#even though that doesn’t sound like a lot it was to me

[amywritesthings]

your only, hopefully.

pairing: caleb x f!reader (love and deepspace) word count: 4.3k summary: You get stood up on your very first Valentine's Day date. Caleb, as always, manages to save the day.

rated mature // pre-main story, valentine's day fluff, psuedo-incest, use of 'gege' (big brother), unresolved romantic tension, a sprinkle of angst, a ton of yearning, first kiss, foot massage, virgin!caleb credit: dividers by @/saradika-graphics

( READ ON AO3. )

  [INCOMING MESSAGE] : Sry, can’t make it tonight :( 

You’ve read the text message at least a dozen times.

The thirteenth still has yet to register in your mind, though the belated anger, the confusion — the shame — creeps in like a cold sweat on the back of your neck.

Everything was almost perfect. You’d just set your makeup with a misting spray. One foot remains in a nude-colored high heel while the other foot remains on the fuzzy rectangular rug below, slanting you at an uncomfortable angle.

What once fit you perfectly now feels too tight.

Gran said buying a Valentine’s Day dress was special, that it could carry a lot of sweet memories, yet you find yourself disgusted by the crimson red hugging your body.

(Should you have known? Did you miss a sign between the lines?)

There is a knock on your door, but your brain doesn’t register the gentle wraps.

Jazzy saxophone and gentle drums, your romantic pre-game ambience, now croons morosely on your laptop; songs about love and finding the one and all that—

All that bullshit.

Hours.

You spent hours getting ready for a romantic evening that wasn't even happening now.

Your nostrils flare with the settling irritation in your belly when you grit your teeth, the feeling so overwhelming that you act without thinking:

Shrieking silently behind your pressed red lips, the sound muffled, you kick to launch your unsecured heel towards the door—

“Whoa!”

As if by divine fate (or misfortune) you watch in budding horror as Caleb darts out of the way of the offending shoe, crouching to the floor with his hands over his head.

Gege — formerly the most popular boy at school, now the golden wonder boy of the skies. Every person who has ever met him has wanted to know him, let alone date him, and you cannot blame them.

He's effortlessly kind, funny in his own right, and the type of classically handsome people think about when they dream up a hot-shot pilot with a bright future ahead of him.

He’s supposed to be out by wining and dining all of the amazing girls he’s met while away from home, yet he’s somehow standing — no, crumpled — at your bedroom door in a casual muscle tank-top and gray sweatpants.

“Caleb!” you exhale in shock.

(The text is forgotten, if only for one precious second.)

Remaining crouched, he continues to keep his eyes closed. 

“Could’ve warned me with a think fast, pipsqueak.”

 “I’m — shit, I’m so sorry,” you rasp as you rush over to him. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

With that cocky smirk tugging at his lips, Caleb reveals a playful violet eye before freezing.

The other eye opens slowly, the confidence all but wiped off of his face when he stares at you.

The facade erases as fast as a passing cloud.

“...whoa.”

Stopping in your tracks, your brows knit. “What?”

“Where’d you get that?” he asks after a beat, voice a little tighter than before.

His gaze flicks down, then up to the crown of your head, then only a fraction lower as if willing himself to keep his eyes focused on your face and your face alone.

“I don’t remember that being in your closet.”

“That’s because I bought it earlier this week,” you state, matter of fact. You look down at the sparkling red dress with disdain. “Not that it matters now.”

Finally standing at full height, you watch Caleb’s throat bob before he steps into the threshold of your bedroom.

“Uh… why? Your friends cancelling for a night in? Makes sense. Saves money.”

Giving him a knowing glare, you cross your arms over your chest and sigh away the creeping embarrassment. “Not quite.”

“Cancelling in general?” he tries again, mirroring his arms over his broad chest. The motion accentuates his naked biceps.

(Huh. They look bigger since he last visited.)

“Worse,” you conclude. 

“Worse?”

“I got stood up by a guy in my hunter class, so that’ll be awesome to kick off Monday with.”

Before he can hide it, you see it: his jaw clenches, tight, and a dark shadow passes over his expression.

The playful boy you’ve grown up with disappears in a flash.

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks flatly. “Does he live nearby?”

“Caleb.”

“Was he going to come pick you up?”

“Caleb.”

“I have privileges now, pipsqueak. You point me in the right direction and I’ll—”

“Gege! Enough."

The old name of endearment you’ve retired when he turned eighteen, buried with the rest of your bizarre family memorabilia — one that’s only stayed in your mind and never exited your mouth ever since — slips.

Caleb’s eyes flash with discontent until you reach for his face, sandwiching his cheeks between your palms.

In an instant the heat is snuffed out, and he relaxes without any further debate.

You know how he gets.

Not quite jealousy, not entirely overprotection.

I’d fly to the sun and back for you, pipsqueak, you know that.

(You do. You know he would.)

Caleb will blindly step out of this home to go find whatever man scorned you on Valentine’s Day and take whatever repercussions arrive, no questions asked.

His affection for you has always run deeper than the familial title Gran suggested when you were both so very small.

Caleb, you protect your mei mei by any means necessary.

He took that vow seriously, even now when you’re both adults.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him — and yourself. “It’s stupid anyway. Valentine’s Day is barely a holiday.”

Brows furrowed, Caleb raises his hand to meet you, eclipsing your own. His skin is always so warm, soft despite the callouses from his vigorous workouts.

The softness of this gesture melts away the rest of your rage into an evaporating puddle at your feet.

“It’s not stupid,” he states. “You were excited about going out, and some punk took for granted the best girl in Linkon City.”

His eyes widen briefly before his fingers curl over yours.

“Nope. Uh-uh. The night has barely begun.”

When he tugs you towards your bedroom door, your first step stumbles. “Wait, what?”

“We’re going out.”

Are you hearing things?

“We — huh?”

“Go wait for me in the living room, alright?” he states, briefly kissing the back of your hand before letting go. “I’m sure Gran kept some of my presentable stuff hung up in my closet. Shouldn’t take me that long to get ready. A buddy of mine’s brother owns a restaurant in the shopping district.”

“But Caleb—”

“Ah-ah, nope.”  

His lips pop the ‘p’ purposefully.

Caleb turns in a semi-circle to you, his boyish black hair skating over his eyes as the cockiness returns in a grin. 

“Actually — might wanna grab your that shoe you tried attacking me with and its twin, then go wait for me in the living room. Can’t have you runnin’ barefoot on the sidewalk. You catch colds too easily.”

.

.

.

.

.

In true Caleb fashion, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

But you have better things to do than placate me!

(It isn’t placating if I want to do it, pipsqueak.)

But you probably have to return super early in the morning!

(Don’t care. I’ve pulled all-nighters worse than this.)

Caleb, you really don’t have to—

(Don’t finish that sentence.)

So you don’t.

Words cease to exist the minute you see Caleb walk out of his bedroom wearing his original Deepspace Aviation Administration dress uniform. You’ve only seen it once before at his graduation, all buttoned up in properly pressed olives and golds.

He walks towards you with that signature smirk of his, the one that makes just about everyone in Linkon City — and now Skyhaven — swoon no matter where he goes.

He looks beautiful.

(He should be out spending this holiday with a proper girlfriend, not you.)

It’s the mantra on your mind the entire way to the restaurant.

The way he holds the door open for you.

The way he pulls your chair out and makes sure you’re properly situated at a candlelit table.

The way he reaches across the table to squeeze your hand as if to reassure you—

Or himself—

That it’s not weird.

It isn’t, right?

Being here with the person who knows you best after all these years when you were meant to be sitting across from a damn near stranger; it isn’t like anyone in this restaurant knows your unusual upbringing, what you mean to one another.

So you squeeze back, and you see it: the tension in Caleb’s shoulders fades away.

For what it’s worth, his friend’s restaurant is far better than whatever you were going to have with your ghost.

The two of you share a bottle of wine and have the longest conversations you’ve held since he left for the academy.

Like the old days.

The ones where you’d spend countless hours in the summer heat enjoying the fireflies. 

The night skies littered with stars and swallowed by light pollution — that never stopped Caleb from telling you all about the planes passing over your heads.

Infectious; the sheer excitement to think of a new tomorrow waiting at the end of today.

And like two kids who didn’t know any better, you fell victim to speaking like the other would be an important part of that very tomorrow.

Video calls nightly, reduced to phone calls.

Phone calls weekly, reduced to texts.

Texts to… well, surprises like this.

Now, in the present, he’s still important. He’s still your gege, even if that title is a square piece trying to fit in a circular hole. 

No person will ever fill the Caleb-sized hole left in his absence as he reaches for the stars he so desperately wished to seek.

(And the wine’s beginning to taste like he needs to know that.)

.

.

.

.

.

“C’mon. Hop up.”

You’re several blocks from the restaurant walking in silence when Caleb is the first to break through the silence. 

Ordering any and all desserts off the menu that your heart desires, demanding the check to pay completely on his own dime — he’s spoiled you and then some tonight. 

I’ll take care of you, remember? That was my promise.

Except this is Valentine’s Day.

(Don’t you understand the importance of Valentine’s Day, gege?)

The question lingers on your tongue with venomous self hatred. Caleb has always been quick to act as your savior, putting your needs above all else, but this was the one night where you wanted something special. 

You can’t be special to the man walking beside you, not in the way the holiday suggests.

Too many problems.

Too many implications.

(We’re not joined by blood, only wine.)

That very wine turns sour the longer your heels irritate your feet in this slow, silent trek back to Gran’s house.

It’s when his melodic voice snaps you out of your mental spiral, causing your eyes to meet a softening violet gaze.

Winking, he assumes position: the taller man playfully squats with his hands low and at the ready to catch you mid-flight.

“What?” you finally blurt, trying to catch up to where this came from.

“C’mon, you’ve been wobbling on those heels for two blocks,” Caleb states, nodding once and nearly knocking his aviation cap. “Get on up here.”

“You want to carry me?”

“Does it look like I’m proposing anything else?” he retorts. “Don’t get big and brave. Big and brave means we’ll be dealing with blisters.” 

When you hesitate a second more, his voice drops to a gentler tone. 

“You’re overthinking, pipsqueak. I don’t want you hurting your feet. You got a city to keep safe in the morning, remember?”

Damn it.

He’s not wrong.

Relentling as you sling your small purse over your shoulder, you assume position with your arms wrapped around his neck.

When you hop up, Caleb effortlessly catches you without so much as a grunt from the added weight.

“Thatta girl. See, was that so hard?”

“I don’t have my hunter’s license yet,” you answer instead, combating his earlier sentiment as you relax against his back. He’s always been strong, but you're surprised by the sheer muscle nestled against your chest. “I’m not saving any lives right now.”

“You never know,” he states as he easily maneuvers across the street to stay the course leading to Gran’s house. “You’re smart. Capable. Strong. Who’s to say you don’t graduate early?”

“Oh, har-har,” you grumble as you drop your cheek against his back. Even if you can’t see it, the low chuckle he emits helps you envision a growing grin. “I won’t be graduating tomorrow. Early, maybe, but definitely not tomorrow.”

“How’s it going, by the way?”

“Mm?”

“Hunter school, duh.”

“Oh, you’re asking now?”

Caleb turns a corner, giving him a momentary pause. “You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it at dinner.”

No, you didn’t.

(It’s so irritating, being seen sometimes.)

“Besides getting ditched for a date?” you inquire. “Not bad.”

Biceps tense against your sides.

“You didn’t get ditched,” he corrects, airier than before. “You made better plans.”

“Technically you told me to grab my shoes, so I didn’t make anything,” you argue in return, the wine adding a boldness to your tongue. “I just followed your orders.”

With a tsk, tsk, tsk under his breath, the fingers around your thighs squeeze the bare flesh as a teasing warning to knock it off.

Caleb finally crosses the street to Gran’s front door, only setting you down to fish the front door key from his uniform pocket.

As soon as he has the door opened, however, he props it with his knee and loops an arm around your back.

Using the hand curled around your upper arm, he pushes you backwards and straight into his arms. He scoops just under your knees in a bridal style carry through the threshold of the house.

Your shriek twists into a bewildered cackle at the abruptness of his gentlemanly reprise, your arms scrambling to hold his neck for dear life.

He carefully maneuvers you both into your bedroom. “What?” he asks with amusement peppering his tone. “Something up?”

“Yes!” you laugh as he gingerly sets you down on your bed. “Or — I guess not anymore.”

Caleb grins as he drops to a knee, his slender fingers deftly working on the loops of your heels.

“Haven’t heard you laugh like that since high school.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he states, sliding the shoe off with caution — avoiding any possible blisters they may have caused while simultaneously searching your heel and toes for blemishes. When satisfied, he starts on the second heel. “It’s nice.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m being serious, pipsqueak,” he replies, brows knit together with another huff of amusement. “I was afraid hunter school would’ve wiped off your sense of humor or something. The pros in the field always seem so… serious.”

His fingers absently rub along the arch of your foot, pressing into the tender muscle with the pads of his thumbs.

Your eyelids flutter from the sheer pleasure of such a simple movement.

Just as you’d hoped that maybe he’d continue tending to the weary soles of your feet, Caleb freezes.

His hands remain where they are, but his eyes drop to your lap to avoid yours.

Something feels… off.

Like there’s something on the tip of his tongue — something maybe lingering on yours as well — but the silence engulfs the telepathic conversation warring in your minds.

So you break it, skirting past the tension.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” you admit under your breath, earnest and appreciative.

Caleb’s chin lifts without hesitation this time, his violet eyes wider.

The muscles in his cheeks twitch, suppressing a smile before it can fully surface, before speaking just as softly.

“Your only — hopefully.”

“Not my only, no.”

When his face falls, you cheekily follow up with a growing smile of your own.

“Technically you used to always be my Valentine, back in the day, so I've had Valentine's Days to remember before. Don’t think I forgot the baskets you used to make up for me so easily.”

It takes a second, but life eventually returns to his face in screaming color.

If the room wasn’t so dark, you’d swear the man kneeling before you was blushing.

“Damn, you remember those crappy things?”

“Do you seriously think I’d forget my after school Valentine’s Day baskets, Caleb? Really?”

“It’s been a while,” he argues, letting go of your foot to rest both palms on the ruffled sheets on either side of your hips. “We were just kids.”

“Yeah, but it meant something.”

Just like tonight.

Caleb has always gone above and beyond for your comfort.

(Your praise.)

Always putting your needs before his; always sorting out solutions that benefit you the most; always coming in last for eating, for sleeping, for taking showers, for…

Everything.

Even tonight, so long as it means it makes you happy.

Yet even if the wine loosens your secrets, you don’t expect him to confess why he spent so much of his waking hours catering to you and you alone.

(Square space, meet circular abyss.)

His eyes crinkle as he smiles up at you, admiring what sits in front of him.

The look makes your stomach somersault, heart yearning to reach for him — to touch the warmth of his skin and bask in an endless summer —

“You look deep in thought, pipsqueak.”

Caleb’s voice takes you from the dreamlike fantasy, short-circuiting the directive to never speak about what’s right in front you.

“You said this was a date, right?”

The question falls out of your mouth faster than intended.

Still all smiles, you note the furrow in Caleb’s brow.

“Sure, why?”

“And it was good?”

“I mean, I thought so,” he states. “We didn’t even come home with leftovers, so I can’t imagine you’re gonna tell me that you hated the restaur—”

“Don’t good dates usually end with a kiss?”

Every ounce of heat in this room vanishes in a flash.

The playful smile remains, but the intent shifts from earnest to disingenuous in a flinch. 

A mask; micro-movements in the muscles of his face show a new story about the night, one not as innocent as his knight in shining armor may have originally displayed.

You can only hope you aren’t reading between the wrong lines.

When your question isn’t met with an answer, rejection squeezes your stomach mercilessly.

You didn’t read between the lines, no — you crossed them, possibly to a degree you may never recover from.

“It’s fine,” you blurt immediately, waving your hands wildly in front of your chest. 

Caleb’s face falls in worried despair, and you find that this new onslaught of adrenaline is making you nauseous.

“Wait—”

“Forget I said that. Whoops, the wine—”

“Hey, no, don’t hide from me.”

Before you can press your palm to your forehead, those same warm hands curl around your fingers to tug it down. 

“C’mon.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

In an attempt to create some distance, you push yourself back onto your bed and swing your bare feet out of Caleb’s orbit, side-stepping him completely.

Standing to take to a pace, you don’t have the willpower to ask him to leave.

“It’s fine, seriously. Thank you for the nice night,” you keep going, trying to talk yourself out of the panic you feel eroding your belly.

Crying would just make this worse.

“Pipsqueak, don’t.”

“You said you had an early morning, right?”

Finally turning to face him, his image is watery at best.

You blink as fast as you can to eliminate the tears brewing in your eyes, but they seem to be working faster.

Caleb’s eyes grow impossibly wide at the sight of your struggles, as though your confliction hurts his very goddamn soul.

His long legs take one stride, another, a final until his large hands imprison your face to stare right into his.

You realize too late that he’s leaning in.

Dipping down.

—and a pause.

What was once covered in ice is thawed, and soon the warmth — the heat — of the most important man of your life returns. 

Those violet eyes stare down at your nose, dipping lower, cursed to stall.

You don’t move.

Couldn’t, not when your lungs have seized with confusion; anticipation.

“Tell me not to.”

His voice doesn’t sound the same — once cocky and confident, walking through life with everyone adoring his Midas touch, now withers and dies as a broken plea.

His breath mixes with yours.

You can still smell the red wine on his tongue.

“...Caleb?”

The pinkish flecks of his eyes flicker when he raises his attention.

In the dim light of the window, he looks boyish here.

Scared.

“Tell me not to,” he weakly repeats. “Just tell me not to and I won’t.”

Oh.

Now you’re the one at a loss for words.

“If you didn’t mean to ask,” he clarifies, tone trembling, “if you want to rewind to five minutes ago, then I’ll go to my room. I’ll leave in the morning, but if you —”

Stopping himself, the man looks physically pained when his eyes close, inhaling slowly as if to settle his budding nerves.

The tension in his jaw bubbles, clenches, until he exhales through his nose as steadily as he can.

“But if you say yes, I won’t be—” 

“Please?”

The word — the request, the plea — escapes faster than intended.

So does Caleb’s restraint.

Both hands holding your face drag you forward, your bare feet sliding along the floor, until you feel a gentle pressure on your lips.

Your hands grab the front of his uniform, balling the fabric between your fists as you decidedly press back.

His makes a noise of surprise against your mouth, melting into the reciprocation.

You notice as you both exhale, parting for only a moment before pressing lips against lips once more, that his hands are shaking.

Maybe you’re shaking, too.

Because it should feel wrong. Every time you’ve fantasized about being the girl he takes to a formal, the woman his eyes linger on for too long from across the bar, you’ve been struck with the immense shame in the back of your mind. 

Wrong, like he was ever truly blood.

Wrong, like the fates laughed in the face of undeniable desire.

Wrong, like you would ever love anyone more than Caleb. 

Nothing has ever felt more right.

All you can focus on is the way he smells, like woodsy cologne and red wine; the way he touches you so preciously, his thumb absently running along your cheekbone the longer you kiss in the middle of your bedroom; the way he sounds with every press and pull, gutted with pure arousal and want.

Your name, fluttering against his tongue, before it glides along your lower lip.

You don’t deny him.

He groans as if your refusal to stop could ruin him, but there is a sharp inhale before a chill passes against your glistening lips.

Caleb pulls away to find a purchase of air, violet eyes as dark as deepspace while regarding the haze of affection he’s met by your fluttering eyes. 

“Hey.”

The greeting is shy.

Small.

Swallowing to coat your dry throat, you weakly reply. “Hey.”

“You good?” he murmurs, petting the crown of your head affectionately.

A dam has broken — for the next few minutes, you have Caleb at his most raw.

Gone is the guarded expression you’ve learned to live with, replaced with radiating affection.

Despite yourself, you nod.

“Should I ask where you learned to kiss like that?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

Wait.

Your expression smooths with recognition. “What do you mean—?”

A smile, euphoric and unabashed, breaks out.

“What, you think I’m busy kissing aliens or something when I’m out flying?”

Scorned by his playfulness, you bump your fist against his broad chest.

“Caleb.”

“What?” he teases. “You asked — but, ah… no. That was—”

His brow knits for a moment, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears.

“My best effort at my first. Why, couldn’t tell?”

You.

His first kiss happened with you.

Your lips tingle with the shock — the sheer satisfaction — of holding that title.

“Don’t go back to your room tonight,” you softly state instead, reaching for his hand to squeeze it. The blush on his face only intensifies, so you let out a tiny scoff. “To cuddle, genius. I’m not looking to check off all of the boxes in one night.”

Caleb makes a tsk sound with his tongue before tilting his head.

“Preserving my honor, I see.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Even if you’ve gone past the point of no return—-

Even if you’re crossed the line—

Somehow he’s still Caleb, and you’re still you.

You thought that if one day you both took the impossible, forbidden leap of faith, that it would destroy the very foundation of what you’ve been since you were children.

Yet it feels like it was meant to always be this way — as if it’s as catastrophic as a rogue breeze on a summer night.

Taking his hand, you pull him back to your bed. 

As you slide onto the mattress to get comfortable, Caleb shrugs out of his uniform jacket, leaving him in a white tee.

He crawls alongside you the way he used to during thunderstorms, scooping you close to his chest while his heavy arm settles around your waist.

Protective.

You settle against him just as you always have, eyes closed.

Only the feel of his heart racing against your back remains.

For a moment you both lay here, basking in what’s happened — what will never be the same — before his voice murmurs against your neck.

“If you ever wanted to check off all of the boxes—”

His nose nuzzles your skin, humming at its scent.

“—they’ve always been yours to take.”

.

author's note: caleb gripped me tight and raised me from season depression perdition and i owe him my life (dramatic but true). this is my first ever lads fic despite being a week one player so tysm for reading !! i hope to write more in the very near future. happy valentine's day, tumblr friends. xoxo amy

[suzukiblu]

Day one of February’s third weekly WIP behind the cut; “interdimensional kidnapping via Robin”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Am I like–for real yours?” he asks in a small voice, keeping his eyes down on the sidewalk. “You keep–you keep talking like you’re really gonna keep me. Like–like you’re gonna.” 

. . . fuck, he has been, hasn't he. 

Kon sniffles again; scrubs his cuffed wrist across his eyes again. Tim hates the sight of that fucking cuff, again. 

“I . . . look, I don't own you, kid, but–yes,” he says, because what the hell else is he even supposed to say? Because, well . . . Kon isn't wrong. Obviously. Even if that’s about to be a serious wrench in literally his entire life. “At least, well–I could find someone else to take care of you if you'd rather, but–” 

Kon stops walking and bursts into tears. 

Fuck, Tim thinks very calmly, and just tightens his grip on the other's hand as carefully as he can. Just–tight, but not too tight for Kon to be able to pull away from it if he wants. At least–hopefully the kid'll parse it that way, anyway. Hopefully the kid'll understand it that way. 

“Sorry,” he says, which is probably stupid and unhelpful, but it's what he says. Kon cries harder, so–definitely stupid and unhelpful, yeah. 

Dammit. 

Tim ducks down into a crouch in front of the kid; keeps holding his hand and cradles the other's shoulder with his free hand. Kon keeps crying, half-choking on hitched little sobs as tears spill down his face over and over, his face screwed up tight and all red and wet behind the half-cover of his cuffed wrist. Tim wants to cut the damn thing off him. Tim wants to burn down every reality except whichever one this kid currently wants to be in. 

He wants to make this kid feel safe. 

Burning down the multiverse would probably be easier than that, though. 

“Kid,” he says, quiet and tight. Kon cries a little harder, ducking his head and burying his face in his hand. He doesn’t let go of Tim’s, though. Tim has increasing thoughts of multidimensional arson, but at this point would settle for a correctly-sized bolt cutter. 

“S-sorry,” Kon chokes. He sounds like he thinks it’s just as stupid and unhelpful as Tim felt like saying it himself was. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m not–just I didn’t–just–sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be,” Tim tells him, giving his hand and shoulder both a very gentle squeeze. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Dunno,” Kon sniffles, tears still spilling wet and messy past his hand. “I feel–I feel all–all I dunno.” 

“Okay,” Tim says quietly. “That’s alright. What do you need right now?” 

“Please don’t be a liar,” Kon says, and it comes out more a sob than anything else. “Don’t–don’t lie to me. Please. I’ll be really good, I promise, just–just don’t lie.” 

That is actually one of the hardest things someone could ever ask him, Tim’s pretty sure, but also the person currently asking him it is a four month-old/ten year-old version of the best friend he’s ever had in his life, who never even got to be ten, so like . . . he’ll goddamn figure it out, won’t he. 

“Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t lie to you.” 

Kon cries a lot harder.

[milunalupin]

❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know��� if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”

[reccyls]

The Robin Who Grazed the Reaper’s Secret Eagerly Awaits His Words (Part 1)

My translation of Victor's 2025 birthday story!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue (Victor's POV)

---

The middle of February was approaching.

(He asked me to come to a different room instead of the lounge, I wonder what this is about.)

William had called for me, so I made my way towards one of the castle’s rooms.

(It didn’t sound like anything serious, though.)

Arriving at the designated room, I knocked on the door.

Kate: William, it’s Kate.

William: Come in.

William was elegantly sipping some tea while seated as I entered.

Kate: Sorry to keep you waiting.

William: I haven’t been waiting for that long. Don’t worry about it.

I nervously sat on the chair opposite of William.

William: I’ve called you today to discuss none other than Victor.

Kate: Wait, do you mean–

Catching onto what he was implying, I sat up straighter.

William: That’s right, it’s about his birthday.

This coming 20th of February was Victor’s birthday.

(I couldn’t celebrate properly last year, because I only found out it was his birthday the day after.)

–flashback– Victor: Yesterday was my birthday. Kate: …Huh? Kate: HUH!?? –end flashback–

I’d resolved to celebrate his birthday on the actual day itself next year, and that day was quickly approaching.

William: I know you’ve been thinking hard about how to celebrate this year, so I thought we could work together.

Kate: William…

I was happy to have such a strong ally in my quest.

William: As we both know, our hardworking queen’s aide doesn’t take any time off. William: Not even for his own birthday.

With an amused smile, William put forth a proposal.

William: So why not force him to take a break?

Kate: What?

He passed me a stack of papers. Confused, I glanced over them, seeing that it was a mission report.

Kate: This is… the report from your investigation the other day, isn’t it? Kate: It says the mission was completed without any problems.

William: The mission is over, true. I just haven��t submitted the report yet.

Kate: But why–

William: I was thinking of adding a recommendation to this report. I think that the queen’s aide should go inspect this site personally.

Kate: So that means…

William: What a keen little robin.

With a satisfied, mischievous grin, William picked up a pen and scribbled in a line at the end of the report.

William: On Victor’s birthday, we’ll send him on a fake mission to force him to take some time off. William: However, if we left it at just that, he’d probably suspect something was going on. That’s where you come in.

Kate: Right.

William: Join him on this fake assignment and discreetly make sure he gets some rest. William: This is a mission only you can complete. Will you accept?

Seeing William’s sly smirk, I felt my own mouth quirking into a smile.

Kate: Leave it to me!

And so began the plan to get Victor to rest and relax for his birthday.

...

Victor: Kate, what’s the matter?

Kate: N-Nothing!

It was now the day of Victor’s birthday. I couldn’t help but fret about keeping the plan secret.

(I have to be really careful not to let anything show on my face.) (But how much can I really fool Victor… he’s really observant��)

We were in a small suburban town close to London. Walking side by side with Victor, I ran over William’s plan in my head.

(It’s good that we were able to plan together until the last minute.)

William wasn’t with us today, but he’d placed the order for the cake and food, along with helping out with a lot of other small details.

(He said, “I leave the rest to you,” so that means I need to do my best!)

I was filled with a renewed determination to carry out my part to get Victor to rest.

Victor: You look like you’re raring to go today.

Kate: Well, it’s been so long since we were on a mission together.

My heart began to pick up, and my next words left me in a rush.

(But, none of it is a lie.)

Kate: Even if it’s just for a mission, I’m really happy we can spend time together like this.

Victor was always so busy. So even being able to do something simple like this was enough to lift my mood.

Victor: I hardly ever get the chance to leave London. So even if it is just a mission, I’m glad for the opportunity. Victor: The fact that it’s with you just makes it all the better.

Stopping in the street, Victor extended a hand towards me while bowing his head slightly in my direction.

Victor: Shall we make the most of this chance?

Victor smiled happily.

Victor: For the whole day, as much as possible, I’d like it if you didn’t let go of my hand.

Equally surprised and pleased by Victor’s words, I felt my mouth curving into a smile. My own hand reached out.

Kate: Gladly.

Our hands overlapped, palm to palm.

Victor: Let’s set off, my dearest robin.

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 4 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, dry humping, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 4

After your encounter backstage with Steve, you consider a few options.

Make a beeline for the roof of the building and try to jump off, hopefully to your untimely death. Or - 

- return to the floor, watch the rest of the show, and act like everything is normal. 

It takes you most of the walk back down the hallway to pick the second, admittedly more logical, option.

You make your way back to the crowd in the venue, shouldering your way through packed bodies and pulling the bottom of your shoes off the sticky floor until you manage to spot Nancy.

“You okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed with worry - you were gone far too long for a bathroom run.

“Yeah, just a long line,” you lie, your voice higher-pitched than you’d like it to be. If Nancy notices, she doesn’t say anything.

You just do your best to stare straight ahead, and pretend to be captivated by the band on stage. In truth, they’re only okay - but it doesn’t matter, because at least you don’t have to look at him up there.

It’s then that you only know one thing for certain - you’re going to have to spend the rest of the school year completely avoiding Steve. That, of course, is virtually impossible. Unless -

For a brief, fleeing moment, the thought of quitting the radio station crosses your mind. In general, it’s the only time you see him - the university’s campus is big enough that you rarely encounter him in any other context. Though, knowing your luck, somehow he’ll suddenly start popping up on your regular walk to class now, making himself known across campus at your inconvenience.

Still… quitting the station really brings the chances of seeing him again down to nearly zero.

No, you can’t - you’re not going to stop doing your favorite thing because of him. That’s how Steve wins - maybe that’s been his plan all along, actually. You wouldn’t put that past him. You want to smack yourself for even considering the possibility - you’re in charge of the place, and you’d screw over a lot of people if you quit in the middle of the semester.

You’re still thinking about Steve, despite doing everything in your power not to. You’re thinking about him as the last band leaves the stage, as you drive home with Nancy, and even later that night as you’re lying in bed, willing yourself to go to sleep.

As you stare at your ceiling, you try to rationalize what happened. Maybe it didn’t happen at all, and it was some strange dream. But, you think about the taste of him, his rough hands wandering along your soft skin, the way he sounded as he -

You sit up, groaning as your head falls into your hands. You’re so unbelievably fucked.

*****

That Thursday, you do something you’ve never done before - you call out of your radio show, for no real reason. Most DJ’s aren’t allowed to call out more than three times a semester. You’ve missed your show exactly twice before this in the last 3 years - once due to having a horrible fever, the other due to your grandfather’s funeral. So, when you call the station to say you’ll be missing your show (and Eddie picks up the phone, because of course he does), he’s surprised enough that you have to pretend you’re sick. You’re not sure he buys your performance, but he just says he’ll cross you out of the schedule, allowing you to keep up the charade.

Still, you can’t stay away forever. You do your best to focus on other things - schoolwork, friends, and not Steve. It doesn’t matter that you keep a keen eye out as you walk across campus, your heart speeding up as you spot another guy with his silhouette and a similar mop of hair walking ahead of you, only to feel relief when he turns around and reveals he’s not who you thought he was.

You still end up seeing him sooner than you’d hoped, though - you thought you’d avoid him until the following Thursday, when you inevitably had to come into the studio and do your radio show after skipping the last one. But no - instead, there’s a meeting at the station this Sunday, because of course there is. You had scheduled it, of course, but that was before what happened at the show.

You just try to put him out of your mind beforehand, instead focusing on the agenda and main talking points - after all, it’s your job. If there’s one thing you love, it’s planning things - down to the minute, if possible. Here’s the problem with station meetings, though - the board meets beforehand, just as a small group, to go over everything before the rest of the DJs arrive. This has always been a bit of an inconvenience for you, thanks to Steve’s exasperating presence - now, you need it about as much as a hole in the head. 

That morning, you’re the first to arrive - that’s to be expected. You unlock the station door and head into your tiny, messy office, pulling out your notes to go over with the rest of the board when they arrive - if they arrive. Perhaps Steve’s poor attendance record would continue today, and you won’t have to deal with him at all. You sigh, spotting the CD box in the corner. Bands and artists mail in their music all the time, hoping to be put on-air in the ongoing new music rotation. DJs can even take CDs home to review them, list some favorite songs, and note the explicit tracks that can’t be played on-air. Then, it’s your job to sort all the CDs by genre and shelve them in the studio, so other students in the station can find them easily. But right now, the box is overflowing - you’d probably have to stay after the meeting to sort it out. You sigh again, bemoaning the less-than glamorous parts of your job. 

You hear the station door open, signaling someone’s arrival. You tense, hearing the footsteps walking towards your office door. It’s enough to make you whirl around, only to relax when you see Darius posp his head in.

“Hey - anyone else here yet?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, shaking your head as you return to organizing your notes strewn across your desk.

“Um, no - I only just got here a few minutes ago.”

He nods, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Cool - hey, did I spot you at Fuze Box on Saturday?”

Even the mention of it makes your adrenaline spike.

“Oh - yeah. You did a great job - emceeing, that is -”

He laughs. “Thanks. I get paid exactly zero dollars, but they said I can have any of their old equipment that I want, since they just upgraded everything. Speaking of which, I think I can score a few new mics to replace the ones without going into the budget - I mean, I’ll talk about it at the meeting -”

“Yeah, sounds good -” you say absentmindedly, eyes widening as you see something on your desk that catches your eye. Darius is still chatting, but you’ve stopped listening.

“Talk about it in a bit -” you add quietly, trying to politely dismiss him. He gets the message and steps out, presumably heading to the lounge. You hear a few more people shuffling in outside your door. But, that’s not what interests you right now. Instead, it the note on your desk, written on the back of an old napkin.

Meet me in the vinyl library, after meeting. After they’re all gone.

It’s not signed, but you can now recognize the handwriting well enough. When did he leave this? 

He must mean today, after the meeting… after they’re all gone. He knows you’ve been avoiding him… but you can’t avoid him here. You examine it for a moment, picking it up and flipping it in your hands. There’s nothing else written, no other information. You crumple it up, tossing it in the small garbage can beside your desk. Your mind is racing - what’s he up to now? You remember the conversation about the vinyl library at the party a few weeks ago, and you feel your face heat. There’s no way he actually wants to -

Your train of thought is interrupted by a soft knock on your door. You jump slightly, and clear your throat.

“Yeah?”

Eddie pokes his head in.

“Hey - everyone’s here.”

You nod, offering a small smile as you grab your notebook.

“Right - thanks,” you say quietly, following him out towards the station lounge.

Sure enough, the whole E-board is there - Darius, Eddie, Argyle, Chrissy Cunningham, Diego Hernandez, Lucas Sinclair… and, of course, Steve.

You cast a glance around the room as you enter, and offer a friendly smile, but decidedly ignore Steve.

“Hey, everyone - thanks for coming out on a Sunday… I hope nobody’s too hungover,” you say, glancing down at your notebook. There’s a sprinkle of laughs.

“Okay, so - you guys know the drill… when the rest of the station members get here, everyone can say their piece about anything important pertaining to their position… I just wanted us to meet first, in case anyone had something specific they wanted to bring up to me, or other members of the board before everyone arrives. Also, reminder that Nancy’s not here today because of her internship, but she gave me her notes…so, what’ve you guys got?”

It’s only at the end of your spiel that you look up, glancing around. Steve is staring right at you - the bastard.

Darius raises his hand - a relief. You call on him, and listen as he starts going on about the secondhand equipment he procured for the station from the Fuze Box. You stare right at him as he speaks, feeling Steve’s stare burning a hole through your head from across the room.

The next hour or so flies by - the larger group of student DJs arrive, and everyone makes announcements. Eddie mentions the new time slot for his training show, Lucas brings up how he needs to take over other people’s slots if they fall during the university’s sporting events for commentary, Chrissy talks a bit about fundraising for the station’s music festival in the spring - pretty typical fare for a station meeting. When you finally get to Steve, you’re forced to finally acknowledge him.

“Harrington,” you say, matter-of-fact. “Any updates?”

Steve just stares at you for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, and shakes his head. 

“Nope - nothing from me.”

You sigh.

“Nothing from the Program Director, at all?”

It’s not fair to do this in front of everyone else, you know that, but you’re too tired of his shit to really care.

He rolls his eyes.

“Nope - I’m already doing my job perfectly - thanks, though.”

There’s a smattering of snickers and whispers throughout the room. You ignore it, holding his gaze as you cross your arms.

“Fine - glad you’re so sure of yourself, Harrington,” you say curtly.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, nobody really sure what to say. You don’t break eye contact with Steve, refusing to surrender. After somebody behind you awkwardly clears their throat, Steve finally relents.

“Fine - um - everyone cool it with the explicit tracks on the air, or the FCC wil be on our asses - I’m looking at you, Munson.”

There’s a cry of protest from Eddie’s side of the room, followed by a series of laughs, and the tense moment has passed.

Steve holds your gaze for a moment later, then you look away. After opening the floor to questions and concerns, the meeting is dismissed not long after, with most students scattering, and a few hanging back to mingle.

As always, a bit of a line forms to talk to you - station members with all kinds questions, like asking when the second mic in the studio will be fixed (probably never), if they can have their non-DJ friends on-air (they can’t), and an abundance of other questions that you have gone over a thousand times already this year. This is typical, and you get occupied enough that you almost completely forget about Steve and his antics. Nearly an hour after the meeting, the last few students filter out, leaving you alone at last. You still have most of the afternoon left, and know you need to get home to finish up some homework and run some errands. You head into your office just to put away the meeting notes, and sigh - the box of CDs is still haunting you in the corner.

It’s better left alone - a problem for another day. You stil give in, and crouch down to pick it up. As you turn to bring it to your desk, you see someone standing in the doorway. You yelp, and the box of CDs goes crashing to the floor.

“Jesus Christ -”

“Nope, just me,” Steve says, pulling himself off of where he’s leaning against the doorframe to help pick up the mess.

“Were you just standing there watching me?” you ask, stooping down again to join him in picking up the debris.

“No - I just didn’t want to make a noise and scare you -”

“Nice job with that” you mutter, placing stacks of CDs into the box.

“So, were you just planning to avoid me forever?” he asks casually, handing you some more albums.

“I’m not avoiding you” you say, refusing to meet his eyes. Even you know that you don’t sound that convincing.

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

You sigh, looking up at him.

“What do you want from me?”

“Did you get my note?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Yeah - you’re like goddamn a carrier pigeon.”

He laughs, a real laugh, and it just pisses you off more.

“Fine? You want to talk? Then talk - I’m busy, I have places to be -”

“Why do you think I don’t?”

You roll your eyes. “Probably because our meeting ended an hour ago, and you’re still here, you stalker.”

“I’m the stalker?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He rolls his eyes, and takes a step closer. “Everywhere I turn, there you are, being a pain in my ass -”

“Oh, so you finally know how I feel!” you retort, crossing your arms. “Am I avoiding you, or always up your ass? Make up your mind, Harrington!”

“Why did you do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“You know what -”

You feel your face heat, and shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend that never happened -”

“Why? You seemed to want it pretty bad -”

“Shut up -” you insist, avoiding his eyes.

“Be honest - what would’ve happened if Robin didn’t interrupt?” he asks, his voice lower, rougher. You just shake your head, refusing to look at him.

“C’mon, princess - you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen -”

“Oh, I most certainly can.”

“Well I can’t,” he says firmly, closing the little space there is between you two. “I’ve been thinking about it - about you - a lot -”

“Harrington, just stop it right there - I don’t like you, you don’t like me - we’re not friends -”

“I know,” he murmurs. “My friends don’t kiss me like you did.”

You hear your own breath hitch, and want to kick yourself.

“We aren’t -” 

“I know we aren’t… anything,” he replies, his face close enough that you feel his breath. “You’re stubborn, a pain in my ass, and even a stuck-up bitch sometimes.”

“Hey -”

“But - I can’t get the way you sounded out of my head.”

He slowly extends his leg behind him, hitting the office door with his foot to slam it shut.

“Harrington -” you breathe, his nose brushing yours.

“You gonna push me away, princess?” he asks softly.

You’re barely finished shaking your head before his lips are crashing into yours. You don’t protest, don’t fight him. Instead, you kiss him back, demanding. He smiles against your lips, and groans when your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging on the chestnut locks.

“You’re right - I hate you -” you breathe.

“Shut up -” he grumbles, capturing your lips again.

He presses you against the desk, his hands on your waist. 

You gasp as his tongue enters your mouth.

“I - I can’t -”

“Princess - shut the fuck up, for once, and just -”

He emits a deep, guttural groan, as you bring your thigh between his legs, finding a bulge there. The sound makes you feel warm and tingly.

“Fuck it -” he growls, lifting you up with less effort than you and anticipated, sitting you on your desk. You gasp, and his lips are on your neck.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers into your skin.

“No,” you breathe spreading your legs as he comes to stand between them.

“Thank God,” he sighs, his lips finding yours again. 

“Harrington -” you whine, too turned on to care about your dignity right now.

“I know,” he whispers, his lips swollen, face flushed.

“I wanna touch you,” he murmurs, and it sends warmth right to your core. You nod, and he looks like a kid on Christmas, reaching down to unbutton your jeans.

You know you should stop - that you’ll regret this, that he’ll never let you live it down - but all you can think about is how good his lips taste.

He gets your pants shoved down only a bit, just enough that he can reach down and cup you through your panties. You moan, and he chuckles.

“That’s the sound I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

You smack his arm, and his lips find their way back to your neck. You throw your head back to give him better access.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he mumbles, feeling your panties. “This for me?”

“You - you wish,” you say weakly, knowing how ridiculous it sounds as you’re actively bucking into his hand.

“Can I -”

“Yes,” you breathe, exasperated.

He doesn’t need to hear it twice, pulling your underwear down to meet your jeans, neither even making it halfway down your thigh.

He tentatively runs is finger along your slit, and you whine, gripping his shoulders.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked -”

“Shut up -”

“Why?”

“I don’t need you - fuck - commenting on - just touch me -”

You bring your thigh up between his legs, and he grinds down, his arousal straining against his jeans evident. It spurs him to listen to you, and coat his fingers in your arousal. He moans, and you smile against his lips.

“What is it?” he asks, breathless.

“I finally figured out how to make you - oh, god - do what I tell you -”

“Never,” he insists, his finger circling your clit. You cry out, eyes fluttering shut.

You shouldn’t like this - but you do. You like how he groans and sighs against your mouth, how his nose presses into your cheek, like he wants to devour you. You like that he kisses you like he knows what he’s doing, that tells you he knows how a girl likes to be touched.

So you let him touch you - you let him toy with your clit, slip a finger inside, then two. You clench around him, moaning with every crook of his fingers, every motion of his thumb on your clit. It’s wrong - letting the boy you’ve sworn to hate finger you on your desk, where anyone can walk in. But, damnit, it turns you on, too.

He’s grinding his crotch against your thigh, desperate for friction, and you let him. 

“Fuck - Harrington - m’gonna - I’m close to -”

“Christ - you can’t say shit like that to me -” he growls, his voice wrecked.

You just whimper, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for a messy, desperate kiss. It feels filthy, but you don’t want to stop.

When you cum, it’s sudden, your cunt clenching around his fingers. You moan into his neck, pulling on his hair as he continues his ministrations, working you through your orgasm. He thrusts against your thigh, grunts loudly, then stills.

For a few moments, neither of you speak - the only sound in the room is both of your labored breathing, his heart pounding against yours. 

It takes only a few moments for the reality to set in. You pull back, letting go of him quickly, and clear your throat.

“Um - did you - do you need -”

“No,” he admits, a bit sheepish. It takes you a moment to realize, then you let out a laugh.

“What?”

“You came in your pants? What are you, 13?”

“Fuck off -”

You roll your eyes, and use your knee to nudge him away, shimmying your underwear and pants back up your hips quickly.

He stands back, looking away as he rubs the back of his neck.

“So - um -”

“I should go,” you say quickly, your post-orgasm bliss being overtaken with a distinct sense of embarrassment. In fact, you’re mortified. 

You don’t look at him as you grab your bag, making a beeline for the door.

“Hey -” he starts, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t -” you cut him off, wanting to shrink into yourself - he’ll never let you live this down. Hell, you’ll never let yourself live it down. You stop in the doorway, and take in the sight of him - face flushed, hair mussed, and a notable dark spot forming in his jeans. You smirk when you see it, and look away quickly when he looks down, face going red.

“I - if you ever told anyone I -” 

You scoff.

“Like I’d advertise this,” you say, voice laced with contempt. Before he can respond, you’re gone, slamming the door on your way out.

author's note: hi everyone! I know it's been forever... I took a much-needed break from Tumblr, and writing in general. But, I want to get back into it, because I miss it! Plus, seeing Djo back in action has really given me some inspiration for this fic in particular. I don't know when the next part will be posted, but it won't be crazy long again. I always appreciate likes, reblogs, and comments!

[just-a-creep-babe]

SFW REQUESTS FOR VALENTINES DAY?????? *blows up*

What about Jeff, Toby and BEN with a deaf s.o.?

I wrote these with the assumption that the s/o was born deaf and mainly uses ASL/BSL to communicate—I hope that’s alright!!

Also, I’d love to hear more about people's experiences being deaf—so feel free to share and let me know if I did alright with these headcanons! ^^

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Jeff the Killer

This motherfucker likes the sound of his own voice so damn much, just because his s/o’s deaf, that absolutely doesn’t mean he won’t stop talking

So, like, even though he knows his s/o can’t hear him, he’ll still yap all damn day without pause

Which, honestly, kind of makes being deaf a benefit for when it comes to enduring him

He’s, unsurprisingly, really fucking stubborn, so getting him to learn sign language won’t be the easiest

He’d much rather just flap his arms around like an idiot or write whatever he wants to say on a piece of paper or something

Which isn’t very intuitive because A: it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say when he’s doing the chicken dance

And B: his handwriting absolutely sucks

Even if his s/o really tries to persuade him to learn ASL, he’ll likely only double down on his refusal to do so

But if he notices that it genuinely upsets them, he’ll secretly pay more attention to their style of nonverbal communication

And he’s actually not horrible at learning new things, so he might be able to learn a few words here and there just through observation

Who knows—after a few months, he might even be able to string a whole sentence together!

If his s/o teases him when he messes up though, then it’s absolutely over

He’ll be even more adamant about not knowing a damn thing about ASL

But, on the other hand, if his s/o encourages him, then he’ll become increasingly more open to learning it

Other than that, Jeff’s a pretty protective boyfriend

If anyone tries to make a nasty comment about his s/o being deaf, he definitely won’t let it slide

Nobody disrespects his s/o—and he’ll make damn sure everyone knows that

Even though he acts like a big tough guy, he, ofc, is always soft for his s/o

And since their communication can be somewhat restricted at times, he’s very much so comforted by physical contact instead

Like, he still understands and appreciates it when they sign their love to him, but it means a lot for him to feel it too

So any kind of kissing, hugging, and touching of any sort is super important to him

Despite Jeff’s many flaws, the relationship is actually really cute~

BEN Drowned

BEN actually knows ASL!

So there isn’t much of a communication barrier between him and his partner

And dating him is, well, fairly easy-going

That is, of course, with the assumption that his s/o mainly communicates with ASL

But even if that isn’t their preferred method of communication, he’s a fast learner, and he’ll be quick to adapt to whatever they prefer

Either way, he really likes that they can both share this secret language no one else understands

It’s actually kind of his dream come true <3

He loves shit-talking the people around them whenever he gets the chance lmao

Which inevitably leads to them sharing a lot of inside jokes

Which, like, might get annoying to the others—but hey, that’s their problem, not his

Eventually, their secret language brings them close enough to the point where they can communicate based on expressions alone

Which, of course, only leads to so much more mischief

They inevitably develop a bit of a reputation around the mansion, rightfully dubbed the dreaded partners in crime

Even the other residents would think it’s cute—if they weren’t such little shit-disturbing miscreants, that is

Other than that, if his partner struggles to communicate with some of the other creeps, BEN will happily act as an in-between mediator

He’ll try to encourage the others as much as possible to learn the best methods of communication for his sweet lil’ s/o

Honestly, all he wants is to be as helpful as possible

His partner’s brought so much joy and ease into his life, he just wants to return the favor

Ultimately, their deafness really doesn’t change much in their relationship

And, if anything, it really only makes them closer

He’s happy he can be there for them, and he’s truly blessed to have them in his life as well <3

Ticci Toby

Toby also knows ASL!

There are times when he goes nonverbal, so he actually really appreciates not feeling pressured to speak all the time

He also ticks less when he communicates via sign language, so he really enjoys it

And, again, if ASL isn’t his s/o’s preferred method of communication, he’s more than happy to learn and adapt to fit their needs

Once he understands what they prefer, like BEN, he’ll also try to get the others on board with learning their preferred method of communication

And he also similarly acts as a mediator between them and the others

Toby needs a decent amount of accommodations for his various disorders, so he never makes his partner feel bad for any of their accessibility needs

He actually always encourages them to be more assertive about their necessary accommodations

And he thinks the different way they maneuver the world without their sense of hearing is super interesting

So his s/o should get used to regularly being asked plenty of questions lmao

Like they could just be chilling, and he’ll randomly bring up this thing he heard about deafness once in passing

And he’ll give them his full attention as they explain their point of view on the matter

Like—he’s definitely curious about hearing sounds through vibrations, for one

And he also once heard that many deaf people assume the sun makes a sound—does his s/o think that too?

What do they think sounds sound like??

Do they think in sign language or in abstract concepts???

Honestly, if the questions get exhausting, his s/o will have to straight-up tell him—no beating around the bush, because he might not get the hint otherwise ^^;

Even though he tries not to be, he’s generally insecure about a few sound-related things he does—like snoring and ticking verbally and such

So he’s actually glad his s/o can’t hear everything he does

It’s also a huge relief that his partner doesn’t judge him for things out of his control—whether it be sound-related or just accessibility issues he faces

He feels much more comfortable around them just knowing they also deal with stuff most people don’t otherwise understand

He loves his precious lil’ s/o <3

[eyejest]

Happy Valentine's day everyone (coming from the aro guy but hey platonic love is love too)

I felt like drawing Skaterlight angst again... fork found in kitchen BUT I also wrote a fanfiction for this in the style of one of Lampert's journal entries, it's under the cut (1514 words)

I apologize if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, I wrote this in one go and wanted this entire thing posted before midnight

Dear Journal,

It’s currently day 3766, or three-thousand seven-hundred sixty-six. But looking at the clock, it seems like it’s getting close to midnight. If I hurry with finishing this entry it will still be day 3766. It doesn’t matter for now, I can correct it later if I was wrong.

Today is valentine’s day. It’s a day to celebrate love, usually romantic but I’ve heard some folks celebrate it for platonic reasons. Anyways, I’ve seen a lot of couples in Rokea today. I thought more people would be busy celebrating, going on dates, having fun with their loved ones. But it seems like I was wrong. Maybe some people enjoy going to Rokea for a date, I’m not sure. I’ve seen a fair share of pregnant people and families as well. The couples that didn’t have children quite yet seemed to buy a lot of things. They were probably moving into bigger homes for their growing family. The families that already had children were a lot to deal with. Some of them kept their kids on a short leash or sent them to the daycare area, but some just let them run wild. What a nuisance. I kept my distance for the most part, I didn’t want any of the children to get dirt or snot into my system. When there weren’t any children in the plots with toys and plushies, I cleaned them and organized them. I remember sorting some when the store was about to close when a child went up to me, she couldn’t have been any older than 7. “Miss?” She asked. I was quite startled because I didn’t see her. I was turned around. “I can’t find my mom and dad, have you seen them?”. I put on the friendliest tone my voice box would allow me. I find children to be quite annoying, but she was clearly worried. “I don’t know where they are, I don’t even know what they look like. Sorry.” The girl started to tear up. I got worried about the tears and snot her crying would produce so I had to think quickly. “Maybe we can go to the cashier. They could make an announcement so your parents know you’re safe and by the register.” That seemed to calm her down, thankfully. “Maybe…” she sobbed. I thought for a second and then said she should come with me so she doesn’t get lost. She seemed skeptical, stranger danger and all that. But I told her I’m an employee, which is sort of true, and that made her trust me a bit. “Follow me, but don’t touch me.” We started walking towards the exit where all the registers are. She was quiet for a while which I enjoyed. But then she started asking questions, great. “Have you ever lost your mom and dad?”. I sighed and told her I was made in a factory since I’m a lamp… and a robot too I guess. She seemed confused and asked if I ever had a family. “Well, the employees are kind of my family. I think. They took care of me when I needed it but nothing more. They didn’t have to do anything fancy, though. I managed just fine by myself.” “That sounds boring,” she mumbled. “You never ever had fun before?”. I was hesitant to reply, but I didn’t want her to run away or cry. “I used to have a best friend. But he’s sick and at home right now.” I thought about it some more. “We used to go bowling together.” The kid got excited. “I LOVE bowling! Me and mom and dad go bowling a lot! Mom says that's where she met dad!” I felt a bit melancholic about it and just replied with a simple nod. The kid became quiet again, she probably noticed now was not the time for this amount of chitchat. We arrived at the register, her parents were already there and were about to ask the cashier to make an announcement. They seemed to be very relieved as their child ran into their direction to hug them. The father went up to me. “Thank you so much, miss. She’s not usually like this. We were worried she was kidnapped or ran out of the building!” I waved it off: “No problem. I’m glad I could prevent any further panic.” The mother turned to her child: “What should you say to the nice lady?” “Thank you.” The kid said quietly. “I like your necklace a lot.” Right, my pendant. I forgot I was wearing that thing, it was a gift from Kasper. “Oh, thank you.” I said back. “Have a good rest of your evening.” I told the family as I walked away, the kid waved for a bit before they headed out.

The store closed down and the lights shut off. I had to turn my head on to see anything at all. I just wanted to go to a quiet and isolated place where I could calm down and rest. It’s been a while since I went to the outskirts of Rokea so I went to one of the pillars. I think that’s where me and Kasper met for the first time when he got lost. I usually just rest where it's neat and tidy but I felt nostalgic I suppose. Goodness, the plots around here were a mess. I don’t think anyone was here in ages, not even the employees. I started to clean up a play plot first. It had a heart lamp shining a soft pink light around the plot, a pullout couch, a rug and various plushies laying around. I just wanted everything to be over quickly. As I was pulling out the couch to see if it needed dusting I noticed something, a letter. Geez, that thing must be old, it’s all wrapped and it smelled like a couch. No way someone put this here today. I turned it around, and there was something written on the envelope. “To: Lampy”. I couldn’t believe my vision sensor at first. Lampy. That's what Kasper used to call me, it was a really cheesy nickname and sometimes it annoyed me a bit. I sat down on the rug. It was so dusty I regretted it instantly but I couldn’t help but lay down shortly after. Me and Kasper sat on this rug when we first met…  and the couch because he couldn’t sit still even if his life depended on it. That's when we were up all night talking about life. We sometimes went into this corner of Rokea if we wanted to stay in here and just talk without the employees finding us. He used to steal so many snacks from the cafeteria to eat during those talking sessions, kinda makes me wonder what it all tasted like. But I digress, I was holding the letter in my hand for a while, wondering if I should open it up or not for a solid thirty minutes. I decided to open it up. It read as follows: “Dear Lampy Haha, I know you can’t stand that nickname, sorry not sorry! It’s valentine’s day… well, not as of me writing this but it’s the day I’m giving this to you. You’re one of the best things to  have happen in my life. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me, how much we laugh together, how many things we can tell each other that we can’t tell anyone else, how much sorrow we shared and learned to live with together. IDK, I’m not good with words I suck when it comes to writing. That's why I’ve gotten an F in English on almost every test. I’ve never really had the guts to tell you this directly, but would you like to be my valentine? I’m not sure if we’re dating, heck, if you even have any feelings for me. But maybe giving you this letter can convince you to give this all a shot, we don’t have much to lose anyways. I love you so much Kasper”

I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t feel angry or anything like that after reading that letter. I just felt kinda numb. He almost confessed but probably hid it to give it to me later. I don’t know if he was just being stupid and forgot, or if he was too much of a coward to take the last step. I never told him either. Not because I was scared, but I wanted to let him take that step. It was so obvious, anyone with even a single brain cell could tell he had a crush on me. I wanted him to take that step to realize that he does have control over his life despite how many people around him made him feel like he didn’t.

I don’t know what I’m saying, I don’t want to get too emotional right now. It’s gonna be midnight in a few minutes anyways and I don’t feel like correcting anything. I’m going to call it a night, goodbye.

[deathblacksmoke]

Ruffilo and older!f thots for you here, possibly escort!ruffilo which involve this picture 👀

It's gotten casual, maybe a little too casual between them.

What initially began as paid companionship has evolved into something more profound. There are fewer financial exchanges between them, excluding the recurring one from the husband, which merely covers the initial services, and Nicholas even finds himself yearning to spend his days off with her.

What could possibly be wrong with this? He likes her, she likes him, and her husband is away, leaving her lonely. But it’s only when she casually mentions her cat’s attachment to him, the one she’s always claimed dislikes her husband, that he realizes how attached to her he’s become.

He’s become attached to this beautiful woman who’s almost three decades older than him, who has a world of knowledge and stories to share, who’s interests are vast and always surprise him the more he learns about her, who makes him laugh, who’s kind and gentle. How could he not grow attached?

How could he not fall in love?

If it's not clear, his ��best girl’ is actually her 🫣

do you have any idea how much nicky and an older woman means to me?

It starts as a way to make some extra scratch while he’s in grad school. His TA position combined with his part-time barista gig and his loans pay his bills, but he doesn’t see the harm in a little extra.

Jolly gets him into it — draws him in with his flaunted bank statements and stories of wild nights out. He could use a little more fun in his life. He gets him set up on a site and Nick is shocked when the requests come pouring in almost immediately.

He finds himself most popular with older women, a man here and there. His openness to anyone makes him more of a commodity — he doesn’t mind it. Good company is good company, fun is fun, attraction is attraction.

She changes everything. She isn’t anything like the rest. She is more reserved, sophisticated but understated and unendingly kind. She prefers a dinner date, nowhere too fancy but quiet is a must, somewhere the conversation is easy, the service friendly, and the bill reasonable.

He has to pry a little bit to get stories from her, but he finds it’s always worth the effort. She tells tales from her long career of art curation, the eccentric people she’s met and built relationships with. She’s nearing her retirement, more than enough put away from her decades of work to keep her more than comfortable for life, but knows she’ll long to return in some way before too long. He’s entranced by the way her eyes light up when she speaks of it, her crows feet crinkling gorgeously, her slender fingers running through her long, salt and pepper hair.

She asks him to come home with her that first night, and he finds himself unable to say no, although he wasn’t booked for the service. This one will be for him.

Her home is cozy, not much of a trace of her husband and it makes him heart ache for her. He could never understand what could allow someone to leave such an amazing woman lonely.

He finds himself over much more after that — usually paid, but some nights when he doesn’t have another date, nothing sounds better to him that showing up to her brownstone with a bag of chinese carry out to spend a quiet evening in with his girl and her cat.

He realizes he’s fucked when he starts cancelling dates. When the only escort income he brings in is from her, though the payments come more and more frequent lately. But nearly half of their meetings are unpaid, include a little more than his other dates get. His stomach swoops a lot more intensely when he kisses her.

He’s still never seen her husband. Rarely hears about him. Only recognizes him from the payment receipts.

The first time she shows up to his door, he knows before she even says anything that something is different. When he brings her in and sits her on the couch, where she becomes transfixed with the green velvet of the chesterfield. Her gaze doesn’t flicker to him for even a moment when she shyly says that she’s left her husband. She filed for the divorce.

Selfishly, only one thing passes his mind.

“Please tell me you left him for me,” he breathes. He’s suddenly obsessed with the prospect of getting a normal job again — focusing all his romantic energy on her. She’s the only one who ever mattered anyway.

Her crows’ feet crinkle, and it feels like coming home.

[sykesandskittles]

CHAPTER 13

Harlow

I’M SHAKING when I sprint into my residence hall and up the staircase. I can't get away from Noah fast enough. My heart is still pounding as I make my way up the stairs. This shit with him is too much. I just want to be left alone and fade into the wallpaper, but he’s making that impossible.

And then there’s this shit with Talia . She seemed a bit down this morning when I saw her, and it occurs to me she might have intentionally fallen off the map for a while. She’s done this before. Once, when we were sixteen, and she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, she ran off for two days. Turns out, she was crashing in her cousin’s basement and had sworn that cousin to secrecy. And she did go back home eventually.

But what could have happened in the last day or two to make her want to go off-grid? It’s possible, I guess, but still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Before going to my room, I head to Talia ’s room and knock on her door. It’s late, and I feel bad for disturbing Talia 's roommate, but I have to see if she popped up at some point.

I hear rustling on the other side of the door a few seconds before it’s pulled open. My heart leaps into my throat, and I pray it’s Talia on the other side, in her pajamas, looking annoyed.

It isn’t.

“What’s up?” Talia 's roommate asks, bleary-eyed like I just woke her up from a dead sleep.

I try to peer over her shoulder at Talia 's bed, but it’s pitch black inside the room. “Hey, sorry to wake you. I know it’s late. Did Talia make it home?”

She glances at the bed behind her and shakes her head. “Doesn’t look like it.”

My heart sinks. “Did she mention where she was going, or if she was planning on staying somewhere else tonight?”

She blinks at me like she’s trying to clear the sleep fog from her brain. “Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you her best friend?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, just genuinely bewildered by my question.

I push out a breath. “If you see her, tell her to come see me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.” I pull her phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “And tell her I have her phone.”

The roommate holds her hand out. “You want me to give it to her?” “No, thanks. I’ll give it to her when I see her.”

If Talia is deliberately avoiding me, then I want a reason for her to come see me. And I know she can’t live without her phone. She’ll come looking for it sooner or later.

The roommate's hand falls to her side, and she’s already shutting the door. “Okay, cool. I’ll tell her you came by. ”

“Thanks,” I say just as the door clicks shut.

As I walk to my room, my stomach tightens, and I start to feel sick. If I don’t see the whites of Talia 's eyes by tomorrow, I’m going to the police. Period. I can’t do this on my own, and I now I know I can’t count on Noah’s help–he’s so damn unpredictable, I don’t know from one minute to the next what mood he’ll be in. Besides, his help comes with strings–strings that look a lot like chains.

I unlock and open my door quietly, so I don’t wake up Emily, but she’s not here. She must still be at the sorority party. I strip my clothes off and find my sweatpants. I don’t even bother brushing my teeth or washing my

face. I just crawl under my covers, and lie there, staring up into the darkness.

My mind immediately wanders to Talia —wondering if she’s safe, wondering if she’s okay—but I push those thoughts aside. Worrying going to help anything, and honestly, it’s just as likely she’s sleeping off a bender on someone’s couch. I mean, that’s what college is about, right? Making questionable decisions.

My thoughts shift to Noah. He’s such a mystery—and despite the serious ick his personality is giving me, I can’t help but be curious about him. He’s like a puzzle I’m itching to piece together.

I’d be better off not knowing what makes him tick, and just walking away—which, to be fair, is what I’ve been trying to do since the second I met him. Maybe I just need to try harder and be more forceful.

The guy is determined, though, and maybe that’s part of the appeal for me. His relentless pursuit. God knows I have a weakness for that quality in a guy. And look where that got me. Some serious emotional trauma, and hundreds of hours of therapy. Not to mention a seriously fucked up view of Noahtic relationships.

I manage to get a few hours of sleep, somehow, and when I wake up, my roommate is already gone, her bed made. Damn, I must have been dead to the world when she came back last night. And I know she came back because her computer and backpack are gone.

Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes. My head hurts, like I’m hungover. I didn’t drink nearly enough to be truly hung over, so it must be from all the stress about Talia , and Noah, and just…everything.

I fish my phone out from under my covers and unlock it. No text from Talia . Though I don’t know how she’s supposed to text me without her phone—I don’t even know if she knows my phone number by heart.

I stick my phone on the charger while I hurriedly get ready, going down the hall to brush my teeth and take care of all my bathroom stuff in record time. Back in my room, I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt and put on some deodorant.

I grab my phone, Talia 's phone, and my backpack, then fly out the door. But I don’t go to my first class. Instead, I head straight to Talia ’s room. No answer. My next stop is the student services building. Inside the registrar’s office, a middle-aged woman is sitting at a desk, and I walk straight up to her.

“Hi, excuse me.” She looks up from her computer with a smile, and I continue, “I’m looking for my friend, but I don’t have her schedule. Can you tell me which classes she has today?”

I obviously know her major, but we hadn’t yet shared our schedules with each other. I could call her mom and ask if she knows, but I don’t want to worry her parents. It’s better if I just handle this myself, for now.

The woman’s smile falls. “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to share another student’s schedule. Is everything okay?”

“It’s just….she didn’t come back to her dorm room last night,” I say. “And I was hoping to find her in one of her classes.”

The woman shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t help you. Is she an undergrad?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you talked to the Undergraduate Dean?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet. This was my first stop.”

“Okay, well, try that route first. If she needs access to your friend’s schedule, then we can pull it up at that point.”

I flash her a tight smile. “Okay, thanks.”

But as I’m walking out of the registrar’s office, I wonder if Noah could have gotten her to bend the rules and give him that schedule. Maybe I should have name-dropped him? He has an unbelievable amount of influence and power over the student body, but does it extend to the staff, too?

Outside the student services building, I pull my phone out of my pocket and stare down at it. I have Noah’s number. Shit ended badly between us last night, but he might still help me.

I suck in a breath and mentally shake myself. No. I’ll handle this through the proper channels. I’ll go to the Undergraduate Dean, or campus security, and see if they can help me.

My phone pings and I glance down at the screen. It’s Noah. Of course, it is .

Campus coffee shop. Five minutes.

It’s not even a question or a request. It’s a demand. Fucking asshole. I shove my phone into my back pocket without responding. Noah can go fuck

himself.

I head over to the Undergraduate Dean’s office to talk to her about Talia

, but she’s not in her office, so I end up having to leave a message with her assistant. I try to convey the urgency of the situation, but the assistant doesn’t look overly concerned. Still, she assures me Ms. Ramirez will get back to me as soon as she’s back in the office. I have my doubts, but I thank the assistant anyway.

My next stop is the campus security office. Again, I explain everything

—Talia acting weird, not texting me back, her phone found in the sand, and the security guy writes it all down, then adds the paper to a pile on the corner of his desk.

I blink at him. “So what happens now? Are you guys going to look for her? Ask around?”

He folds his hands in front of him. “Listen, students go missing all the time—they get stressed, and disappear for a couple of days. I’m sure she’ll be back. But in the meantime, I’ll get your note over to the head of security, and he’ll be in touch.”

That’s it. No sense of concern. No urgency. Just…we’ll be in touch. Wow.

Feeling defeated, I don’t know what else to do but head to my next class, and just pray someone calls me back. I’m five minutes early and find a seat near the door. As I’m pulling my laptop out of my backpack, someone slips into the empty chair next to me. I recognize the scent instantly. That fresh, masculine smell that can only be Noah Sabastian .

When I look up, he’s staring down at me, an amused smile stretched across his beautiful face. “Ignoring me, Little Rabbit?”

Fuckity-fuck-fuck. I should have known he would show up here, to my class. Following me around is his thing, apparently.

I put my laptop on the cracker-sized table in front of me, and push out a frustrated breath. “I thought I was clear last night. Stay. Away. From. Me.”

He ignores my statement, as usual. “I heard you were over at the student services building.”

For fuck’s sake.

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you have spies everywhere.” His smile broadens. “How’d you guess?”

I shrug one shoulder and open my laptop. “Having me followed is peak villain energy.”

“I don’t need to have you followed–I have people crawling over this campus.”

“Great,” I say with a frustrated breath. There’s no sense getting into all of this with him. “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell you want so you can leave?”

He leans across his micro-desk, and I swear to God, my heart actually skips a beat…or three. His intoxicating scent wraps around me, and I can’t help it, I suck in a deep breath. “Oh, baby,” he whispers with that devilish smile. “I love it when you play hard to get.”

This guy takes every ounce of patience I have.

“I literally hate you,” I say flatly, logging into my laptop, trying my best not to look at him. “Leave now, or I swear to God…”

From my periphery, I see him hold up a folded piece of paper. “You want me to leave? Really? Because…I have something you want.”

If he mentions his dick, I swear I’m going to punch him right in that perfectly sculpted jaw and take whatever consequences come. I’m so over this hyper-masculine show he puts on for everyone. It’s gotten really old, really fast.

I turn my head toward him slowly. “I highly doubt that.”

“Oh.” He pulls back, that cocky smile still on his face. “Okay, so you don’t want this class schedule for…” He unfolds the paper and glances down at it, reading. “...Miss Breanna Langley.”

The fuck?

I try to take it out of his hand, but he’s quick, and snatches it away, holding it just out of my reach. “Ah, ah. You want this, you come with me.”

I swallow and glance up at the front of the class, where the professor is unpacking his laptop. He has his back turned away from us.

“I can’t, I have class,” I say, hoping he’ll take pity on me, and just give me the schedule.

Noah turns his attention to the professor. “Yo, Prof.” To my amazement, the professor straightens and turns around to face us. “I need to borrow Harlow . Email her the class notes for today, yeah?”

The professor doesn’t even look bothered. “Sure thing, Noah. Say hi to your dad for me.”

“Cool.” Noah turns back to me with a self-satisfied smile. “Fixed.

Let’s go.”

The entire class is watching us at this point, including the professor, so I shove my laptop back into my backpack and stand up, sheepishly squeezing past a couple of people to get to the door with Noah right behind me.

Once we’re out in the hallway, and out of earshot of the class, I whirl on Noah. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have everyone in your fucking pocket?

He shrugs one shoulder. “My dad pays Professor Birk’s salary.” I blink. “What?”

“Well, I mean, not directly. My dad funds the grant that pays his salary.

Same difference.”

“Good God,” I breathe, exasperated. “Is nowhere safe around here?”

He leans against the wall, all casual strength. “I told you I own this university. I wasn’t exaggerating.”

I lift my arms, then let them fall in defeat. “Okay, here I am. You have me. Can I have the schedule now?”

“Coffee,” he says. “Everyone needs to see us.”

Welp, now I have nothing else to do. I might as well let him buy me a coffee. “Fine. This doesn’t mean you’ve won, though. I just like coffee.”

“Sure,” he laughs, and that laugh makes me want to punch him in that beautiful face. “Whatever you say.”

When we get to the campus coffee shop, it’s crowded, but our table is vacant, and already laden with pastries. It’s a little over the top, honestly, but I didn’t eat breakfast, so I’m not complaining. I grab a croissant and sit down.

Not three seconds later, someone brings lattes in mugs to our table. “I hadn’t even ordered yet,” I say between bites.

Noah just shrugs and watches as I finish off my croissant in two bites, then immediately tuck into a cheese Danish. He looks amused by my gluttony.

“I’ve informed food services that all your meals are to be charged to my account.” He pauses like I’m supposed to thank him or something, but I just blink at him instead.

“So, what, is this the treatment you give all your girls? Free meals and an excuse to ditch class?”

He’s watching me closely, and it makes me twitch a little. “Among other things.”

I hold out my Danish-free hand. “Well, I’m here, having coffee with you

—against my will, I might add. Hand over the schedule.”

He hands it over without an argument, thankfully. At least, he keeps his word. One very small point in his favor. I open the schedule and make note of her next class. “Three o’clock,” I say. “That’s her next class. Edmund West building.”

“Great,” Noah says dismissively like he doesn’t give a damn. And I guess he wouldn’t. Talia isn’t his friend, so why would he care? Whatever. I’m just glad I got Talia 's schedule.

What this does prove, though, is that finding Talia will be a whole harder without Noah’s help. So, fuck, I guess I need to play along with this consort shit for a while.

Still, it doesn’t mean I need to hang out with him for any longer than is necessary, so I suck my coffee down as quickly as possible .

Noah is leaning back casually, his arm slung over the chair next to him, watching me intently. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think he hated me. The look on his face is pure contempt, the edges of his lips curled up, his brows pinched. But a second later, it’s gone, replaced by that cold indifference I’ve come to know so well.

“There’s a get-together tonight. I want you there,” he says evenly. He hasn’t touched his coffee or the pastries, and I wonder why. Maybe he already ate? But then why invite me to what amounts to an entire continental breakfast buffet? I mean, damn, everything on this small table could feed at least fifteen people.

I take another sip of my coffee. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” I say evasively. I have to play nice with this guy, for now, but that doesn’t mean I have to be his puppet.

Besides, shit might be going on with Talia that I need to be available for. I mean, hopefully, she’s fine and just hungover somewhere, but…I have no real idea, so I don’t want to make any promises.

“I want you there,” he says flatly, another command.

Everything in me wants to get up from the table and tell him to fuck off, but he was able to get his hands on Talia 's schedule when I was told that it was impossible just minutes before. He has the connections I need.

I smile tightly. “Where?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”

I push out a breath–and search my brain for any possible excuse I can throw out there that he would accept. But, I’ve got nothing. “What time?”

“Eight.” He pushes back from the table and stands. “In the meantime, don’t go to the police about your friend. That would be a bad idea.”

I don’t even have a chance to ask him why, because he’s already out the door. He just left me here alone at the table, so I do what any starving

student would do, I flag down a barista and ask for baggies to go—then I pack all that shit up and head back to my dorm room.

But the whole time I’m walking, one question keeps circling in my mind like a record on a turntable—why shouldn’t I go to the police about Talia ? What does Noah know that he’s not telling me?

[ezrasxfics]

*sashays in* salutations again. your fics are like cocaine for me. i apologize :3

ANNNNYWAYS i’m obsessed with the idea of gangle having daddy issues and kinger being her very unpredictable but genuinely sweet father figure with untapped infinite angst potential. not sure if you get the memo here, but maybe something bittersweet or leaning towards the fluffy side with that idea? thanks for all the fics you’ve written for this community so far!! :D

..i guess i wish i had you around growing up.

-

gangle + kinger platonic hurt/comfort (ish??)

-

kinger pov

(tw: implied/suggested abuse)

i’m sat in my pillow fort - in the dark, comfortable. thinking deeply. these past few days have been a lot, with pomni’s arrival and everything, so it’s nice to take some time away from everything, in the most comfortable place in the circus. now that i think about it, i’ve been doing this a lot more lately.

suddenly, a little bit of light comes through the fort, making me flinch as a small figure crawled in. gangle. despite having her happier mask on, she looks pretty distressed. normally, she’d talk to zooble, but i’m happy to be here for her if she chooses me this time - i’d never want her feeling upset, and i’d be happy if she feels comfortable enough to talk to me.

”..hey, kinger..? are you busy..?” she stammers, voice trembling as she sits by me. i take a few second before replying.

“i’m free - why? do you need something?”

“..i just wanna sit in here for a bit.. if that’s okay..?” her voice was barely audible, almost as if she wanted to say something, but was holding it back in fear of embarrassment. but, i don’t want to force anything out of her. so, instead, i put a hand on her shoulder. an invitation to talk if she needs to. her shoulders drop almost immediately, and she removes her comedy mask. “…it’s not working..” she mumbles, not looking at me directly. “i’ve felt bad all morning, even though my mask’s fine.. i don’t know what’s wrong with me- i mean, something has to have gone wrong, it normally works fine, so i’m clearly the issue- it’s me, it’s always me, and i hate that about me- i always mess up somehow- it’s my fault-!”

noticing that she’s spiralling, i put a hand up, signalling for her to pause, and take a breath, and to listen to me: “why would it be your fault? it’s just your feelings - they’re not a problem. it’s how you handle them that matters. have you been bottling stuff up? that can make things like this happen,” as i say this, she wordlessly nods, staring at the floor. almost ashamed. “it’s okay to be upset, gangle. it’s what makes you human. sometimes, you just need to relearn how to cope with your feelings, instead of just pushing them down and hoping they go away. i know that a few people here are guilty of that. it’s completely normal. you just don’t want to feel bad, but sometimes you have to let yourself feel bad, in order to be okay again. does that make sense?”

she nods again, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down before speaking up, just a few words that considerably shocked me. “i wish i had a dad like you around growing up.”

“what do you mean?” i question, edging a little closer, uncertain if she meant what i think.

“i just.. you’re so nice. and understanding. my dad..? he was none of those things. he wanted a daughter who fit into his standards of the ‘perfect daughter’. it.. i hated living with him.” she finally admitted, a small sob escaping her. “i hated living like that— like i was wearing a mask all the time— but even when i left him, the mask never left me. i needed it to feel safe, because taking it off meant that—“ she cut herself off.

sensing she didn’t want to elaborate, i say only one more thing.

“take as long as you need for it to come off. i know it’s scary, but we’ll all love you either way.”

-

thanks for the request!!!! and please don’t snort my fics, that doesn’t sound very healthy/j

reblogs appreciated!!

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the biggest things that makes me see Leo as trans is absolutely the size of his carapace in comparison to his brothers’.

And I’m not talking about height! I’m specifically looking at his shell here, because when you compare him to the others, particularly Donnie who is nearly the same height as Leo, it’s very clear that Leo’s carapace is much longer in proportion to the rest of his body.

Like - standing side by side, even though Donnie is shorter his carapace ends noticeably higher up than Leo’s does. And I like this not only because it really helps push the idea that Leo could very likely be trans (or intersex!), but it’s also just a fun design difference between them.

(It also lends way to future scenarios of Donnie eventually getting taller than Leo, but sitting down still has Leo being the taller one haha.)

[cuteniaarts]

Hey 🗑️🔥 gang (@katkastrofa @rokurookajima @shadelorde)…

Heard you guys like feral women 😏😏😏

[chibishortdeath]

Started playing Fear and Hunger recently and this guy is pretty silly. I like that he likes bugs, that’s a green flag in my book, bugs are great.

Nothing in this post in particular is mature, but the game itself is, it’s a pretty dark horror game, so I’ll be putting some content warnings in the tags so any talk about the game on my account can be filtered out easier!

Some thoughts about the game under a cut :3

I haven’t played as Enki tho, I picked Cahara because he’s easier and it’s my first playthrough, and he’s pretty cool too. I really love the character and monster designs in this game. The art is super cool :3. I’ve had the worst luck this run tho oh my god; I started the game took like two steps and immediately got blindsighted by three dogs. All the enemies in the first left entrance area spawned in the first room. Two elite guards spawned in the room past the prisons instead of the usual one. Moonless would not spawn for like a solid few reloads and then ended up on the bottom of the map instead of the top where they usually are. I talked to Nosramus (love them, they’re great, they were off screen the whole conversation tho whoops) and immediately afterwards got the crow mauler text and had to leave the room. Got D’arce and promptly ran into a yellow mage and lost my arm! It’s been wild and I’m even just playing on easy mode 💀💀💀!!! My computer also kinda sucks and lags sometimes, but yeah! The game is fun!!!!! I have no idea how far I am in it, but I’m almost to where Le’garde is captured. My whole strategy has been fuck around and find out and it’s working XD!!! I kinda expected it to be scarier, but that might be because I’m a little used to horror as a genre in general, but it’s a nice balance of spooky atmosphere and usual RPG action stuff in a way that comes off sincere and not like edgy for the sake of being edgy if that makes sense. It’s cool :3

Anyway there’s a lot of games I’ve started recently and haven’t finished so I guess I’ll be playing those for a while. I still need to beat CV64, I’m just currently stuck on the uh gear platforming section with the bomb. If you know, you know 💀💀💀. It’s hard. I also have to beat Curse of Darkness, but I’m really close to the end in that one I’m just getting all the random side rooms and stuff. Raising more innocent devils besides my main team just to be able to open a door is a little tedious tbh, but eh it’s an excuse to play the game for longer so I’ll take it. But yeah, hopefully life actually lets me beat all these games so I can talk about them more (TwT ;).

[quibbs126]

Actually you know, if Earthspark Season 4 or other future seasons/episodes (I think I recall seeing they plan to keep making the show, though that could change) plan to introduce Cybertron, I’m kind of interested in what they’d do with Megatron

Because yes, Megatron is working with the Autobots now and he’s changed, he still wears the Decepticon symbol and no one on Cybertron has witnessed any of his growth. And even then, he still has all his crimes from before then

I know Earthspark isn’t at the same writing quality as it was in Season 1, but Season 3 did acknowledge Megatron’s situation in Prowl’s debut episode and Prowl in general, and also with all the more references to Cybertron, I don’t feel it’s unlikely that the story at least addresses this, and does something with it. I kind of want to see that, especially with how attached the kids are to Megatron, as well as Dot being his best friend

[gothsuguru]

getting an iced pumpkin chai in the morning and then my personal goal is to spend the whole day writing and i hope i can come back to this post tomorrow and rb w how much progress i’ve made!!!

[dreamlandiasims]

Hi, after your last post I wanted to let you know some of the new aspects of your story reminded me of a few antisemitic tropes and wanted to let you know in case you weren't aware. Here are excerpts from wikipedia's articles on antisemitic tropes and blood libel:

"Reptilian conspiracies, prominent in ufology theories, have also been linked to anti-semitism,[59][116] as "a very old trope with disturbing links to anti-immigrant and antisemitic hostilities dating to the 19th century."[117] Conspiracy author David Icke suggests numerous Jewish political figures are reptilian shapeshifters and "the Jewish Rothschild family is part of a bloodline of reptilian humanoids that secretly control the world".[118] Critics contend these theories to be antisemitic, although he denies animosity towards Jewish people.[117] Other far-right ufologists speculate that the Jewish race originated from genetic engineering by malevolent extraterrestrials engaged in interstellar conflict with Anunnaki or Pleiadians.[119]"

"Blood libel or ritual murder libel (also blood accusation)[1][2] is an antisemitic canard[3][4][5] which falsely accuses Jews of murdering Christians in order to use their blood in the performance of religious rituals."

There's no ill intent behind this ask I only want to bring this to your attention. Phrases like "the elites", secret groups pulling strings behind the scenes and controlling the economy, experimenting/killing innocents to acquire eternal youth are all parts widespread antisemitic tropes/conspiracy theories and I hope you understand my concern seeing them in your story.

Hi! Thank you so much for sending me this, genuinely. I definitely am aware of those tropes and how harmful they are, but I seriously didn’t realize I was playing into them with my own story.

For a little context, this was my perspective on those plot decisions:

Partly, I wanted to play into the idea that corporations control society and often one parent company will own a lot of smaller companies across industries. With Nancy Landgraab’s character specifically, I see her as representative of the extremes of capitalist rhetoric - aging is vilified, you must constantly be bettering yourself/optimizing yourself, etc. I acknowledge now that phrasing like “eternal youth” doesn’t necessarily have the connotation that I’ve intended.

Another big focus of my story is integrating my original characters with the premade characters of the Sims universe - linking all these characters from different Sims worlds was my way of establishing a connection that will allow me to pull in new characters later in the story, hence the “secret society” that spans across the whole world.

HOWEVER all of that being said, my intentions are only as good as the way they’re being received. I can totally understand the connections you made to all of the tropes you referenced, and I’m now thinking through ways that I can adjust my story to be framed differently. If the original Anon or anyone reading this who feels similarly has thoughts or ideas that they’d like to share, please send them my way! There’s also definitely the possibility that the plot I’ve thought out is too reliant on these harmful tropes, and it may be worth evaluating whether I should be telling this story at all.