and things I’d already apologised for and learned from.

But in all honestly, I’m mainly confused about the fact that the person im posting about that I won’t name because I’d hate to start drama has already been blocked from this blog an unidentifiable amount of time ago for posting about us on their twitter page, and I don’t like drama, so I blocked them so it wouldn’t escalate

But it still has. Somehow. Because it also seems like they’ve been reblogging posts from this account since they were blocked, which I have no idea how.

That’s just my way of starting this post, though. Because I’m still really confused, accidental blocking bypass aside.

A call out post has been made about this blog, me more specifically, for posting confessions that intentionally start drama.

And I’ve read the post that was sent to me by my friends, and i actually don’t know how to respond to that.

I’m not providing screenshots, because you know, I’m making a response here, I’m not trying to start more drama (and the person has already blocked me, as they’ve said I believe. So they wouldn’t be seeing this post anyway)

but they posted some really old screenshots from this blog back before there were anons and a discord server, who I now essentially treat as a council (this post will be being read by them before I post. Because I don’t actually trust my own thoughts, especially not when I’m stressed out, shaky, and tired because it’s late at night and I planned to sleep an hour ago)

If you weren’t here back then, I admit this blog was chaotic. I made a mistake pretty much. Not by posting any confessions specifically (even though I admit I didn’t have the council back then so a lot of stuff slipped under the radar and caused drama). I made a mistake by making the blog to begin with.

(Note: I have no regrets. This situation is stressful and scary but I’ve made so many friends here, I wouldn’t trade it for the world!! Let’s hold hands and look into the sunset guys)

And yeah. I admit it was a shitshow. And I admit I posted a lot of confessions that shouldn’t have been posted because I didnt know if I would start more drama by just deleting them and having people ask why. And I apologise for that, I’m genuinely sorry. I really wish I had just kind of purged this blog’s posts past a certain point because god it sucked, but it’s not something I can actually do right now.

But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I’ve apologised for this before. And I won’t hesitate to apologise more however times people need, because some really shitty confessions were posted since I hadn’t ran one of these things in A WHILE.

And I took people’s advice. And I made this blog into a place that I thought was chill and drama free. And it was, i think, at least. But everything goes wrong eventually.

When I made the pinned post, I thought my stance on drama was clear. I said that I would delete the confessions that weren’t just ragebait, but would clearly start drama.

But I don’t think people got the memo.

There was also the mini-fandom thing. But I posted that I was very uncomfortable with it because it could backfire, and it was over.

Unfortunately, saying that I didn’t want there to be a fandom probably didn’t even delay the inevitable. Because now there’s a call out post. And this isn’t a response to the person who made the initial post, this is a response and an apology to everyone else who’s probably wondering what the fuck is actually going on right now.

I hope the person who made the post doesn’t see this, actually. Because they’ve already blocked everyone who’s associated with the blog, and if they do see it then it means that they’ve deliberately unblocked us for whatever reason, and that would only show to me that they want to start drama.

This all could’ve been solved in DMs, or better yet, a simple post that said “hey, I really don’t like this blog. I will be blocking everyone associated with it because I do not like it”. Not a callout post. You never DM’d me, or tried to communicate with me. You saw this blog, talked badly about it for a little bit, then made a call out post on the mod without even exchanging a single word of conversation with me about it.

What’s the fate of this blog? I don’t know. I might go on break. I really don’t want to leave the blog, but for the most part I’ve already left this fandom. I don’t really post stuff on main about it anymore. I still like it, but I don’t engage with it anymore for reasons unrelated. Just interests coming and going. However, I might leave. MIGHT.

if it was just this situation that I was dealing with, then I’d certainly stay. Tumblr call out posts don’t matter much in the long run anyway. But I’ve also got a very stressful personal life and this is the last thing I need.

But I don’t know.

What I hope you took away from this post, though, is this:

1) you can block this blog or blacklist this tag at anytime

2) you can dm me at any time if you have any advice or criticism that you think I can use to improve this blog and make it better

3) I don’t tolerate people starting drama, and I certainly don’t enjoy it either.

[citrus-sailead]

Welcome To My Blog

First things first, Hi, I'm Magnus! Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, ensure that your seat belt is fastened correctly and prepare yourself for the wonderful nosedive into the horrendous world of Literally Everything Ever. I'm not your mommy. I will not censor myself for you. I'm happy to keep things chill, sfw, etc but I am not going to cater to you. It is your job to police your internet usage, not everyone else's. You're on Tumblr, be responsible, you're a Big Kid so Act Like It.

TL;DR

⊹ ʚ🍊ɞ ACCOUNT … | ⟡ name ⇾ Magnus | ⟡ age ⇾ adult | ⟡ system ⇾ introject heavy | ⟡ I am a the they/them Donald Trump warned you about

Cool! I'm Magnus, I use he/they pronouns. I'm a person with DID. I don't owe you their names or how many I share this clown car of a body with. We, however, will not be using emoji sign offs. We have names, you can deal with it.

I love correcting DID misinformation!!! Please ask me any questions you may have; I love answering them! I'm fairly open minded about most things but that needs to be mutual! If you're coming to me with questions and are looking for a specific answer and are not willing to hear if I answer otherwise, simply don't ask! My stances and experiences are mine to share as I please, but if you don't like what I have to say, that's on you. If you want resources, I would like to introduce you to my friend Marco. I love them and she has a bunch of cool resources. Now if you call me a slur, I will just laugh at you and the screenshot is going in a groupchat full of my friends, in true college fashion.

I am essentially your friendly neighborhood Spiderman and your fhacked up Moon Knight Buddy only I am Not Peter Parker or Marc Spector, and I am actually just very mean to people who fake disorders. If you do that, I will actually be hitting you over the head with the DSM-5 and walking away. I have a block button, and I love to use it. oooooo shiny red button.

BEFORE YOU INTERACT!!! I am generally pretty reasonable, I would think! I am a big pusher of internet safety. I'm happy to censor myself about the standard stuff and in conversation but I'm not going to sit with the super absurd or super petty. If you're going to ping someone in a discord server to remove an emoji reaction as common as a thumbs up emoji, there are some problems, and you need to remove yourself from a situation. I don't talk about anything gruesome or horrendous very often but if I do, you are not obligated to read it!! Be safe!!!

No DNI because I'm a Big Boy and you are too. However! If you're big on any of the following, I advise you to not interact or just block me! I promise you won't hurt my feelings and I'm not budging on these! Womp womp, sweetie.

♥︎ Endos, Tuplas or any of you who think systems aren't disordered! Please go check out the DSM-5, Hospital Resources or just get back into kinning, I'd love to read your kinlist instead. If you've been tricked into bad theories by endos and the super common misinformation, I don't blame you, but keep that shit away from me if you're going to perpetuate it!

♥︎ TERFs! Sit back down JKR, there's black mold on your walls. Women's rights are awesome, don't put others down for it. You don't need to do that.

♥︎ If you think binary or cis men can be lesbians [WRONG BUZZER] AND/OR if you think binary or cis women can be mlm [WRONG BUZZER]

♥︎ If you think 'cis' is a slur! Its just a latin prefix bb, go back to third grade please. You need a literacy lesson.

♥︎ If you take ships too seriously. They're just silly little characters, pookie, no need to be angry if I don't ship them too.

♥︎ If you're super pushy about Kpop groups!! I love Kpop too bestie but there is No Need for there to be fights over stanning groups or people. I agree, they're awesome, but they are Real People and they See What You Say. There is no need to throw hands if I don't stan Stray Kids, Han Jisung is pretty, I know.

♥︎ Systems who think systems deserve special treatment just for the sake of it. I love pk, don't get me wrong, but you don't need it in every server you're in. Singlets don't know we exist sometimes, there is no need to get angry when they ask "why is there an application talking?" be patient. You're a big kid, you can mask or be polite when people are asking questions.

♥︎ People who refuse to genuinely debate their opinions. (Disclaimer: opinions do not equate to 'x,y,z people don't deserve rights'. Thats just bigotry) You are a coward. History will forget you and your name will be lost to time as the world spins. You will be nothing but a headstone that crumples in a heavy storm.

♥︎ NSFW in my notifs? Blocked. Womp womp, I couldn't care less about seeing it on Tumblr, I've seen The Horrors of the Hellsite TM, but I don't need that in my notifs.

♥︎ Use common sense. It's not that hard, It's incredibly easy actually! And free!

My Inbox / Askbox? Open! Feel free to send me the sillies, questions, etc. I am happy to infodump and chat, fresh perspective is always fun.

[swimmingismywholelife]

Minecraft Christmas

Summary: When you are unable to visit Gio for Christmas, you decide to spend it together in an unconventional way.

Warnings: lots of fluff

WC: 1.4K

A/N: 🎶 On the first day of Ficmas my writer gave to me, some fluff with Giovanni 🎶 Hi everyone and welcome to Ficmas! I thought I'd start it off with someone I've written for before, Gio Reyna! This fic is inspired by "Minecraft Christmas" by Area 11 ft Simon. This song is fire no I will not apologize for using it lol. I hope you guys like it, and I hope you stick around for the rest of Ficmas!

Link for the Song: Minecraft Christmas

"Cause it's a Minecraft Christmas time

Chilling with my buddies everyone is online

There's a whole world of joy and cheer

That's a very very very nice Christmas you're having-

A very, very, very nice Christmas (Woo-ooh)

A very, very, very nice Christmas we're having this year."

~~~

"No baby, get away! Don't look it's not time!" your boyfriend said, punching the air around you in an attempt to get you away from his house.

"But Gio, I'm impatient!" you whined. "I wanna see it now!"

"Babe, it's a Christmas surprise. You have 10 minutes left. All you gotta do is wait 10 minutes!" he said, punching holes in the ground right below you.

"Okay, okay! Stop trying to hit me I got diamonds on me, my guy!" you grumbled, turning back to your house as Gio punched the air triumphantly.

Christmas had been your favorite time of year since you were a kid. Something about the atmosphere just brought life and joy into your life. And Christmas with your boyfriend was even more magical than you could've dreamed of. Your families grew up in neighboring towns coincidentally, so once the two of you began dating, you always spent it together. And if Gio wasn't able to go home, you'd travel to him instead, celebrating the holidays in whatever city he was playing in at the time. You'd decorate his home with stockings, Christmas lights, and of course, a tree with whatever quirky ornaments you'd collected over the years. When it snowed enough, you'd have snowman building competitions followed by snowball fights of epic proportions. Gio was the perfect addition to a holiday you already treasured, making it all the more special to you.

Unfortunately, this year you weren't able to spend Christmas together. You tried your hardest to align his schedule with yours, but your job was horrendously understaffed and couldn't afford to have you off for the last few weeks of the year. It was aggravating considering how much extra work you'd been putting in specifically for the holiday off, but your manager just wouldn't budge. However, Gio was more than understanding, especially considering how much you traveled to be able to see him.

So instead of allowing this to dampen your Christmas spirit, the two of you were playing on a Minecraft server together. It was a pastime the two of you often indulged in as a way to combat the time zones and do fun things together. With a controller in your hand, headphones over your ears, and his face appearing on videochat on your PC, it was an unconventional yet fun way for you to spend Christmas together.

"If you blow up my house again, I'm gonna kill you," you grumbled, spinning in circles to kill the time.

"I wouldn't do that for Christmas. Maybe New Year's. You know, for fireworks or something," He retorted, making your jaw drop.

"That's so rude!" you said offended.

He shrugged his shoulders. "You call it rude, I call it festive."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "What am I gonna do with him?" you muttered to yourself.

"Hey, your life would be much more boring without me in it," he said nonchalantly.

You rolled your eyes, but you knew he was right. It had been a few years since you'd caught Gio's eye at a US friendly. He found you so breathtaking he literally fell for you, accidentally tripping over his own feet in front of the whole stadium. Despite the embarrassment he felt, it was worth the moment Gio saw the bright smile on your face. He was the cause of it, and he wanted to be the cause of it for the rest of your lives. He tossed you his jersey at the end of the game, along with his number, and the rest was history.

"Please," you scoffed, "you're the one who fell for me, not the other way around."

"We said we wouldnt bring it up anymore!" he whined, making you giggle. "It's Christmas, baby, you can't be doing this to me!"

"Technically, we have 2 minutes until Christmas," you smirked, making him pout on your screen.

"I spent all this time on your surprise and this is the thanks I get."

"And I'm the dramatic one he says," you rolled your eyes.

"Oh baby, you can come back now! We have one minute left!" Gio said excitedly.

You traveled the short distance, passing through the rainy area of the island you lived on and entering the snowy one of your boyfriend's. It was fitting considering it was Christmas Eve.

"How come your side gets snow and mine gets rain?" you asked him, making your way to his house. "That's so unfair."

"You're the one who decided to build aaaall the way over there, dude," you shrugged. "I told you to build right next to me but noooooo, you 'needed space.' Why do you need space?"

"Because you'd probably create a huge ass system to blow up my house every day, Giovanni," you said flatly, arriving in front of him. "I know you too well."

"Okay, I need you to start that Christmas playlist now." You rolled your eyes but complied, the music playing through the speakers for the both of you to hear. "Are you ready for this?"

"Give me all you got," you answered.

Gio checked the clock, beginning his countdown. "Three, two, one, Merry Christmas! Welcome to my humble abode!" He said proudly, opening the door to his home.

To say you were stunned was an understatement. Gio had really gone all out despite it only being a video game. His entire house was decorated as best it could with Christmas decorations: stockings on his little fireplace, Christmas light arrangements, dinner set on the table. He even went out of his way to make a Christmas tree. Just the way that he knew you loved to decorate your house.

"Wh-what is this?" you asked in shock, a smile forming on your face.

"It's a Minecraft Christmas!" he exclaimed, loving how happy you looked.

"When did you find all the time to do all of this?" you asked again, spinning around to really take in his work.

"I made time," he smiled. "I figured that if we can't spend Christmas together in person, at least we can do it in our house here. It's not the same, but the spirit is here all the same!"

You stared at him through the screen of your computer, touched that he went through the effort of doing all of this just to simulate Christmas together.

"Oh, I even got you a present! Open the chest!" he said excitedly.

You opened the chest to see a full set of armor, weapons, and he even went as far as making plenty of potions for your monster hunting and mining adventures, something the two of you frequented quite often.

"And I did it all myself. No creative mode necessary," he bragged.

"No way! This chest is full, G. This must've taken you weeks to get all the supplies!" you said in disbelief.

You could see him shaking his head. "Yep. I grinded for weeks to get all this stuff. But I don't care about that. I only get the best for my girl. It doesn't matter whether it's a present in Minecraft or the present I sent to your house. You deserve it all, baby."

Your eyes widened as you understood what he just said. "You sent a present to my house?! I thought you said you wanted to give me my present in person once I went to Germany again!"

Even through your phone screen, you could see Gio's eyes twinkling with excitement, just like a little kid opening his presents.

"Oh, you're still getting that present when you come back. But I saw this one and I knew I had to send it to you. It was meant to be here by tonight, but you know how shipping can be sometimes," he explained. "Either way, I'm glad I had this ready for you. I know how much you love seeing the house decorated. I even have snow blocks to build snowmen together in case it didn't end up snowing so we can still have our snowman friends!"

Christmas was indeed your favorite season. And having Gio was truly the best present that you could possibly ask for. He went above and beyond for you despite it only being in a video game, and it just showed how lucky you were to have him.

"Thank you for all of this. I love you, G," you said sweetly, smiling brightly at him.

"I love you too, Y/N. Merry Christmas," he replied, returning your smile. "Now let's eat this cake. I gotta regenerate my health before we fight off these creepers tonight!"

"What have we said about explosions on Christmas?!"

Taglist: @neverinadream @chilwellspulisic @thoseboysinblue @pulisicsgirl @lovelynikol16 @lizzypotter14 @nyctophilic0vitnir @shadowscorch @notsoattractivearenti

[cottonundiestf]

Hi, I'm Layla!

I should probably make a pin, huh?

I'm Layla Rose, an erotica writer and wannabe bimbo. My content on Tumblr is primarily geared toward kink writing. I wear many hats, some sluttier than others!

I publish Erotica Novellas, usually focused on transformation stories! And you should totally buy some if you like!

I sometimes stream on Twitch as a VTuber! I'm MissLaylaFortune on there, so drop a follow!

I run a small but friendly Discord server. Just be chill and respectful, and ask for permission to access NSFW channels before perving out!

You can pay me to say naughty things! (And some other stuff.)

I don't want to make people uncomfortable, so some kinks to be prepared for to varying degrees:

Bimbofication

Dumbification

Stepfordization

Feminization (No Sissy Language)

Corruption

Non-Con and Dubious Consent

Body Modification

Misogyny

NTR

Orientation Play

That said, all of these things are specifically here for kink fantasies and do not extend to real life. As a queer trans woman, I am going to have a lot of complicated relationships with gender and sexuality thanks to the world we live in, and kink is a way I might explore those feelings.

Things I am NOT here for:

ACTUAL Misogyny. Do not be a creep in my DMs.

In the same way, no godsdamned unsolicited dick pics

Homophobia and Transphobia. Genders and Sexualities are valid

Right Wing Chud Behavior

Racism

Capitalist Simping

Copaganda

Finally, if you like the things I do and want to support me in my journey as a writer and a bimbo, you are welcome to donate to my Ko-Fi or CashApp! But no pressure; I do not want anyone donating who can't afford it. I also have a wishlist of pretty things!

So yeah, welcome to my comfy corner! Enjoy your stay!