#that’s why they can’t have them on screen to much

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

hi, hope you're doing great !! feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable !! i would love to see a simon x neurodivergent!reader, maybe she's blunt because she doesn't really get social cues, quiet when happy (it's when she starts talking that something is wrong LOL). anyway i'm projecting ahah love your writing, have a great day love !!!

Tell Me Without Saying It

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Neurodivergent!Reader

Warnings: Sensory overload, emotional dysregulation (non-violent), swearing, misunderstandings, implied neurodivergence, protective Simon, soft comfort themes

Author's Note: Thank you so much for trusting me with this idea. As someone who relates deeply to a reader like this, this was written with so much love and understanding. You are not too much. You are not hard to love. We all have different experiences in this way of life but what matters is that you’re enough and you deserve love.

Summary: You're not always easy to read, but Simon’s learned how to speak your language. Silence means comfort—unless it doesn’t. When you spiral after a sensory overload, he knows just what to do.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The first thing Simon noticed when he got home was that the house was too quiet.

Which didn’t mean much to anyone else. Most people wanted noise to signal life: laughter, a TV humming, the click of a phone being scrolled through. But Simon? He knew the real signs. The real warnings.

Like the silence you made when something was wrong.

Because when you were happy, you didn’t talk much. You just… were. Curled up in your spot on the couch with your hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, sipping your drink slowly, not saying much—maybe just humming, blinking slow and content like a cat in sunlight. That was your language. Peace was stillness. Quiet was safety.

But this kind of silence?

This was tension.

He kicked off his boots, set them neatly by the door. No keys jingling. No TV on. No scent of candles or your soft humming or even the tap of your fingers on your phone screen. Just… nothing.

“Love?” he called out softly, dropping his duffel by the stairs.

No answer.

His shoulders stiffened.

Then came the sound—subtle, but there. A quiet thud from the bedroom. Followed by the unmistakable scrape of something hitting the floor and a shaky breath. Not yours. Not really. Yours were always so measured. This one was clipped. Erratic.

He moved without thinking.

——

The door to your shared bedroom was cracked open. And there you were.

On the floor. Not collapsed—you never lost control—but very deliberately sitting in the corner, your knees tucked up to your chest, eyes glassy and jaw clenched hard like you were forcing it shut.

The room was a little messy. Drawers pulled open. A hoodie half-flung across the bed like you’d tried it on and hated how it felt. Socks mismatched on your feet. Your water bottle tipped on its side, leaking onto a notebook.

Simon took in every detail in half a second and dropped to a crouch beside you.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak.

But your fingers twitched once when he got close. He saw that. So he didn’t touch you. Just sat down against the wall beside you, giving you exactly 7 inches of space.

Enough to breathe.

Not enough to be alone.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse and clipped. “I don’t know why it’s happening. I was fine. And then I wasn’t. Nothing happened. But everything feels like it’s moving too fast, and I hate all my clothes and I can’t fucking—”

You broke off. Bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. Looked away.

Simon nodded slowly. “Alright,” he murmured. “I believe you.”

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then don’t.”

You flinched, maybe expecting a follow-up. A suggestion. A fix.

But Simon didn’t offer one.

He just sat beside you, quiet. Breathing slow. Letting you match his rhythm if you needed to.

Three minutes passed like that.

Then you whispered, “My shirt felt wrong and then my pants felt worse and I hate that I care but it makes my skin crawl and I tried to change but I didn’t want to change because I liked what I picked this morning but now it feels like someone else picked it for me and I don’t know why I care but I do.”

Simon turned his head just a little, just enough to look at you without crowding.

“I know that feeling.”

You glanced at him, skeptical. “You do not.”

“I do,” he said softly. “Got that way after missions. Couldn’t wear anything tight. Couldn’t be inside sometimes. Felt like my skin was screaming. Couldn’t explain it. Just wanted it all off me. Like I’d been put in someone else’s body.”

You blinked. Your expression cracked.

“…Exactly.”

Simon reached down slowly, brushed his knuckles against the floor. Still didn’t touch you.

“Okay if I get you something soft to wear?”

You nodded, hesitant.

He stood up, moved through the room carefully, like someone walking in a church. Quiet. Respectful.

He found your favorite hoodie—the oversized one with the sleeves that hung past your hands and the tag you’d already cut off—and your soft cotton joggers. No elastic waist. No tightness. Just you.

He brought them back and set them down beside you gently.

You looked at them. Then at him.

“Can you turn around?” you asked.

He turned without hesitation.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric. The shuffle of movement. A tiny, whispered sigh of relief.

And then, after a few seconds: “You can look now.”

You weren’t crying. You didn’t cry often. But your eyes were puffy and your breathing was still uneven.

Simon dropped back down beside you.

“I don’t want to explain myself every time this happens,” you muttered suddenly. “I’m tired. I just want it to be. And not feel guilty about it.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he said, voice like rough velvet. “Not even me.”

You looked at him sharply, like you were waiting for a catch. But there wasn’t one. Just Simon, steady and quiet, his big frame curled beside you like a dog waiting patiently for the storm to pass.

“I don’t know how to be soft,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to sugarcoat. I say things and people think I’m rude or cold or robotic but I’m just—me. This is what love looks like for me. It’s quiet and blunt and weird. And I’m scared you’ll get tired of that.”

Simon turned fully to face you then, gaze sharp, intense in that way that could shake a lesser person to their bones. But you didn’t flinch. You just held your ground, even in your moment of overwhelm.

“I fell in love with you because of that,” he said firmly. “Not in spite of it.”

Your throat bobbed.

Simon leaned in just a little, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t sugarcoat,” he said, almost fond now. “You say exactly what you mean. You’re never fake. You’re quiet when you’re happy and loud when you’re hurting. That’s how I know what matters.”

You were quiet again, but this time… soft. The air around you shifted.

Simon reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

He cupped the side of your face, thumb stroking along your jaw.

“Don’t need you to be soft, love,” he murmured. “Need you to be real. That’s who I’m staying for.”

A long pause.

Then, finally—finally—you leaned into him. Tentative at first, then full. Tucked your head under his chin. Let your hands bunch into his hoodie.

He held you. No rocking. No shushing. Just his arms, firm and solid and safe.

After a while, you spoke again. “Thank you.”

Simon rested his cheek on top of your head.

“Anytime,” he said. “Every time.”

——

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[pazzi5351]

Can’t be friends.

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.2k

An: an anon asked for this and I started it yesterday then I had dance then the knicks were playing (they lost💔) and I’m just now finishing it k bye hope ya like! Also I added like no fluff and lowk leaving it on a cliffhanger cs idk what else to add🤧

————————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had always been, different. Their parents noticed it when they first became friends. Their teammates noticed it when Azzi stepped on UConn’s campus for the first time, and Paige’s mood drastically changed.

The only people who didn’t seem to notice were Paige and Azzi themselves.

They went along with being “just best friends” though, the lines between that and something more had been crossed years before.

They went along with being “just best friends” until the glances between them lasted a beat too long. The hands on backs rested lower. And, the tension between them was so thick, people were starting to see it.

Especially their teammates.

“Ok Paige. What the hell is going on between you and Azzi.” Ice asked Paige, while watching the lobby screen of their fortnight game.

“Yeah,” Kk chimed in. “You guys are like, super, weirdly, close.”

“Bruuh. What are y’all even saying right now?” Paige asked, with an incredulous look on her face.

“We’re asking, friend to friend, if you and Azzi have something going on.” Ice said, matter of factly. “It’s totally chill if y’all do, I mean, we don’t care, we just wanna know.”

Paige slowly put her controller down, and turned to look at her friends. “There’s no way you’re seriously asking me that. Right? Me and Azzi are just friends. Why’s that so hard to believe? Sure, we’re close but, y’all are close too. It’s the same thing.”

Ice and Kk shared a look.

“No. It’s not the same honey. Not at all. I mean sure Ice and I are close but, you and Azzi, y’all are close.” Kk said, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Define ‘close’. Because since Azzi and I are just soo ‘close’, I’m sure you have examples of our ‘closeness’.” Paige said, rather defensively, for a reason she couldn’t name.

“Sure,” Ice nodded. “You open her water bottles, drive her car, when she very clearly has a license; you bring her snacks, text her asking if she ate or if she’s hungry, you bring her food without asking, you always, and I mean always, let her steal your clothes, but when I ask you say no, or you ‘don’t know where it is because last time you saw it Azzi had it.’ What else Kk? That’s all I got.”

“Oh I’ll go on,” Kk responded. “Paige, you literally have carried her out of the bar when she was ‘too tired’ to walk, I’ve watched you make snack bags for her, and for away games, you carry her bags and yours to the bus so she, and I quote from you, ‘doesn’t strain anything holding her bags because they’re heavy.’ There’s a lot more, but you look shocked right now, so I’ll let you sit with that.”

When Ice and Kk finished, Kk was right. Paige was shocked. She never realized how much she did for Azzi. All of it was just second nature to her, like taking care of Azzi was her birthright.

All she could say to her friends was “Oh.”

Ice raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘oh’?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t even heard the question. “I didn’t—I mean, I just… I don’t know. That’s just how we are.”

Kk crossed her arms, gaze steady. “No, Paige. That’s how you are with her. There’s a difference.”

And maybe Paige should’ve argued, should’ve denied it again. But instead, she sat there, controller long forgotten in her lap, a cold dread settling in her stomach.

Because they were right.

She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind kept playing scenes back like a highlight reel: Azzi asleep on her shoulder during the flight to South Carolina. Azzi curled into her side on the hotel bed, scrolling on her phone while Paige absentmindedly braided her hair. Azzi in her hoodie. Azzi in her car. Azzi everywhere.

And the way her chest clenched whenever Azzi smiled at someone else like she used to only smile at her.

Paige rolled over, staring at the unread text.

Azzi💗: “u up?”

She didn’t reply.

For days after that, Paige pulled back. Not enough for Azzi to call her out, but enough that the gap started to form—small, but noticeable. She stopped waiting outside practice for Azzi. She made excuses to ride with someone else. She laughed at her jokes but didn’t meet her eyes.

And it was killing her.

Because nothing had changed—but everything had.

The final crack came on a Tuesday after team workouts. Everyone else had left. Paige was gathering her stuff when Azzi stepped in front of her, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You mad at me?” she asked, quiet.

Paige blinked. “What? No. Why would I be mad?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Paige,” Azzi said, voice firmer now. “You don’t even look at me.”

“I’ve just been tired.”

Azzi scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You suck at it.”

Paige’s hands tightened around her hoodie. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Azzi’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

Paige swallowed hard. “You didn’t.”

“Then what is it?” Azzi asked, voice low. “Because if you’re gonna push me away, your best friend, at least tell me why.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Make me get it,” Azzi said, scanning Paige’s face for any type of answer. “Because I can’t fix something you won’t tell me.”

Paige scoffed and shook her head. “That’s the thing, Az. You can’t fix it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s me,” Paige said, finally meeting her eyes. “It’s what I feel when I look at you. It’s what I do, for you, without thinking; like carrying your bags, buying your snacks, giving you every part of me like it’s nothing. And it’s not nothing. Not to me.”

Azzi’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

Paige’s voice cracked. “I don’t know when it stopped being just friends, but I know I didn’t even notice until it was too late. And now I feel it all the time. All the time, Azzi. And I didn’t want to say it because if I do, everything changes.”

Azzi took a slow step forward. “It doesn’t have to change, P.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

There was silence.

And then Paige, barely above a whisper, said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Azzi didn’t move. She just stood there, slightly taken aback, breathing slowly, staring at Paige like she’d waited years to hear those words.

Then, finally, “Good. Because I’m in love with you too.”

They didn’t kiss that night, no. It was two girls, with a long history together, sitting on a bench, still sweaty from practice, hands shaking slightly as they reached for each other. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

They didn’t tell anyone right away. Not because they were hiding, but because Paige wasn’t ready to say it out loud again.

When the team asked where they’d been—when they snuck away during a night out or vanished from the locker room after practice—Paige would shrug, let Azzi answer. She couldn’t bear the teasing, the jokes. Not yet.

It wasn’t until Ice caught them in the hallway—Azzi standing too close, Paige’s thumb brushing over her knuckles—that someone finally said it.

“You’re together, huh?”

Azzi nodded slowly. Paige froze. Azzi noticed.

Ice smiled, small and sure. “Took you long enough.”

And Paige’s chest loosened, just a little.

[blacktofade]

Etho calling gem to say sorry about calling her "homely" in the REPO gaming, it develops into a confession

I slipped and wrote a thing.

---

Gem’s barely ended her stream and closed out of Steam when her Discord starts to jingle with an incoming call.

In all honesty, out of everyone, she expects it to be Grian. Probably still wide awake, needing someone to annoy as he gets ready for bed. But she blinks at the name on her screen.

“Did you misclick?” she asks as she answers the call.

“What?” Etho says with obvious confusion in his voice. “No, I meant to call you.”

She stares at the screen, brows pulling down into a frown. She’s worked with him for years, but she’s still no closer to understanding anything about him — including why he’d feel the need to call her right now.

“Were you missing me?” she asks. “It’s been a whole thirty seconds since we last spoke.”

“I — no,” Etho says with a barely-there laugh. “I just — ”

She doesn’t interrupt, letting the silence stretch as she waits for an explanation from him, knowing he has to crack eventually.

“I didn’t know that’s what it meant,” he says abruptly, and Gem blinks.

“What?”

“Homely,” he clarifies. “I looked it up after everyone — I don’t think you’re ugly.”

There’s a tightness forming in her stomach, a knot of anxiety that grows with every word Etho says.

She waits an extra beat before saying, “Okay?”

“That’s why I called,” he continues, and then falls silent, letting her turn over the words in her mind.

“You called to tell me you don’t think I’m ugly.”

“Yeah, you — I don’t think you’re homely.”

It’s one of the most bizarre interactions she’s ever had with him. Including the time he flat out asked her in the middle of a Hermit Meeting what an ethogirl was. And she’d had to explain the concept to him in front of twenty of her much older peers.

“Thank you?” she replies, adjusting her mic, staring at where his icon flickers, picking up sounds — maybe his breathing — though she can’t hear anything. “You could’ve just said that earlier.”

“I didn’t want to make the game awkward.”

He doesn’t offer anything more than that and Gem purses her lips.

“So, this is an apology,” she says and there’s a long beat where he doesn’t answer, like maybe he nods before realizing she can’t see.

“Yeah. I thought — ” Etho could probably explain his thought process until he’s blue in the face and she still wouldn’t get it. “ — to clear the air.”

“There wasn’t really anything in the air,” she tells him. “I didn’t take it personally.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You sounded upset.”

“I was surprised,” Gem admits. “I expected it from Skizz, but not you.”

She laughs, but he doesn’t follow suit, and it feels like she needs to offer him an olive branch.

“Say the magic words,” she tells him, “and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

She wants to hear him say I’m sorry. She could be the first person ever to get a genuine apology from Etho and she’s not going to miss the opportunity.

“Magic words,” he echoes, and she finds a little joy in watching him struggle to understand.

“Those two little words,” she encourages. “I want to hear you say them.”

There’s a heavy silence from Etho’s end of the call.

“What?”

His voice is weaker, not as boisterous as it usually gets when he’s joking around, trying to rile her up. He’s struggling to keep up, losing her line of logic.

“We were just talking about it,” she presses. “I want to hear you say it. Just for me. No one else has to know.”

She smiles as she hears him pull in a heavy breath, and it’s clear he’s overthinking — whatever it is that’s buzzing around in his mind, he’s twisting it into knots.

“I — ” he starts and then stops. “You’re hot.”

He says it in a rush, almost too quick for her to decipher the words, but then she freezes.

“What?”

“If I’d known what homely meant, I wouldn’t have said it,” he carries on. “But I think — you’re very attractive, Gem.”

Silence fills the space between them and in the corner of her screen, she sees the time tick up by another minute.

“Are you still there?” he asks eventually and Gem finally blinks.

“I meant I’m sorry,” she says with a heavy exhale, her whole face burning as her hands clutch at the edge of her desk. “The two words: I’m and sorry. I wanted to be the first to get an Etho apology.”

She draws in a ragged breath and the silence grows heavy again.

She has no idea what to do with the information, and she’s not sure what’s worse — Etho thinking she’s plain, or Etho thinking she’s hot.

“I — I’m sorry,” he says and she hiccups out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh my god. It’s a little late to say it now, Etho,” she tells him. “I actually think I need another one.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he sounds so earnest that Gem can’t even make fun of him for it. “I didn’t — I thought — ”

He’s going to tangle himself in his own thoughts and find a way to never talk to her again if she’s not careful.

“You thought I was asking — why would the magic words ever be you're hot?”

“I don't know,” Etho starts. “I — are you mad?”

“No,” Gem says quickly, and it's the truth.

The EthosLab just admitted to thinking she's hot. She's not mad at all.

“I think it's a little unfair,” she tells him, taking a breath, and he pauses.

“Why unfair?”

She adjusts her mic again out of habit.

“I don't know what you look like,” she says, “so I can't comment on your appearance at all.”

“Oh,” he replies carefully. “Maybe that's for the best.”

“Are you homely, Etho?” she asks, unable to stop her smile, and she knows he must hear it in her voice because he lets out a breath that's almost a laugh.

“I think I deserve that one,” he tells her gently, and Gem's smile widens.

“I think so,” she agrees. “Though you could always prove me wrong.”

She's pushing at boundaries she never would normally, but she has a feeling his guilt is eating him up inside and that always tends to work in her favor.

“I don't think I could.”

“Still camera shy?” she asks and Etho lets out a breath.

“No, I could show you my face, I just don't think it would prove you wrong.”

She laughs outright, head tipping back, and after a beat, he joins her with his own familiar, breathy laugh.

“That's better than any apology,” she tells him when she finally collects herself again and he hums quietly, not quite an agreement.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and his tone is even and careful — he means it.

“I know, Etho,” she sighs. “Thanks.”

It falls quiet between them, the silence not as awkward as before, but when Etho doesn't try to break it, she knows she has to.

“I appreciate the confidence boost,” she tells him, “but I actually do need to go to bed.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and then after a beat, adds, “Sleep well.”

She can't quite keep the smile out of her voice when she says, “Goodnight, Etho.”

She ends the call, quickly logging out and turning off her computer before anyone else can think to message her. She's had enough surprises for one day.

When her monitor finally goes dark, she leans back in her chair, blowing out a heavy breath.

Her cheeks are still hot with her flush when she brings her hands up to her face, and she can't help but let out a laugh, high-pitched and slightly manic.

Etho thinks she's hot.

She'll be riding that high for a long while.

Carefully, she pushes herself to her feet, stretching out the aches from sitting for so long, and on her desk, her phone dings quietly.

For a moment, she thinks seriously about switching it off, too. But with a sigh, she grabs it and opens her notifications.

It's a DM from Etho on Discord.

“One apology was enough,” she mutters to herself, wondering if he's decided she needs it in writing too.

But then the message opens and she realizes it's not another apology; it's a photo. A photo that's been marked as a spoiler.

Gem's stomach flips as she stares, but after a second, she taps the screen to clear the filter.

It's dark and blurry as hell, but there's no doubt it's a man's face.

Etho's face.

As she stares, their chat shifts and a new message from Etho appears.

Homely? he asks, and Gem's jaw drops.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Watching the Diddy trial is willfully placing your female tissues into a vortex of trauma and ignorance. Women will be like “I don’t know why life is so hard” or “why my body’s scent and pH are off” but it is little actions we do everyday that throw our bodies into disharmony and brings misalignment and misfortunes into our lives. Our focus and habits are rituals. The female body was designed for ritual —that’s why we must live more conscious of where we place our energy. We must move, twirl, shake, dance, connect to nature, gather, consciously nurture, make love in some way, and deliberately create.

Our bodies were architected to grow and amplify life. They graciously receive a tiny seed and miraculously utilize its essence to piece together a whole human from inside. What we focus on matters and becomes matter. Our creative capacity has to begin to mean something to us. Instead of watching and listening, we model self-worth and self-esteem for little girls. Teach them about true love so that they won’t be manipulatable and groomed for abuse. Teach them to elevate their confidence and live in rhythm with their divine discernment instead of ignoring or pushing against it. And still, the wisest of our elders and the strongest warrior maidens can find themselves in these shadowy experiences because the root of the pain body can reach back so deeply into other timelines and generations, which may require meticulous excavation to track and uproot. But I am a witness that it can be done.

Every new action creates better and brighter narratives. I know it’s hard not to watch or engage but you can look at it like a personal initiation and witness yourself become stronger and more grounded in your body and energy as a result. This is the real yoga; moments like this are the actual practice. Because ultimately none of us need to watch or listen to the details to know that Diddy is a monster who has created his own karma and cave.

When you are wanting to get to the next level, you can’t always do the same things you used to do. You have to make a “sacrifice”—a real life offering. Sacrifice has deep spiritual meaning. It’s consciously descending/dying into a death experience (of the old self) so that you can rise/ascend to be who you truly are. This is the definition of the Christ mythology beyond all dogma and lies. In this case, the illuminated purified one who was is willing to give death to an experience everyone else is watching and talking about. You become different instead. Such an initiation. It’s one reason I don’t spend much time on social media staring into a screen and scrolling. The old me has to die so that my new physiology could be born. Whatever the outcome of this trial will be, it will be what it needs to be, but the trauma received into the female system from absorbing the details will linger. Then there was be some other celebrity trauma for us to tune into next. It’s a strange cycle we unconsciously participate in. Think about it.

But ladies If you must watch, place your barefeet into the ground/earth to support your physiology afterwards. We are living in new earth and new earth requires us to be more conscious of what we receive. Otherwise you may find that you take 2 steps forward and 3 steps back.

.🌹

—India Ame’ye

[shmowder]

MORE P3 NEWS YIPPE

Some highlights:

Hospital gameplay

The medical detective gameplay (examining patients and diagnosing them) is clearly the highlight of the prologue. That’s obvious from both the feedback and the survey ratings. Good news: there will be a lot more of it in the main game! Of course, getting to know eccentric townsfolk and grappling with the existential drama of human boundaries won’t go anywhere, but you’ll also have to engage deeply with the tragedies and illnesses of ordinary people. We can’t even say “way more than before,” because, well, this mechanic simply didn’t exist before.

In the full game, these diagnostic stories will be more freeform than in the demo (where we were teaching the player, so mistakes were practically not allowed). We’re already experimenting with ways to make symptom logging (and therefore diagnosis) more convenient and engaging.

City traversal

The main question after Quarantine: what’s up with the city? Why couldn’t you move through it without loading screens? And how will that change in the full game?

…Why change a game where everything “worked”? Why not just write a new story in the same setting? We know some players would’ve liked that just fine. But for us that wouldn’t be enough. Not creatively (there’s already a game about digging through Gorkhon’s trash cans), and not commercially: sequels to indie games statistically sell much worse than the originals, and we’re making a sequel to a sequel. Just repeating ourselves? That’s a dead end.

Will the content from Quarantine remain in the full game?

Originally, we planned to use Quarantine as the game’s intro. But we now believe we can make a smoother, prettier intro that introduces mechanics earlier. So most likely, some scenes from Quarantine will show up later in the game as flashbacks — but not at the beginning. As a complete experience, Quarantine will remain separate.

(Don’t worry — that means more Seraphim and Platon, more Inspector and Capital — not fewer!)

We’ll also give you a heads-up: the prologue’s store page will be taken down closer to the full game’s release.

Everyone who already added it to their library will still be able to play it — so make sure to grab this piece of the story while you can.

[tryandbehappy]

Am I the only one that likes Rose and Nick together? I get why Nick did what he did. He’s in such a dangerous world. He’s helped June every time she’s called but now he has a wife and child to think about. He was being threatened with being put on the wall as well. Honestly, what did she really expect him to do?

I’m hoping we see more of his relationship with Rose. Apparently I read somewhere there was something in the season 5 trailer but I’m not finding it. Given that Nick/June are over, that leaves room for Rose to get closer. Both she and Nick are fully pro-Gilead and have drunk the kool-aid. Nick at least has someone by his side.

Do you have any screen caps or images of Nick and Rose? I wish the show would release deleted or extended scenes with them. I feel there’s such a missed opportunity there. Given there’s only two episodes left, I don’t think we’re going to see much more sadly.

Thanks for the question. Honestly, I’m not a fan of their (Nick and Rose’s) relationship. it’s pretty clear she’s just there as a plot device and emotional furniture. And no, there’s absolutely no future for them. Most likely, the plot will find a way to remove her, and in the last two episodes, we’ll only see some kind of closure where Nick breaks free from that dynamic.

He’s civil with her, sure, but we’ve seen scenes where they’re alone together and he’s cold. Like, really cold. One of the clearest examples was after he executed Commander in Season 5. He comes home, and it’s obvious how much he’s on edge, not even trying to pretend. He sits miles away from her on the couch. She’s opening up, saying things like, “I’m scared of what you’re becoming, what kind of man you’re going to be,” and instead of emotionally engaging, he’s just… irritated. Not even hiding it.

That’s not how he ever is with June. He never shows frustration or impatience with her emotions, even in the darkest scenes. With June, he listens. He’s present. With Rose, he can’t even tolerate her emotional presence, because deep down, she’s part of the whole performance he’s trapped in.

That doesn’t make him a bad person, it makes him human and it just shows how different those two relationships are.

As for Nick and June? Of course it’s not over. We’re going to see a major resolution. Big scenes. Big emotions. This is clearly not the end for them, the amount of hints we’ve been getting is overwhelming. To me, it’s obvious: they’re not done, not even close.

[jackattack20writes]

This is probably my hottest gquuuuuux take but I don’t actually think Machu’s as rich as people are thinking like she’s not poor but she’s not what people would consider rich either. Now until five minutes ago I was thinking that she’d at least be upper middle class if not just upper class, but I just had the realisation that her phone is still broken in ep 6 and I just double checked to be sure and yeah Machu’s still using the phone with the broken screen. And this is a big thing because it adds another layer to Machu’s layers of insecurity while also bringing her closer socially to Shuji and Nyaan and explains some of the more anachronistic aspects of her character when you consider her as a “rich girl” which I actually talked about in another post where I went into what impact her schooling may’ve had.

I think this is actually a massive thing because it does explain a lot of the stuff around Machu, her mum and what little we got about her absent dad in this weeks ep. So firstly I can’t talk for certain about what sort of culture Japan has around private schools because I’m not Japanese but I do know that round where I live it’s not uncommon for families to prioritise the fees of a private school over almost everything else with it being one of the largest costs they’ll have in a year and sacrificing in a lot of areas to afford the luxury. The possibility of this being Machu’s situation is one which I think can both explain the absence of Machu’s dad and at least in part the emphasis her mother has on school. To begin with we know that Machu’s mother is a public servant with some level of responsibility, she seems to be in charge of part of the audit division but she’s not high up enough to not have the responsibility of checking over her subordinates work. So she’d be decent pay but nothing extravagant, especially not the sort of money that would afford a high school that’s prestigious enough Xavier knows about it. So that implies that Machu’s father is gone working wherever he is, and working somewhere that communication seems to not be easy so I’d assume outside of the colony, as well as not something overly prestigious that would put him in a position to communicate frequently. (Also I must highlight that a lot of this is inferred and guesses based basically off only Xavier’s comments about Machu’s school the fact Machu still has a broken screen on her phone weeks if not months later and the absence of Machu’s father.)

Now this is all relevant to the broken screen because it shows that both outside of the clanbat reward money she’s putting toward the earth trip/shuttle Machu doesn’t have access to a lot of money, not even enough to repair her phone screen and she’s unwilling to talk to her mother about getting it fixed. Showing that she has an awareness about their financial situation. This is important because it adds to Machu’s clear feelings of inadequacy as if she’s aware of the financial strain her schooling puts her family under with how she reacts to everything else it’s clear that that would be another stress point for her and making her feel useless. This sort of thing also explains why unlike her classmates Machu isn’t shown to be friends with the other girls at the school, we see them admiring her and trying to be friendly with her multiple times but she just brushes them off, something that makes sense if she knows that she’s in a different world to them, if they don’t have their family making sacrifices to get them schooled there. Also it’s shown at least a little with how her classmates got so excited about the gambling site in ep 4 while Machu’s just boggling at the idea of that much money (which is almost enough for one of the ships Shuji was looking at), but for them it’s just spending money for an afternoon with friends but for Machu it’s mindboggling large that she doesn’t even know what to spend it on, at least until Shuji’s

This is also another reason why her parents would be so on her ass about school, if they’re sacrificing to make sure Machu can attend with her mother constantly working long hours and her dad possibly leaving them to work outside the colony it makes sense from their pov why Machu’s seeming disregard for school is such a massive issue. It also explains why Machu’s almost sad when she talks about stuff like the careers goals, almost like she wishes she could put something else but she’s unwilling to lie about what she wants.

Like it’s been staring me in the face and I only just realised it, like it gives more detail to why Machu’s clashing with her mum as it’s a common belief with parents that send their kids to private schools that it’s the best thing they could possibly do and the kids just don’t understand that. So of course it’s entirely unreasonable for Machu to try and fluff around instead of keeping her head down and studying properly like she should be, and of course the absent father would have even more issues because he’s sacrificing time with his family so they can afford it. And of course this feeds even more into Machu’s struggles with her identity and value as a person because her parents not only have an ideal she’s not reaching, they’re spending beyond their means to try and get her to reach it and she just can’t because it’s not who she is. Giving her a very concrete example of her relationship with people worsening because she isn’t performing her role, something that is reflected in her ep 5 freakout about the Kira Kira. Except that time it’s not her personal failings as the issue, it’s her friend “taking” her role away from her and with it her arguably strongest connections at the moment.

[lookstairs]

It’s so funny how one of the best relationships in the Boruto series is Ino and Sai

I mean Im not saying the other ships are bad but I mean look at these two

Been cute since day one (and I know people are gonna say “uhhh he didn’t even like her when they met” Sai didn’t like anyone. He was a menace with no filter but we loved him anyway)

They’re hot, they’re in love, they have a happy family. I mean they’re both winning

[animationismycomfort]

genuinely my favorite villains from PPG have to be the RRB idk why but I just adore them they’re funny crazy and a bit terrifying

[deus-ex-mona]

for the record, this is a ✨nagisa safe space✨

~~please dni if you dislike nagisa and/or nghy~~

[marianasofiaibarra]

i suddenly remembered emmerdale so i looked it up just to find out they killed liv 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[merevide]

chica fnaf was in my dreams i think it was like an omen. for something i have not yet figured out

[teafiend]

(Disclaimer: Edits/Images credited to their creators. Not mine)

[fingertipsmp3]

If anyone here keeps a reading/book journal what do you dooo. I feel like I’ve tried multiple options and none of them have really been perfect

[tojicide]

JEALOU$Y. ☆ CALEB.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. at the end of the day, you and caleb are just childhood friends—nothing more, nothing less. so, when you mention going on a date, it’s totally logical that he wouldn’t care, right? if only that were the truth.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem!reader, current!caleb, zayne mention, jealousy, pet names, praise, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie. 𝑤𝑐. 5.4k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. jealou$y — the neighbourhood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Doomsday has finally dawned upon Linkon City, though Caleb seems to be the only person truly affected by this catastrophe.

It was all his fault in the grand scheme of things. He hadn’t been clear enough, hadn’t shown the full extent of his feelings for you. But above all, he should have never offered Zayne those measly words of advice.

He should have known that the doctor had ulterior motives. Why else would he have called Caleb up one week ago to ask about you of all people?

It was a mean ploy, truly. Anyone and everyone knows about Caleb’s inability to shut up about you, his sole weakness was being exploited right in front of his eyes and he was none the wiser. The questions seemed harmless then. Posed as genuine curiosity, Caleb would have never been able to decipher the hidden intent behind each word that Zayne spoke into the receiver.

What are her days off? What does she do in her free time? You said that the restaurant around the corner from Akso Hospital was her favorite, yes?

In retrospect, he should have absolutely seen this coming. But then again, nothing could have ever prepared Caleb to hear those four life-altering words slipping from your lips.

“I have a date.”

A record scratches in his brain, forcing him to halt his steps for an abnormally long time before he slowly turns to face you. “You… what?”

Hearing the words repeated in that saccharine tone of yours only added salt to the wound, oddly enough. It physically pained him to ask for more information about your date, though he managed to hide his disdain with that boyish grin of his and a bit of lighthearted teasing.

But inside? That little green monster was stirring, and there was very little he could do to quell it.

Begrudgingly, he managed to get the key details before forcing himself to stow away in his bedroom and… think. Next Thursday. 6 PM. Maltosio Restaurant. With Zayne.

The next week passed by in an agonizingly slow fashion. It was as though each X that marked a passing day was a physical blow to his already aching heart, and those adorable images of the kittens on his calendar (the calendar that you picked out) did very little to help him.

Subtlety was never his strong suit, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures. And believe Caleb when he says that he is very much desperate.

“Soo…” he’d drawl, leaning over the back of the couch to peer down at you. “I heard there’s a screening of that movie you’ve been wanting to see at the drive-in next Thursday. Wanna come with?”

You perked up like a ball of excitement, and for a moment, Caleb allowed himself to get his hopes up, but your frown quickly dissipated them. “Next Thursday? Oh, no, I can’t make it! I’m going out with Zayne, remember?”

Of course he remembered. That was exactly why he hadn’t let up—not even once—in his attempts to distract you just enough to make you forget all about your dinner plans. He could take you out for a nice dinner too. Say, that’s actually a good idea…

The next day, Caleb tried that one.

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he sang, his airy voice ringing through your apartment as he walked down the hallway. “I got us reservations at the restaurant in Skyhaven that you’ve been itchin’ to check out.”

You perked up, just like you did before. “Really?”

He nodded with a triumphant grin, internally patting himself on the back for his own good idea. “Mm-hmm. Next Thursday. Got us those window seats you wanted too—the ones that overlook the city.”

And once again, your gaze softened, and an all-too-adorable pout tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. I’m busy that day.”

You really are too sweet for your own good. He can’t even blame Zayne for taking an interest in you, he’d be downright shocked if any man with two seeing eyes had the audacity to not think that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Caleb sure does. He always has. He always will.

It wasn’t long before the day of reckoning was upon him. Thursday evening. Sunlight cut through the blinds in the living room, casting golden hues across the vast space. Much to his dismay, the trashy reality television you’d left on the screen did very little to soothe his worries.

He fidgeted with the dog chains you’d gifted him, his thumb brushing along the gift that you had so kindly given him. It was a testament to your bond. A bond that something as trivial as a single evening apart couldn’t tamper with… right?

“Caleb!” Your antsy voice cut through the air, forcing his wandering mind to snap back to reality.

He was up and down the hallway before you could even say another word, pressing a flat hand to your door to nudge it open. It was then that he saw you, all dolled up in your robe with your favorite dresses laid out on your bed.

Your hands grasp onto two of the hangers, holding them up side-by-side to help him get a better look at them. Though, his eyes were noticeably distracted, contorted in an unfamiliar lovesick expression as they pierced into yours. “Quick! Which do you think is cuter?”

Caleb blinks—once, twice, three times—until he forces himself to finally look down at the dress options in your grasp. He’d seen you wear them plenty of times before, and the thought of someone else seeing you in such beautiful fabric nearly made his stomach lurch.

He raises his forearm, leaning against the doorframe as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, c’mon, that’s an impossible choice. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

It was a typical response, one that you were expecting, though his lack of advice made you hmph as you lost yourself in your thoughts. “Well… I hear polka dots symbolize happiness and stripes symbolize slipping between realms. Pretty interesting stuff, huh?”

“Very interesting,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up at the mere sound of your voice. “Is that why you buy so many things in those patterns?”

You quirk an eyebrow, confusion etching into your expression. “Huh? What else do I buy that’s…” It quickly dawns on you, and you can feel heat creep up your neck and reach your face. “You’re a jerk.”

Caleb can’t help but laugh, taking a few steps into the room so that he can properly look at each and every one of the dress options laid out on your bed. “What’s the matter? If I remember correctly, someone was beggin’ me to do her laundry. Somethin’ about the laundry machine being sooo far and your feet hurting sooo bad.”

Huffing and far too flustered for your own good, you shake your head. “Well… well I didn’t realize you were so observant.”

He clicks his tongue, absentmindedly pinching your side as he leans down to rest his chin in the dip of your shoulder. “Tsk. You know I’m always observant when it comes to you. Even if it’s remembering something as trivial as the patterns of your cute little undies.”

You swat him away. “You’re so annoying!”

To that, he can only chuckle, giving your sides a brief squeeze before taking a few steps back. “Alriiight, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Before exiting the room entirely, he hangs onto the doorframe, giving you a soft smile. “I’m serious though. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” His lips curve into a smirk. “But if you want my input—you know I’ve always been a sucker for seeing you in florals.”

And with that, he whisks away, silently hoping and praying that this date will fall through on its own. Plopping back down on the couch, his eyes are practically glued to his watch. 5:48 PM. It wouldn’t be long before Zayne would be knocking at the front door—punctual as ever. Oh, it made him sick.

How could he have done this? To you, to himself? Caleb should be ashamed. He should be the one sitting across from you later tonight, holding your hand and listening to you ramble about whatever your heart desires. It should be him. It would have been him if he wasn’t so damn afraid.

But the sound of approaching heels clicking along the hardwood floor quickly snapped him out of his pity party, prompting him to look over his shoulder. And there you were once again, now adorned in a floral sundress that had made him lose his mind more times than he’d like to admit.

Under his breath, he can’t help but mutter, “Yeah, you’re gonna kill me…”

It was his favorite dress of yours, too. You really were trying to kill him. A white dress that was littered with blue flowers, the fabric fit you perfectly, loose and fitted in all of the right places.

Zayne didn’t deserve to see you like this. Plain and simple.

Standing from the couch, he lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “There she is,” he says, taking your hand to spin you around a single time. His smile only widens as he sees yours. “You look gorgeous, just like I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes with a bashful smile, one that he has to physically fight the urge to kiss away. “Oh, you flatter me,” you say through a laugh.

He shakes his head, bringing a hand up to gently smooth down a pesky hair on the top of your head. “Can’t be flattery if I mean every word of it.”

A breeze wafted through the open window, blowing the fabric of your dress ever so slightly. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers infiltrates the living room, though the scent of your perfume and something that was uniquely you had his full attention.

“Y’know, you can be pretty nice when you want to be,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Chuckling, he simply nods, his large hands settling on your middle. “Yeah. When I want to be.”

You brush past him, padding over to the back door. Pushing it open, you step out onto the warm concrete patio, breathing in the fresh air that the backyard had to offer you. Spring in Linkon was always a delight, though the warmth that Caleb radiates behind you serves to be the most comforting thing about the entire scene.

His hand comes to rest on the curve of your shoulder, his fingers nimbly pulling at one of the straps of your dress. With his heart rate shooting through the roof, he forces himself to take a moment. He needs to get this right. This may be the last chance he’ll be able to do this.

“I… look, there’s something that I—”

But suddenly, the sound of rapping knuckles at the front door cuts through the tense silence. Both of your attention is drawn to the closed door, and having left the back door open, you both have a clear view of it.

You turn around to face Caleb, offering him a sheepish smile. “That’s probably Zayne.”

He only nods, forcing his hand to fall back to his side. “Yeah, probably.”

This was it. He was losing you. It stung to know that this was no one’s fault apart from his own. His inability to be honest about his feelings, his lack of forwardness with you… what was he expecting? That you’d never date? That he could keep you happy forever without offering you anything more?

It was a stupid fantasy, one that had earned him this spot. But when he saw you turn to leave, your eyes still locked on his, a surge of panic shot up his spine. His eyes flit around—the grass, the flowerbeds, the hose… that was currently filling up the pool…

“Be mad at me later,” he suddenly says.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wha— ah!”

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, you were suddenly pushed back into the chamber full of chlorine infested water. Caleb watches with a wry expression as you shoot up from beneath the water, splashing aimlessly as you swim towards the edge.

“What the fuck was that?” you bark, perching one elbow up onto the concrete as you reach the other one out to him. “What the hell are you looking at? Help me out!”

Caleb can’t even protest, not with the incredibly irrational stunt he’d just pulled. “I’m sorry, pip-squeak, I just…” And so, he reaches down, his hand clasping around yours… until you pull him forward with all of your strength and send him tumbling into the pool too.

And when he comes up for air, you splash him the moment he opens his eyes. Serves him right. The chlorine will sting his eyes almost as much as your mascara is stinging yours right now.

With that, you pull yourself out of the pool, a trail of water marking your path as you wring out the fabric of your dress. After that, you disappear inside of the house, leaving Caleb to rub his eyes in utter defeat.

He gives you both a long stretch of alone time before he retreats back into the house like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low as he runs a hand through his wet strands of hair. You’ve evidently told Zayne that today wasn’t going to work anymore, judging by his lack of presence, and that thought alone makes Caleb more happy than he should be.

Sucking in a short breath, he knocks twice at your shut bedroom door. “Honey? It… it’s me.”

“Go away,” you retort without missing a single beat.

Caleb pokes his tongue into his cheek as he leans forward, resting his forehead on the cool surface of your bedroom door. “C’mon. Just… talk to me.”

It doesn’t take long before the door is swung open, revealing an incredibly angry version of you with a freshly cleaned face. He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to try and rectify the situation in any way he can, but you beat him to it. Quickly.

“How dare you?” you spit, jabbing your index finger into his chest. “What was that, Caleb? Are we ten years old again? Your method of communication is… is pushing me into the damn pool?”

He sighs, catching your hand to unfold your closed fingers. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” you cut him off, sticking your other index finger into his chest. “It’s your turn to listen. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, you’re all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever wanted. Do you know how it feels to have everything you want dangled in front of you for so many years, and… and just torn away? Time and time again?”

Caleb is rendered speechless, his brows furrowed in both confusion and a sense of odd relief as you unleash all of the thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for so long. He doesn’t bother catching your other hand, instead, he allows you to repeatedly jab at his chest. It hurts, but he can handle it. Just like he can handle the words you’re saying.

“So, you know what? I decided that enough was enough!” you continue, your index finger pressing wildly into the hard planes of his chest. “I wasn’t going to wait around, I wasn’t going to pretend, I was going to move on! And… and I was going to!”

He tilts his head, his amethyst eyes growing fuzzy as he looks down at you. “Was going to?”

You huff, eyes narrowing as you jab your finger into his chest for a final time before turning away from him. “Well, I’m not exactly going on a date anymore, am I?”

Caleb nods, though you can’t see it. He leans against the doorframe, his gaze tracing your silhouette through the soaked fabric of your dress. Sighing, he straightens off the wall, but before he can turn away, you spin around to face him.

“And you know what else?” you huff. “You know the solution to this problem just as well as I do.”

He nods his head with a single jerk of his chin, beckoning you to continue. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You step closer, and for the final time, you stab your finger into his pec. “You need to grow a pair.”

Inhaling deeply, all he can do is smile. It infuriates you and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself. He takes both of your wrists and tugs you forward until your chest presses against his own, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek.

You’re slowly simmering down, the heat of your outburst dissipating as your skin cooled. With your eyebrows still furrowed, all you can do is look up at him, daring him to speak. To do anything.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “A little.”

He slowly nods his head, his fingers curving along your jaw before he cups your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

You can feel his breath fan along your lips, cool and minty and just about everything you could have ever fantasized about on your own. You part your lips to reply, but this time, Caleb is the one who beats you to it.

“We’re making puddles all over the floor, you know.”

Glancing down, you see the truth in his words. The pool water dripped from your respective clothing and gathered around the two of you, making a wry smile find your lips.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I didn’t even notice.”

“I like to think I’m pretty observant when it comes to you,” he murmurs, smoothing his free hand along your side until it grasps onto the fabric of your dress. “Need some help with this?”

You look up, meeting his gaze once more. “With… with what?”

“Well,” he drawls, his fingertips brushing along your outer thigh as he slowly drags the fabric upward. His movements are hesitant and cautious, his eyes flickering between each of yours. “You’re wet. I’m wet. Maybe we can… help each other dry off.”

Your eyelids falter as they flit between his, your gaze instinctively falling to the plush curve of his bottom lip. “Okay,” you murmur.

A smile tugs at his mouth. “Okay. Arms up.”

Slowly, you lift your arms above your head. His hands work together to slowly push the fabric of your dress up and over your head, letting it slip onto the floor with a wet plop.

His breath is nearly torn from his lungs the moment he sees your bare skin, so beautiful and soft and made to be his. Hesitantly, his fingertips trace the curve of your hips with a sense of reverence.

“Do you need help too?” you ask, your voice breathy from the restrained sense of need that has come over you.

Pausing his exploration of your bare skin, Caleb finds himself nodding, almost immediately lifting his arms over his head. “Please.”

And now, you take the opportunity to do the same. Slowly, you peel his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly into the laundry hamper near the door. Your gaze traces over the defining lines of his abdomen, your touch doing the same as it trails southward.

His lower stomach tenses up as your fingers brush against the hem of his jeans. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, the way a touch so simple can nearly bring him to his knees. Breathing shakily, he leans down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Careful,” he breathes in warning, his voice taking on a raspy tone.

You almost startle at the unfamiliarity of his voice, though you push your hesitation aside as your thumb brushes over the button of his pants. “But… these are wet too.”

A huff of air leaves his mouth, the sound something between a low laugh and a groan. He forces his eyes open, his stare meeting your own. “Trying to get me naked before our first kiss? I have to say, you’re full of surprises.”

Faltering, your hands fall away from his pants. “You’re right, I… I’m—”

Caleb can’t help but chuckle, taking a hold of your hands to bring them right back to where they were before. This time, he guides your fingers through the motion of unbuttoning his pants. “Kidding,” he whispers against your lips. “Besides… we’re good at multitasking, yeah?”

You’re nodding before you can truly process his words. “Yeah.”

His lips crash onto yours with a groan that omits from deep within, the button of his jeans finally popping open from your ministry. The zipper went next, tugged down along with the fabric entirety until he was left in only his boxers.

His hands roam your curves greedily, eating up every inch of skin that he has deprived himself of for far too long. Your waist, your hips, your thighs—he needs to feel you in any way possible.

And you return his eagerness so well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you draw him in even closer. His hands worked quickly, hoisting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked the both of you over to your bed.

Laying you down on the mattress, he takes the initiative to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to gain access that you readily give him. He can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sweet taste of your tongue tangling with his own forcing his brain to short circuit in a way he’s never experienced before.

You kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and he was loving every second of it. Your hands fisted into his hair while your lips moved in tandem with his, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands gave your hips a firm squeeze.

His lips trail down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck and the curve of your shoulder as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you flush against him. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of his erection pressing against your clothes sex, the friction so delicious that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Caleb is so far gone, kissing his way along your arms, your neck, your sternum, all up until he reaches the valley of your breasts. He wastes very little time there, licking a trail to your nipple before sucking the peak into his mouth. His other hand palms at your other breast, kneading the soft flesh in his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, his hips rocking forward as he switches sides, latching onto your neglected breast and giving it a hard suck. “So beautiful.”

His descent continues as he mouths at the soft skin of your belly, your hips, your inner thighs. His eyes depart from yours as they settle onto the fabric covering your cunt, and a grin stretches across his face. Polka dots.

You scoff, softly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t even say it.”

Chuckling, he leans in to press a kiss on the damp patch of fabric. “Wasn’t gonna say anything, baby.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aimlessly. His lips press feverish kisses to your ankles, your calves, your inner thighs, and eventually, the mound of your pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your heat, hiking your legs up and over his shoulders and he pulls your sex closer to his mouth. “So damn worth it.”

A cry leaves you as his tongue delves in deep between your legs, his eyes slipping shut as he lets out an unabashed whimper into your sex. His grip on your thighs only tightens, keeping your legs spread apart as they threaten to press in on his head.

He wouldn’t have that. He couldn’t. He needed to have you in the way that he’s dreamt of for so long, in the way that he’s thought of time and time again as he fucked his own fist to the thought of you. It was filthy, it was lewd, but it was honest.

You tasted better than he could have ever imagined, his tongue eagerly lapping at your inner walls before his lips sealed around your puffy clit, sucking hard enough to make your back bow off the plush mattress.

The stimulation is leaving you feeling overwhelmed, your hands pushing into his hair as your trembling thighs test the strength of his grip. You whine, eyes slipping shut as your head tilts back against the pillows.

“It— it’s too much—”

“Be good,” he finds himself saying, pulling you right back to his mouth as he continues to feast on your pussy like a man starved. “You can take it, baby.” Caleb cracks open his eyes, sucking harshly onto your clit before releasing it with a wet pop. “Go on, pretty girl. Say it.”

You whine, though you hardly have the brain power to say anything else apart from what he’s asked of you. “I… I can take it,” you breathe.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your sensitive pearl before nipping at it. “There you go.”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble once more, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, a final resort for reprieve as he works you over the edge.

Caleb redoubled his efforts, spreading your thighs even wider. Soon, the warmth pooling in your lower stomach was far too much to bear, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“I’m… I’m coming,” you gasp out, hands gripping tightly onto his dark locks of hair.

And when you do, his flattened tongue laps at your honeyed release. He works you through your high, his movements eventually slowing down as the twitching of your hips gradually calms.

He pulls off of you with a wet pop, pressing soft kisses to your swollen clit. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, pressing another peck on your mound before he moves back up your body once more to slot his lips against yours.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only spurs you on further. Your hands grasp onto his shoulders, and in one swift motion, you flip him onto his back. Caleb looks up at you with a starry-eyed expression, but when you straddle his hips and sit in his lap, he has no words of protest. None at all.

“You really are full of surprises,” he says, running his hands along the warm skin of your thighs.

Tugging him free from his boxers, he helps you remove them from his body, leaving you both entirely bare together. He sits up, his back pressing against the headboard as he tugs you closer to him.

“I need you,” he whispers, pressing a longing kiss on your stomach as you shift to straddle him once more. “Please, baby.”

You gaze down at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Please what?”

He leans into your touch, his hands settling onto your waist as he pulls you lower, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Make yourself feel good. Please.”

Caleb’s own cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, both from the embarrassment that his own lack of experience brought upon him and the reality of finally having the love of his life in such an intimate way. His amethyst eyes search your face, as if searching for a permission that he didn’t know how to ask for.

Dipping your head, you press a soft kiss on his lips. Simultaneously, you swivel your hips until the tip of his length catches your entrance. You slowly lower yourself, feeling the way his cock stretches you out, filling you up in a way that only he can.

He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand. Brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, he kisses you gently. “You feel so good,” he whimpers into your mouth, his other hand resting on your hip as you roll your hips in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat. “So fucking perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, consisting of a slow and meticulous rocking of your hips. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing the deepest points of your inner walls with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Caleb’s hands grasped tightly onto your hips, helping you set a pace that had the both of you losing your mind. He leans backward, his head tilting against the headboard as it slams against the wall with each intense grind of your hips.

“Good girl, give it to me how you like it,” he breathes, eyes cracking open to watch the way you look down at him as you work yourself on his length. “Use me however you need me, baby, there you go.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him in for a longing kiss. “I… you— you feel so…” you stammer, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder as you lose yourself on his cock.

He nods his head in agreement, turning his head to press a kiss on your damp cheek as he gently pets your hair. “I know, I know.”

You lose yourself all together, your legs shaking as you tighten your hold on him. “Caleb!” you moan.

His hips help you the rest of the way, his grip on your hips keeping you firmly planted as he meets your movements with thrusts of his own. “I know it, baby, I’ve got you,” he pants through a smile, guiding you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Atta girl, use those hips.”

His arms wrap around you entirely, crushing you against the hard planes of his chest as you slowly ride the both of you through your shared orgasm. In that moment, in your house, in this space that belonged to you and Caleb alone—the two of you became one.

Heavy breathing and hammering heartbeats is all that consumes the two of you for a long while, skin to skin with far too much bliss brewing in your chests for either of you to handle alone.

Huffing softly, Caleb runs a hand up your side. “You okay in there?” he asks, turning his head to pepper soft kisses along your cheek. “C’mon, I need some proof of life.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up, give me a second.”

He merely smiles, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Thirty seconds after finishing and you’re already mean. “There’s my girl.”

Caleb’s hands smooth over the soft planes of your back, giving your hips a soft squeeze as he revels in the feeling of your heartbeat drumming against his own. He can’t help himself from pressing a few kisses on the top of your head, his arms opting to wrap even tighter around you.

“I love—” he cuts himself off, eyes widening dazedly. Would that be too much? A confession of his undying love not long after ruining your date and making love with you for the first time? After a stretch of awkward silence, he kisses your head once more. “I love… cuddling with you. You’re so soft.”

You smile, nuzzling even closer to his chest, your nose brushing against skin. “Mm, I love you too, Caleb.”

His eyes widened, though he knows that communicating his confusion is futile. You knew him so well, too well.

“You do?” he whispers, turning his head just enough to look down at you.

In response to that, you nod. “Mm-hmm. I’ll love you even more if you tell me that you didn’t cancel those dinner reservations.”

Caleb smiles, running a hand over your hair. As if he’d given up his last ditch effort to take you out. “You know I didn’t.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. rip zayne i still love you king!!! also i actually don’t really know how to write for caleb… so… i hope this didn’t suck! this is the only fic that managed to break my intense writer’s block that i’ve had for the past two months. reblog/comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate you reading so much <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[hellokittyish]

part one here.

★ thinking about mutual masturbation on facetime with ex!satoru which starts off with you just staring at him in some sort of daze, wondering what on earth possessed you to pick up the call in the first place. this is a mistake, you know that... so why aren't you hanging up already?

but before you can dwell too long on the answer to that question, your train of thought is rudely interrupted by a particularly loud moan echoing through the speaker.

“mmh… you actually didn’t decline for once," the white-haired menace gasps out, the slick sounds of his hand gliding up and down his cock only picking up in volume as he lays eyes on you. “shit— you don't know how much i've missed seein’ that pretty face of yours, baby.”

“you’re so shameless, satoru.” you mutter, lacing your tone with as much disdain as you can muster; but the way your own hand somehow snakes its way beneath the waistband of your sweatpants and into your panties tells an entirely different tale of how this whole situation is really making you feel.

“yeah,” he muses in an unapologetic hum, making a show of tilting the camera down to give you a better view of where he's currently thumbing his leaky, blushing tip. “but… ah— so are you, otherwise you would’ve blocked my new number the second i sent you that dick pic.”

“w-well how do you know i wasn't about to press the block button right when you called me and i accidentally clicked accept instead?” you shoot back through teeth which are clenched partly in annoyance and partly in an effort to hold back letting your own pleasure show on your face.

“nah, don’t give me that bullshit,” satoru snorts amusedly, leaning in closer to the screen and tilting his head to the side, snowy lashes fluttering seductively as his bright eyes stare knowingly into yours. “if you’re not enjoying this, then i want you to show me that your hands aren’t in your pants right now rubbing that pretty little pussy.”

shit. of course he'd be able to see through you that easily — he is your ex, after all. but no... you can’t let him win just yet. so, as subtly as possible, you pull your hand from your panties and hold it up to the phone screen, hoping against hope that the darkness of your room hides the wetness of your palm.

“hah. nice try, baby,” he drawls smugly, smiling so wide now that both of his annoyingly cute dimples are on full display; and it’s deliberate, too. he knows full well they were always your weakness. “...but i can see your sweet juices coating those cute fingers from here.”

and he knows he has you right where he wants you when you still don't hang up the call like you both know you should, instead just shoving your hand right back into your panties and rubbing messy circles over your clit while keeping direct eye-contact with him — trying to beat him at his own game, are you? oh, how he's missed you.

so he picks up the pace of his jostling fist around his cock, candy-pink lower lip caught between his pearly teeth as he tries to catch even a small glimpse of your bare skin through the screen; and god, only you could make him act this pathetic, this desperate. "fuck... please, pretty, y'gotta give me something to work with here. h-how about you pull your top up just a little for toru, hm?"

and you've already let this escalate too far to back out now, so you decide to throw caution to the wind and tug at the edge of your oversized tee just enough so that your bare tits spring free, courtesy to your preference for not wearing a bra around your apartment.

"o-oh, just look at those. i missed my girls s'much. bet you wish they were in my mouth right now, huh?" satoru rasps out, balls tightening to an almost painful degree as he reaches down to pay the heavy, neglected sacs some attention by gently fondling them.

and you, having finally caved and slid a finger into your fluttering hole, can only respond with a soft whine as you reach up to knead a breast with your free hand, the image of his skilled mouth suckling on them like he always used to making your much-too-empty cunt clench around your digit with need.

and that singular sweet, sweet sound from your lips that he's been deprived of hearing for months is all it takes for him to finally bust a load all over his chest and hand, goopy white streaks tainting his previously unmarred pale skin as his entire body trembles with a pleasure only you can give him.

and when he eventually manages to compose himself enough to glance back down at the facetime and realize that you're still trying to reach your own climax, your meek little fingers clearly not enough to finish the job, satoru has the absolute audacity to lean right in close to the screen and mutter out a cheeky…

“hey, if y'want me to come over and help you with that then all you gotta do is agree to get back together with me, baby.”

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