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solifloris · 11 days ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | 18+ only

tags : porn with plot, porn with feelings, starts out with somewhat ambiguous relationship territory, developing relationship, Talking Things Out TM (communication is key!), kissing and making out, heavy petting, dry humping, couch sex, riding, missionary, creampie, use of "pip-squeak"/"pips" "baby" "princess". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 8.9k ((unedited))

an : IT'S 3 DAYS LATE… PLEASE PRETEND IT'S STILL JUNE 13 YES? YES. AKJDHGLHSDF i made the last-minute decision to keep youtiful for next week (or so…) when it's less of a focus for caleb's birthday, since i did want to write a proper birthday fic this time…… but also. this outline. underwent SEVERAL changes bc i had its first outline done before the trailer release, and it ended up being quite similar to his birthday card and i had to make adjustments somehow T^T SO this is kind of,,, i guess,,, has its similarities to no-return night, but they're not related at all, so please take this separately!

i had a lot of trepidations writing this, but nevertheless i love caleb with all of my heart and soul and he's really really so very precious to me. i hope that you can feel that through this little fic too, it's a happy birthday week to the both of us. <3 (p.s. i love this song dearly, and ever since i heard it back in january i've wanted to write a fic with it for caleb! so this was also my excuse <3 go give olivia marsh some love <3)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

What does it take to spell out eternity? Every summer you'd fall together, and maybe that was all it was—just you, and him, and the words you'd let your bodies speak instead. So tonight, in the summer heat of early June, words turned to touch; grief to grace; time-lost notes proceeded rewritten. And maybe, then, forever felt a little bit more achievable than you'd thought.

The air was thick with the scent of June.

Even the bustling streets of Linkon couldn't distract you from it—around you stood patches of freshly-mowed grass, trees standing tall along sidewalks. This month, spring would fold itself into summer. And the warm breeze that passed—curled itself through the branches, tugged playfully at loose strands of your hair—felt proof of it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Casual footsteps.

Heels on the pavement, arms swinging at your side—you walked, and you could fall into sync with the person beside you in a heartbeat.

A familiar rhythm.

It settled between you, a quiet moment amidst the small crowd surrounding. Something like an old melody; one you'd already engraved into your heart for years back.

And above you, the sky seemed to smear with orange and rose—purples, and pinks, and tangerines… The sun began to set beneath the horizon, rosy-golden hue overcast around the street you walked.

Immediately you were drawn back to look at him.

That everlasting melody that your heart murmured.

You caught the light as it reflected briefly in his eyes, the saturated speckles of sunlight dabbling in his hair. He was looking ahead, still, but those colors—in his eyes, they swirled like the sunset itself, that same warm glow. Looking at him like this, you'd think to yourself, that often the sky would come alive in them.

The sky could come alive in him.

That maybe he had become the sky itself.

Those very same colors that painted the evening would spill from his gaze, and the more you looked at him, the more you thought that you could drown—they just held so much.

So much that still, even now, you couldn't quite reach it at all.

Just like the faint sunlight slipping away at sundown; something beautiful left just out of grasp.

Lingering.

And even though you walked beside him now, you could remember that it hadn't always been that way. Now, Caleb was a lot taller. His broad shoulders cast a long shadow across the sidewalk, and you—

You remembered.

For years you'd walked behind him, head tilted up, following his lead. Watching, as he moved through the world with a quiet confidence that you'd once lacked the ability to mirror at all.

Now, the roles felt different.

You felt different, and he felt different.

And you could feel, even in this moment, beside him, the weight of this space that existed between you.

You didn't like that space.

Your fingers curled instinctively around the hem of his shirt.

No, you wanted him…

Closer.

You tugged, and he looked at you.

Eyes softened, lips curled slightly upwards.

Caleb let out an easy chuckle. "It's nice, huh?" he hummed. Whether or not he'd truly noticed the meaning behind your gesture remained unaddressed in the air around you, but you were sure he noticed. He always did. He was likely just choosing not to speak of it. "Walkin' around Linkon like this… It's like it's been forever since we've last done it. But it almost feels like nothin's changed."

Like nothing's changed.

You could feel the wry smile forming on your lips, an almost bitter laugh bubbling at your throat.

How ironic.

Certainly, both of you felt that things had changed—

Didn't you?

"You can't be serious," you huffed. "I mean, that— that movie theater we used to go to isn't even there anymore. The older one, that refused to jump on the OTTO bot train when everyone else did?"

"Oh? Yeah? Well, we haven't visited it in forever, either, y'know. Guess we couldn't have known how long it's been outta business."

"And! And, the one bakery down the block! That one's changed, too. Owner's different, and everything. And they sell, like, gluten-free donuts and more boring things now…"

He raised a brow, "What, no more of those chocolate croissants you liked so much?"

"They're different now! Changed recipe and all, you know? Changed the baker, too, probably… They never taste the same as the last time I had them… with you."

Caleb's laughter came out light and easy, and for a moment, the gap between you felt smaller.

Progress was progress.

Oftentimes spending time with him felt like a ticking time bomb; you'd never know when it would end all of a sudden, nor could you guess when he'd suddenly pull away again. Today—tonight—it was one of the very first times that hadn't happened just yet.

There had been small steps.

More of them.

The gap between you didn't feel so big anymore.

And almost as if in an attempt to finally bridge it, you continued—“Oh! And the playground? The old swings are completely gone. Replaced with those weird plastic dome things that look like modern art sculptures.”

“You mean the new climbing domes, right? They've been poppin' up in a lot of playgrounds recently. I'll say… They are a bit… odd-lookin'…”

"Exactly, right?!" You huffed, rolling your eyes. "The swings looked better. Friendlier, too! Now the playground looks all bland and devoid of life that those plastic things try to fill in with colors…"

"Aw, the kids don't like 'em? They're good for climbin'!"

"Some do… If they're like you, I guess…"

Your voice softened when you looked at him.

"…And the tree," you murmured. "The one in our backyard. You know, back… home. It would've been blooming with lots of fruit by now, if…"

Your gaze moved down.

If it were still around.

Your voice faltered, and you trailed off—the words remained hanging in the air; instead of catching them, you could only let them go in a quiet, almost embarrassed motion.

Too soon.

You didn't need to bring that up.

With a light smile, you cleared your throat, and slipped your hand out away from where you had been clinging to his sleeve.

"But, uhm… sure. Nothing's changed."

Some attempt at damage control.

You couldn't dare look up at him now, and the silence that settled now felt heavier—at least, to you.

You'd gone just another step backward.

Your hands settled in front of you, playing instead with the ribbon on your dress. It was different, from clutching at his sleeve. Already a thing you'd gotten used to, even though you'd been walking without it just a couple of minutes prior. Certainly a thing you had gotten used to, in easier years where you were always with him.

So, so many things you would get used to around him.

And now that split-second letting go of his sleeve had you trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, but how could you ever dream of hiding anything from him?

Even without a glance, you felt the pace of his footsteps beside you change slightly.

A shift, and then—

"Hey."

A gentle nudge.

He bumped your shoulder with his, like a little poke as if to get you back onto your feet. When you gathered enough courage even just to peek back at him, the warmth in his gaze seemed to curl around you like the summer breeze that sifted over you.

"'m glad you spent the day with me, pips," he said, soft and sincere. "It means a lot, y'know? Spendin' my birthday with you again."

"…Well, yeah. Again, right?"

You did gather the courage to turn.

In that moment a car passed on the other side of the street, headlights catching in the sheen of the sidewalk. A sprinkler ticked to life somewhere in the next yard over—closer, now, to the residential areas than the busier life of the heart of Linkon. Here, right now, everything smelled faintly of earth, and evening grass. There was that breeze again; picking up with a carried scent of wood.

Like a normal day.

Like an everyday sort of day.

Perhaps to anyone else, it was a day that meant very little.

Not to you.

Not to him, either.

"It's… well, not the first time. We always spend today together." You kicked at a pebble with the toe of your shoe, watching as it skittered on ahead of you.

"No," he chuckled. "It's not."

"But it feels like it."

Your voice went quieter.

A couple of steps before you paused.

He'd moved a little on ahead—caught on to the way you'd stopped walking, and turned around.

Another car.

This time it passed over on your side of the street, and— you remembered looking at him like this once, on that day.

That day.

With the unset glow; darker this time, instead illuminated extra by the headlights of the car that seemed to paint him in a cooler, more silvery glow.

You were used to seeing him in warmer colors. The sun had that very effect; oranges and reds and occasionally saturated pinks. But now he was dressed in blue—the type to wear cooler greys as to warmer browns, platinum whites to beige and cream. Sometimes his voice felt colder; sometimes that uniform on his person drowned his light into a liquid pearl you weren't used to.

The sun was also a star—but the sun was not quite the moon.

And like daytime settling into night, things could change.

You were reminded.

Things have changed.

Caleb looked at you in that moment. Falling silent, still; choosing to let your words pass.

"…It feels like it," you murmured again, quieter this time. "The first time."

Again, but the first time.

Like a culmination of years of knowing each other, and then… months of not quite.

All day, you'd moved together; two people remembering how to be near one another. Slowly, carefully. Down the street, places you used to visit, things you used to see. Laughter that felt a little bit out of practice. Laughter that had slowly begun to blend from forced, back to natural.

Things have changed, and perhaps that was the very reason you needed to relearn it.

Study the moon.

Fall into its orbit.

Again, and again, and again. As many times as it would take you.

“…I had fun,” he said after a pause, quiet and earnest. His voice was gentle, eyes melted softly.

Those strange, sunset-colored eyes of his—they caught the last of the sunlight; reminded you, achingly, of a version of him that you used to know better. But, this Caleb—dressed up in blue, standing right in front of you, one pace away out of this stupid respect for your supposed personal space—

He was still someone you wanted to learn, too.

You smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

Above you, a streetlight buzzed quietly to life. It was back, again. Albeit artificial, there was that amber glow now on the pavement—on you—on him.

And then he tapped your forehead, took a step closer, and nudged his head in the direction beside you.

"Pip-squeak," he grinned, "look. Your gluten-free donut bakery."

Your head turned.

It was true—you hadn't realized it, but you'd stopped right in front of the bakery in question. It sat quietly on the corner, windows warm with light…

You realized, then, that though you passed this place all the time still, you'd never quite… visited. Less, since he'd started going to Skyhaven, and definitely not since what had happened at Bloomshore District.

So how long had it been, really?

You were right to think that it had changed.

The awning had gone from striped red to a soft sage green; handwritten signs replaced by sleek, branded typography.

But the bones of it were still there.

The door was still painted that dusty white; those little flowerpots still hung under the front windows.

And then, taped to the glass, was a poster—Typed out in playful print, with a little cartoon apple pie in the corner.

Apple Crumble Brioche. This weekend only!

Your eyes caught on it without realizing.

They had one on display—it was smaller, now, and not quite the kind you used to eat during summer break.

But the word apple lingered in your head like a ghost.

That was Caleb's favorite…

You heard a laugh beside you.

"Maann," he hummed, dragging the word out, "I haven't had any of their pastries in so long."

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Not that you're missing much," you rolled your eyes.

But already your smile was widening.

"M'kay, but it's still my birthday. So aren't I supposed to be spoiled a little?"

"You wouldn't be spoiled by anything from this bakery now…"

"Nuh-uh. Would be, 'cause you're right here with me, pip-squeak."

You laughed, then. Shoved his shoulder in a playful manner, before going ahead and pushing at the door. "So Colonel Caleb can be a baby, after all!"

The door gave way with a soft ring.

It quieted the banner, despite the playful looks you'd shown each other.

The bell above still had the same tinkling chime you used to know—impressive, after all these years.

And there it was again. That warmth. Fresh bread, cinnamon, sugar melting into butter... Even now it smelled like a memory that hadn’t quite forgotten you yet.

Like stepping into a well-loved painting; a well-loved book.

Something to welcome you home.

Behind the counter stood someone you didn’t recognize—young, cheerful, and definitely not the older woman with the cloud of white hair who used to sneak you extra apple pockets on rainy days. But the smile they gave was kind.

“Evening!” They said. “Let me know if you need anything!”

Everything looked cleaner now. Neater.

Even as you moved towards the counter, you took in the sight of the more professionally decorated display—elaborate presentations of cakes, and pastries, and desserts…

Behind you, you felt Caleb moving around to take in everything that he could, too.

The shelves in the back had packed croissants, cardamom buns, muffins.

You knew that despite your mourning for the more homely bakery you were used to, in the end it was still a bakery of good standard.

It still smelled a little bit like home.

With a warmth curling in your heart, you smiled at the cashier. "Two apple brioches, please," you gestured, before taking out your walled to fish for a bill.

Behind you, Caleb had paused—something on the side wall caught his eye—a corkboard tucked between the napkin station and the drink menu. A little handwritten sign above it read: Take a leaf, leave a leaf.

Papers in the shape of different colored leaves rested in a tray below, colored pens lined neatly in a box. The board itself was dotted with pinned-up notes: doodles, quotes, confessions half-lost to time.

And while you counted the change, he'd stepped over, pulled a leaf from the tray.

Quick scribbles.

When you'd turned, then, he was just straightening and pinning the note to the board with a casual flick of his hand.

You raised an eyebrow—show off.

“What was that?” You stepped closer to peer at his note, but he held his arm out and steered you out the door. "Hey!"

"Shhhh, that was my birthday wish."

"But a wish is made with candles. You made a wish today! And anyway, you're not supposed to write those down—"

With a grin, he flicked your forehead. "Eeexactly. No peekin', pips."

Perhaps he knew how to silence you.

In the next moment his hand reached down to find yours, gave it a little squeeze—

"Let's go home, pip-squeak."

You thought to yourself that you hadn't quite held him like this, not for a long, long while.

When you stepped back out onto the street, the bakery door tingled shut behind the both of you. Now, even standing out under the awning, you could see that the sky had darkened while you'd been inside. The sun was well below the horizon—dusk had given way to the evening, and in the distance, if you squinted, low clouds seemed to roll in slowly.

"Oh…" you murmured. "Do you think it's going to rain? I don't think I brought an umbrella with me…" You shifted around and rummaged through your bag, only to no avail.

The first drops hit before you'd gotten a reply.

Soft, still. Cautious, almost—as if testing the ground.

And as you peeked out from under the awning, little, sporadic drops fell on your head, dotting your hair with light greetings.

Beside you, Caleb shrugged. "We're not too far. It's probably just a drizzle."

"Guess the birthday boy gets a little bit of rain," you laughed then.

You took the pastries back from him and stuffed the little brown paper bag into your own bag—for safekeeping.

And you could pretend the drizzles weren't there.

Could still walk ahead, a few steps, cross over to the next block as the pedestrian signal turned green.

…But then the drizzle turned bolder.

A sudden scatter of drops soaked into your dress, and you let out a gasp.

"Oh, no…!"

The sky gave in completely.

Thick, heavy rain fell in sheets the next second. Testing period was over—the sky doused the pavement, and you were soaking almost immediately.

Hair, clothes—quickly they began to stick to your skin, both his and yours, and—God forbid—Caleb laughed.

"Caleb! Don't—ugh, come on! We've got to get—"

Despite your obvious indignation, he only reached over to grip your hand in his.

One more time, he seemed to say.

He had that knowing little look on his face, one that slowly, slowly turned into one with mischief and pure joy.

"Race you!"

With an aghast cry of disbelief, you allowed yourself to be dragged along with him—race, he said, yet here he was gripping your hand like a promise not to let go this time.

And you could only laugh.

He always knew how to make you laugh.

"Hey! Caleb, you dummy!"

You would shout through the rain, wet droplets splashing on at the two of you. Caleb was fast, and you were more of stumbling alongthan running. Water, puddles, flared up in arcs from your feet. It soaked through the fabric of your skirt, your socks, your collar—but you thought, nonetheless, that it felt so suddenly free.

You couldn’t remember the last time you'd run like this.

Carelessly.

Breathlessly.

Like it didn’t even matter that the two of you were drenched by now.

Caleb knew how to make you laugh.

Caleb knew how to make you feel at ease.

It was his birthday, and yet, he would still be like this with you.

Shoes slapped against wet pavement, rain streaked down your faces as you rounded the block and skidded into the shade of your apartment complex.

"S- seriously!" You half-laughed, half-panted, resting your hands on your knees as you caught your breath.

You offered a playful glare, "Warn me next time you take me for a ride, captain, geez!"

He ducked under with you, water dripping from the tip of his nose.

And all around you, the rain never seemed once to let up. It only got louder, enough to almost drown out your laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it—

It settled again, and that giddiness bubbled.

"Ugh, just— You…!" You hunched over with laughter this time, only managing to straighten just to wring out your hair. "It's like you even remember the way here better than I do!"

"Pshhh. What do you take me for, pips? 'Course I'll remember!"

He shook his hair, grinning at the incredulous squeal you'd let out at the droplets that went flicking around from him.

Wet dog, you stuck out your tongue at him.

But he followed your actions after another grin—wringing out bits of his blazer, his tie; untucked his shirt just to do the same.

And then he chuckled.

"Well, it's where you are, so I'll never forget. Even through all that downpour… I'll always know the way home, pip-squeak."

The way he said it felt warm despite the cold beginning to seep through your clothes. But, as if afraid it might once again bring you a step away from him like you had been—you didn't address it.

Instead, you responded with a playful scoff.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Colonel."

With a wave of your hand, you walked rain-soaked steps up to your door, eagerly pushing your thumb to the fingerprint system in way of getting out of your wet clothes and hopefully into much drier ones.

Indeed when the door clicked open, Caleb shouldered it wider, allowing you to step inside first. “Geez,” he muttered, still scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. “I can feel my socks squish.”

You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, and you're the one who decided to drag us through the downpour. Which, happy birthday, by the way."

“Aaand, I regret nothing! 'cept maybe not waterproofing my shoes well enough. But that's another conversation.”

He moved to toe them off to the side, and you hovered by the light switch.

Ah, well, this you'd forgotten.

A second of hesitation.

You took a deep breath, and then—with fingers still a little wet against the plastic panel—you clicked it on.

Warm light spilled into the room.

Not just your living room lights, but soft string lights blinked to life. As the area lit up bathed in that amber light, it revealed strings of lights draped across windows and walls, something like lazy stars, gentle and gold, dancing almost delicately along the blankets stacked on the couch.

Balloons floated near the ceiling. Some were clustered in little groups around the corners of the room; blue, and orange, and red, and purple—Sunny Apple balloons, Sunny Apple plushies, even little Sunny Apple paper cutouts were there, too. The cutouts hung like ornaments—hand drawn, made with care… allowed a little glimpse into the innocence of childhood that you'd both spent together, all these years.

Caleb had stopped.

He'd paused, halfway through peeling off his blazer, jaw going slack. "What…"

A hint of red crept up your cheeks.

With a clear of your throat you padded barefoot across the floor, not even caring anymore as the rain still dripped from the ends of your hair. You could still feel the dress fabric clinging to your skin… but now, you couldn't care less. You barely even felt the cold anymore. Instead, your heart was beating far too loudly in your chest, and you crouched beside the couch, and—

There it was.

The real present.

A small, pearly-white box tucked carefully in the corner, wrapped up in a purple ribbon.

The color of his eyes.

"I… I know," you began, picking up the box and standing still. You couldn't dare back look at him—not now, not just yet. "I know I spent the day with you already… And, I know, that maybe I—I made it seem like that was the present."

Silence.

Not even a shuffle.

When you did turn, Caleb hadn't moved at all. Instead his eyes were fixed on you, watching you carefully, a waver of emotion in those sunset eyes of his that you found that you didn't know how to read.

Slowly you walked the few paces back to him, holding the box between your hands. "It's… I mean, that's not enough of a present. Neither is this, really. But… I wanted to give you something, even if it's small, and nothing compared to… uh…"

A wry smile; you swallowed.

The irony of being nervous in front of someone you'd known for more than half your life.

“You’ve… You've always taken care of me, Caleb. Even when you didn’t have to. Even now, after all this time. Even… Even in spite of everything. You've always been here. And you've said that you don't know, anymore, how to to take care of me like you used to, but you… You still do. You still try.”

The words trembled slightly as you spoke. And then you placed the box in his hands.

"…There's still so much you don't tell me," you said quietly, your expression softening. You watched as Caleb looked down, silently slipping the ribbon loose. "I don't know much about your missions, or the things that you have to do… Or what it's really like, out there in deepspace; even what it's really like when you fly."

The lid came off.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was a compass. Its face gleamed slightly in the light—simple, elegant, its needle already settling.

Caleb didn’t speak right away.

Instead he stared; a few beats. A couple moments with his gaze studying the eight-point star, before flitting back up to you.

You couldn't read him.

Even now, you thought, there was just so much you didn't know about him anymore, either.

Yet…

“…You always said I knew the way,” he murmured.

And you nodded, almost too afraid to speak in return.

He traced the needles with his thumb, carefully, gently.

"When we were kids, you… You always said you'd thought I was invincible. I had you relyin' on me the whole way, trailin' after me with those stars in your eyes. So, I'd lead the way when I could. As much as I could. I didn't… ever want those stars to go away."

The compass settled down as he reached over to rest it on a little table.

"You don't do that anymore, pips," he said softly.

And you stayed silent, allowed yourself to be gently drawn into him. Again, like always. Again, like he'd make you do.

In the back of your mind, you'd think that Caleb didn't even need his Evol, not when he was with you.

"Now you're this—this diligent, hard-workin' Hunter, best rookie Hunter of the year, and all those fancy achievements... Even made it into UNICORNS, yeah? I couldn't be more proud of you. Just…"

He rest his hands on your waist, pulled you closer just to rest his forehead against yours.

"You're right," he whispered. "Things're different now. All these things keep pullin' us further and further apart… It's like today's the only day we got to be like this. Where things felt like they used to. So when did heaven, and earth start… feelin' so far? When did you become someone I don't have to take care of anymore? When did you become someone I had to let go?"

The weight of his words settled.

In the end, he'd been feeling the same things you did.

"'m not as invincible as you think I am. I can't even accept that you don't look at me like you used to… Isn't that pathetic? Those stars in your eyes were ones I couldn't protect, and I keep messin' up, havin' to—to try to make things right again. But… how am I supposed to do that? I don't know a lot of things either, pip-squeak… All I want is to be by your side."

"Caleb…"

"Only reason I don't drift off into space is 'cause the only home I have's with you. Only reason I come back is 'cause I know you're waitin' for me back on the ground."

Your eyes closed.

Well, through the downpour and morning dew… you're the one I don't want to lose.

"…I'm still here, Caleb…" you murmured. "I'm not going to go flying off without you. I don't want to."

It wasn't even that the hug was particularly comfortable.

Wet fabric against wet skin—he felt cold. Cold, and wet, and—you could pull away.

But he rest his chin on the top of your head, and it was the warmest that you'd ever been.

"You're my home, too, you know." You nuzzled against him, smiled softly even though he wouldn't see it. "So this compass… was me hoping that I'd be yours. If navigation knows only forward motion…"

"…When I'm by you side, I just want to stay still."

You laughed, muffled against his chest. "Yeah. One of your silly quotes."

"Well… When you think about it, you're the only compass I'd ever need anyway, guidin' me back home the way you do." He smiled into your hair—you felt it—before he pulled back a little.

Looked at you properly.

Sunset eyes locked onto your own.

And slowly he reached—brought the necklace back up between your lips, leaned in to share a chaste kiss.

"Maybe this is just a promise," he murmured. "You ground me, pip-squeak. And fate has always guided me back to you… So maybe, yours is the gravity I can never resist. One that I never even plan to."

"My sun?" you laughed softly, "pulled into my orbit?"

"Mm, welll, I think I've only ever reflected the light you shine. Soooo maybe you're the sun. Or the earth. My world, isn't it? That'll fit, too."

"…You're silly."

"Heh. Don't like it?"

"Mn, I've never not liked it."

The necklace fell as you giggled, and your lips brushed together gently.

"You know… I don't know if I can believe in forever," he said, then. "But… Just this moment, here, with you… I want to believe in an eternity with you."

"So let's call it." Your eyelashes fluttered against his. "From this day onward… Caleb, you are my eternity."

And this time, this promise was sealed with a kiss.

Warm.

Steady.

So achingly gentle, it made your breath catch.

And it was a kiss that cradled the very weight of everything you'd shared before this, and everything else that you hadn't dared to speak out loud until this moment. It was a kiss that spoke for you. A kiss that said—thank you. I promise that, too.

So you kissed him back, leaned into him. You felt the way your breath trembled as you did—your hands rose, shaking, pressing lightly into his chest. And it was like breaking the surface, after holding your breath for all these years.

Your fingers fisted, curled, into the fabric of his shirt. Your own anchor. Something to steady you, keep you grounded, remind you no less that despite the weightlessness of this moment, it was still real.

The room faded.

The lights, the windows, the rain…

In this moment, it was just you, and him, and a shared sense of a promised beginning.

When he pulled back, his hands still remained curled at your waist. You noticed the flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes had gone all lidded—glassy, a little bit dazed. And despite the soft, breathless laugh that spilled from your lips, you didn't want to pull away.

You didn't even dare to.

Instead your gaze flitted back down to his lips, watched as the corner of his mouth twitched into a little hint of a smirk.

Caleb tilted his head.

Testing.

And his nose brushed once again against yours, and—

"Mmph—!"

He swallowed your gasp with yet another kiss; this time not as soft, not as sweet.

Hungry.

As if that moment had given him all he'd needed to let loose.

Despite your widened eyes, you willed yourself to breathe, melting like putty immediately in his arms. They'd flutter closed as he pulled you tighter, closer. And your hands slid up his chest, over the soaked fabric of his shirt, clutched at the fabric for yet another reminder of the reality of what was happening.

It was wet, and messy.

Open-mouthed, breathless—you made a noise at the back of your throat, something like a whimper, something like relief, something like—yes, this. More of this.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest.

What had started with a simple kiss had escalated into the intensity he'd pour into you—an intensity you reciprocated; an intensity you dared give back to him, so much so that you couldn't ever think to protest when his hand came up to cup your jaw.

His lips moved fiercely; he continued to press into you.

One step back.

Then another.

Not away from each other, but—towards.

And as the kiss deepened, the backs of your knees hit the couch. It was the only thing that could have made you part—you both toppled over in a tangle of limbs and damp clothing, couch cushions giving beneath you. He landed beneath you—blinking up with a startled look that shone through despite the redness that had reached his cheeks, a little huff of laughter falling at your own lips.

"Geez…" you breathed, one palm flat again on his chest, the other bracing yourself beside his head. “That was graceful.”

Not necessarily addressing the kiss; not necessarily rejecting it.

Instead, you watched as his hands slid along your hips, that smirk of his returning to his features. "Fate ordained it," he hummed. "But I feel like I want to be the greedy birthday celebrant that I am this time."

"Good."

You leaned back down, took a moment to caress his cheek. "You should be greedier with me, Caleb."

His lips against yours were searing.

That hunger was still there.

Fast, and deep, and passionate…

It turned heedy. Open mouths crashing together, again and again.

Soft groans built between sharp breaths and wet noises; there was no need for air, not when you could breathe him instead.

And instinctively, needy—your hips shifted, the gasp between you swallowed into another kiss.

Caleb's hold on your waist tightened. Not to stop you, but to guide.

And that was all the mutual invitation that both of you needed.

Slowly, teasingly, rocking still—you felt him hardening beneath you, felt your own body pulsing in response. You felt a tingle down at your core, already sensitive from the friction of your wet clothes and all this pent-up tension between you. The fabric felt hot, and soaked, and maddening—and even pulling away from him just to breathe took all your effort, and even then you couldn't stop.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough and buried against your shoulder. “You can’t move like that and expect me to stay sane, pip-squeak...”

“Oh?” You deliberately moved, eyebrow raised, letting the friction drag right across your clit through the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. A smirk was laced in your voice. “But I thought you liked this?"

His only answer was a strangled sound—half laugh, half moan.

And then he bucked up into you.

Retaliation, perhaps.

Your head tipped back at the sensation, hips meeting his in a frantic rhythm that neither of you were controlling anymore. Your breath hitched each time the ridge of his cock rubbed against you, perfectly caught between the angle of his body and the damp cling of your panties—It was raw.

Desperate.

Each roll of your hips sparked heat in your belly that coiled tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter…

“P-pip-squeak,” he groaned, breath catching against your neck. "You’re damn wet, h-holy...”

You rest your forehead against his, breath coming out in tiny puffs from exertion. "…So are you," you laughed. "We were… ah… We were out in the rai—nnh…"

“Not what I meant.”

Immediately your rhythm grew frantic. Slow grinding turned into more abrupt, hard rolls, the shape of his cock slotting nicely between the outline of your cunt. Your thighs tightened around his waist; his hands slid eagerly down to cup your ass and press you closer.

Caleb had never held you like this becore.

But even now, you looked at him—violet-orange eyes turned a darker twilight from sundown… and he had so much desire in him that you could simply melt.

Sparks shot up through your spine.

Your moans grew louder; swallowed either by his mouth that demanded more, or left completely to echo in your room as you arched your back.

"God, you're so fucking hot, pips," he murmured. This was a lower tone you were far less used to hearing, but it wasn't condescending. It wasn't cold.

It was hot, and searing, and you could only let out a groan of your own.

And eventually your soaked dress became far too much—

You sat up slightly, panting, straddling him still with your own flushed cheeks and unsteady hands.

You lifted your hips—started with the hem of your dress, slowly peeled it upwards.

And then off.

Immediately, Caleb's hands followed.

In heated silence his gaze trained over your body, thumbs brushing reverently along the skin as your dress was thrown haphazardly somewhere in the room. In the next second your bra unclasped, and your panties kicked off, both to join your dress without any more care for being organized.

Because none of that mattered.

Not at all mattered.

What mattered, now, was what was in front of you— all manner of love, and desire, and reverence, all in one gaze. All in the way he would linger, taking in every inch of you with a sweep of his eyes.

All in the way he would speak. Barely a whisper.

But still, enough to make you clench almost pathetically over nothing.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do right now,” he murmured. “You’re… stunning.”

You felt your heart skip a beat—a couple, before accelerating, bringing an undeniable heat rushing all throughout your body in that moment.

"Then… let me see you, too."

You tugged at his wet shirt, nails scraping lightly at his chest. The motion had him groaning, bucking his hips—his cock strained hard through his pants, grinding against the damp press of your now-bare pussy. The friction of his clothing hitting directly on your folds and had your thighs shaking, Caleb's hands moving up and down over them, eyes now glued to your breasts that hung right in front of him.

It was a reverent sort of scramble.

A struggle to stop, if only for a moment, just to bare your bodies to one another, just to finally, finally be free and vulnerable and real.

Wet fabric slapped to the floor.

No more barriers.

Full of desire.

You pushed him back against the couch cushions, climbed into his lap with slow, sure movements. Immediately your pussy slid over the heavy bulge of his cock, bare, and raw, and skin-to-skin, a place where it belonged and simply felt oh-so-fucking-good.

You gripped his jaw, kissed him hard, and then began to grind—slow, and hard, and so sweetly filthy.

But never as delicious as the sound of his own moans.

"Ah-shit—ah! Y-you're killin' me, baby—"

The new nickname had you jolting.

And he would pull you back down into another kiss—he rocked back against you, groaned into your mouth, hands rubbing over from your ass, to your hips, to the sides of your chests, and back down again—

So delicious.

Your clit caught every motion. The air was thick with the sound of wet skin, of uneven breathing, of whimpers and his whispered curses. His cock throbbed desperately, trapped against your heat, teased by the plush drag of your weeping cunt.

It wasn't enough.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “M'gonna lose it like this, you're so damn perfect…"

You shook your head. "No… Not yet," you panted. You leaned in, teeth teeth grazing that tender spot just below his ear. “I want you inside.”

He didn't speak, then.

Just a flash of something darker in his eyes, and then he lifted you slightly—

Flushed and heavy, your eyes were drawn to his length, watching with a wildly beating heart as he guided you over the head of it.

No rush.

Just the tip, first.

You couldn't resist swirling your hips a little, easing the red tip right into your hole—

"Fuckkkk, yes— Take it deeper, baby…"

Your eyes shot up to meet Caleb's, your own lips parted in disbelief.

His moans were so fucking pretty.

You didn't want to wait any more, either.

The stretch made you moan.

Slowly you sank down, pussy fluttering as you took him inch, by inch, every vein and every ridge burning itself into your memory. Your thighs trembled against his hips—he buried his face into your shoulder, breathing hotly against your skin, fingers grapsing at your ass as he fought to stay still.

"Mmnh… Caleb…" you moaned. Your hands gripped his shoulders then, nails practically digging in enough to earn a moan of his own.

He was just so big.

The fullness of him made your hips stutter. Your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Shit, shit,” you grit your teeth. “You’re… fuck, you’re stretching me so much—”

“I know, pips,” he breathed, shaky. “And you’re doin so, so good. You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven.”

He was throbbing inside you, pulsing against your most sensitive places. You felt every twitch. Every heartbeat.

And then your hips met.

You were shaking—he was all the way in.

Your hands trembled, chest rising and falling in strained breath, trying to adjust to his fill.

It burned, but it felt heavenly.

He was right.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek, your temple, your jaw.

You nodded, swallowed hard. “I just… didn’t know I could feel this full,” you laughed, a little breathlessly. “It’s a lot.”

"But not too much, right, princess? I mean, look at you, so full of me…"

A lazy grin formed on his face, then.

He'd nudged you a little, all so his eyes could rake over you seated over his cock like this. A low whistle escaped from his lips, and his hand snaked over to rest on your stomach. "So, so full of me."

He leaned back up for a moment—

"Move for me, baby."

And it was as if you'd been waiting for such a command.

So you did as he'd asked.

A gentle roll of your hips, first.

"Fuck—! Ngh—!"

The first movement had him falling back to the cushions, giving you more of that delicious delicious moan, and your breath hitched.

There was a light whimper on your lips; the stretch of him still sent aftershocks down your spine, every inch of him rubbing places inside you that made your toes curl—

But you needed more. You really, really needed more.

Again.

And again.

And—

You rocked against him in a slow, tender rhythm; every downward push a sigh, every lift of your hips a gasp. His hands moved to your waist again, holding you steady, guiding you…

And he wouldn't look away from you.

Dizzy eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure—his hair, wet from the rain and from sweat, stuck to his hair, and the way he gazed at you was so lustful and so loving all at once that the coil in your stomach stirred.

"So fuckin' pretty," he drawled, soothingly rubbing into your waist. "Look at you go, pips… Takin' my cock so damn well…"

The slick sound of your bodies filled the space between you. Your arousal coated his length, clenching with every curse that spilled from his lips. You moaned, helplessly, almost, as your hips began to pick up the pace.

"Caleb… Caleb, feels s'good…!"

"Mhm… Yeah, you like it, baby? Feels good, huh? You're damn perfect, princess, made for me."

You near-collapsed. Palms on either side of his body, breath coming out in pants, hips moving up, and down, and up, and down—

His lips found your neck. Your jaw, your cheek.

“Drivin' me insane, pretty baby” he groaned. “Every fuckin' move you make…"

He thrust up into you.

"Caleb—!"

You cried out in pleasure, your movements syncing with the pace of his thrusts.

"That's it, baby… C'mon, c'mon— Fuck, pips—!"

You moaned into his mouth, and your rhythm stuttered, but didn’t stop. You moved above him, caught in that rising, desperate tide, the drag of him hit right where you needed, feeling cock along all your tender places with every roll—

His head tipped back against the couch cushion.

His throat bared; a broken moan escaped him so wonderfully.

“God—fuck, I’m close!" he gasped. His fingers trembled where they held you. “I can’t—baby, I can’t hold it back anymore, I need… fuck—need more than this… Please, lemme have all of you—"

His voice cracked with it, the need, the want.

And you could tell that there was more.

This wasn't about just sex—the way he looked at you held something deep something intense; he wanted you.

And you felt wanted.

You leaned forward, flushed and panting, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t hold back,” you whispered. “Take all of it. All of me. Use me."

In that moment, you felt it.

He didn't lunge.

Instead, his body froze. A slight, strangled sound escaped his throat—

"Don't… don't say that…"

You paused.

A frown.

His eyes—those bruised-purple, tangerine-flecked eyes—met yours with a kind of haunted sorrow that you wouldn't have expected out of him.

"Caleb…?" you reached a hand out to push his bangs out of his face. "That's not— I didn't mean…"

“No, I… I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m takin' somethin' from you,” he shook his head. Whispered, pleadingly.

And still your bodies were joined, throbbing, waiting—but his hands had gentled, and his gaze searched yours like it ached to be understood.

"Caleb… You're not using me… I…"

"…But how do you know?" he frowned. "If you say it like that, pips, I… I've already taken so much from you."

"What? No, you haven't—"

"Do you really think so? All this time? I told you, I don't know how to take care of you anymore. All these wrong things I keep throwin' around, and you'd still fall back into my arms after a few coddles 'cause that's what I know to do to bring you back…"

"Stop! That's not—"

"I need you so badly, and I keep givin' in to that, pips. Keep thinkin' what if I’m only hurting you by loving you like this? Do you think I don't know? You're just too used to me to—"

"Caleb!"

You shouted his name, frowning, looming over him as your hands gripped his shoulders.

He'd stopped his rambling, but he still spoke.

Again.

A quieter voice.

"…Do I even deserve you, pip-squeak?" he murmured.

And that was the last straw.

You reached for his face, palms warm and trembling where they cupped his cheeks. His lashes were wet. He looked undone.

And you wanted him to stop saying those things.

“Shut up, birthday boy,” you hissed. "And let me fucking love you."

Fiercer.

Your mouth crashed against his for the nth time that day, willing, insisting, to press your answer into him without needing to speak it. Your hands framed his face gripping something so precious, so precious—

And when you pulled away, you glared determinedly as you touched your forehead to his.

Your breaths mingled.

His lips were wet—kiss-swollen.

And your hips moved once, twice… Slow and grounding, and he groaned.

Your hands down to his wrists. Guided them back to your hips.

"…Don't say such things," you murmured. "I mean it, Caleb. You can do with me whatever you want. But you’re not taking anything I’m not already giving you.”

He stared at you, lips parted, half in sheer disbelief.

"…I've been too much," he frowned.

"No, you haven't. You're not."

"…And this is… really what you want?"

"It's always been."

A pause, and your eyes softened. "Do you trust me?" you whispered.

A nod.

“Then I want you to take me, Caleb. I am yours. It's my choice to give you this much. I choose you."

And you watched as he swallowed, looked into your eyes one last time—

He flipped you.

Your back hit the cushions with a soft thump and he settled between your legs, the tip of his cock swollen and poised back at your folds.

His chest heaved.

His hands, placed on either side of your head to brace himself, were gripping the couch so tightly.

His control was slipping, yet he would fight so hard to keep it in.

"Aren't you scared of me?" he said quietly.

And you smiled.

You reached up, brushing damp hair from his forehead, cupped his face again.

He needed an anchor.

You would be one, for him.

"You're too high up in the sky, Caleb," you shook your head gently. "You need to come back down… to me. Me, who's always been waiting for you. Me, who's always loved you. All this time, every moment. I could never be scared of you, Caleb."

Your hands moved, wrapped around his neck, tugged him down closer.

"So fuck me."

And the strings snapped loose.

One thrust—your body had gotten used to him, welcomed him greedily as he sank his length deep inside you.

"Oh—fffuuuckk—pips, baby, shit—"

The angle was different like this.

More curses and moans strung from Caleb's lips as he buried himself to the hilt, and you yourself groaned from the intrusion, eyes immediately rolling back into your head just like earlier.

You could get addicted to this.

"Yes… Yes! Just like that, Caleb…!"

You clung to him, nails scraping lightly down his back.

And this time, you knew he wasn't holding back at all.

Low grunts were punctuated by sharp, harsh thrusts, driving you into the cushions, echoing the obscene sounds of his cock dragging in and out of your dripping hole.

You could feel it—every vein along his length, burning into you like home—the twitch, of his need, pulsing inside you enough to make you dizzy.

Your walls clenched—pulling him deeper, deeper.

It was driving you insane.

"G-god…!" He choked, moaning against your lips as your foreheads pressed together.

The pace of his hips didn't relent.

"You feel so—haah—so fuckin' good, n'wet, you’re— you're pullin' me in—! Fuck, baby, you’re made for this—!”

"Mmh'all yours, Caleb, was made just for yo—uugh—haah! H-harder—!"

Absolutely insane.

Your thighs trembled around his hips, as he held you open, begging, writhing, under the force of how well he'd ruin you.

And you would let him.

You did let him.

"Harder, harder—!"

Caleb hissed as he pushed deeper, driving his cock into you with a wet, thick sound that made both of you moan.

His pace built—whatever you wished—and his hips slapped against you needy rhythm, your body bouncing slightly beneath him with each thrust.

Frantic, your hands gripped his back, then slid upward to tangle in his hair, then down again—once more, your nails raking hard enough to leave proof of everything.

"H-hnghh—ah—! Cal-e— C-Cal—!"

"Mmm, that's a good, good girl f'me—haah—such a good princess, fuck— pussy's milkin' me, baby, you're gonna make me cum like this!”

Moaning loudly, you arched into him. "Yes, yes! Wanna feel it! Wanna feel you so deep—" With his hips angled perfectly, you felt the tip of his cock nudge your g-spot, and you cried out. "Caleb!"

“Fuckin' hell, say my name like that again, pip-squeak."

And he slammed into you, taking the way you desperately continued to claw at his back.

Just one more thrust, and then you caved.

"Caleb! Caleb…!"

Crying out his name in messy sobs, your back arched, and you trembled—spasmed—gripped him for all that you could. "I'm… c-cumming…!"

His hips stuttered, moans getting higher, the sound of your own cries like a catalyst to his release.

“Fuck!” he gasped, voice breaking. “Me too, pips— I’m gonna— I-I can’t—!"

“Yes—yes—yes!"

You wept, drawing him in, begging for him. "Cum in me. Please, please, I need it—need you to—!"

He crashed into you, burying his face into your neck with a loud cry.

"F-fuck! Baby, princess…!"

Nicknames, pet names, words blurred into sounds of your name.

His cock pulsed hard inside you as he emptied himself, long hot ropes of cum and every twitch and throb leaving you shaking.

"C-Caleb…" you gasped, crying still, tears stinging your eyes from the intensity of your coupling. "Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…"

His whole body trembled above you, his back taut under your hands, his face pressed hard into the crook of your neck like he could disappear inside you.

"M'here, pips," be mumbled. "I'm right here. Right here… Attagirl, now…"

So gentle, his words, and yet the slick between you was so filthy.

That slick wet noise of your joined bodies, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you clenched him in deeper, holding every drop… This way, his cum stayed in deep. Thick, and warm... Like it belonged there.

Like he belonged there.

In your heart, you knew that he did.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, that stupid, stupid grin on his face that made you pout. "I think you just entirely rewired me," he laughed breathlessly.

You made a face, smacked his arm lightly. "Well, good."

And your eyes softened. Took in the sight of him, wet with sweat and water, and all these messy things… Yet still, he smelled like rain, and skin, and a heat that was entirely just him.

He smelled like home.

And you loved him—God, you loved him.

He caught your gaze, and smiled.

"…Hey, pips?" he murmured.

"Mh?"

"D'you believe in forever?"

You shifted, tilting your head to look at him properly. "Well… you don't, right?" you said slowly.

"…I want to, though."

So you chuckled."Then, I want to, too."

"So… we do, then."

"We do."

You nodded, snuggled into him, kissed his chest. "Maybe, we just… have to be the authors of our own story. Say that we will have forever. And things, like… how forever feels like… this. In your arms. Here."

You heard a quiet yawn.

"Forever must be perfect then, huh?" he sighed.

"Mn… I think that it could be."

You poked him lightly. "So what'd you wish for?"

Caleb didn't answer immediately. For a moment there was a silence, and then came a soft laugh.

"You, 'course. And that no matter what happens, I'll always know my way back home to you, pip-squeak."

The thunder outside was as loud as this moment with him was quiet.

"…Happy birthday, Caleb."

an : i know the moon imagery might be like. a stretch. but oh my god. like. i find it so interesting the possible analogies that could be used to describe it and settled on the moon wkjhkghkdjfg something something how the moon falls into the earth's gravity? something something the light of the moon is only reflected from the sun??? like it FEELS so caleb to me ok WKJHKJGDS anyway i hope if you've read this far that you've enjoyed it! <3 not as much of a caleb character study as i wanted it to be, but i guess it's as close as i could count without going insane- at 9k this was already a lot im CRYING.... caleb i hope you know that you are so loved... and i hope that for any of you reading this you can feel that he's loved through this as well <3 once again !! happy birth week to us <3 and happy gemini season!

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

taglist : @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @rafayelsheart @love-and-deepstrays @pikachuzhc @strwbrychffoncke @darlingdummycassandra @azuremoonss @valyvinny @jellyroom2 @theanbitchless @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @xai-mery @raiyuxa @keymeadoww @rowazuhime15 @nezuswritingdesk @cordidy @chomichomas @xaviersknight

(++ extra tags for @starmocha and @deepspacenova... I HOPE U DONT MIND... this is me saying i love u ty for getting me through this fic via moral support LMAOOO)

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exilethegame · 19 days ago

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Writing Update (June 7th, 2025)

Hello friends! Gonna keep things brief and simple--

1.) Chapter 2 is w/ Alpha Readers rn! Yay! Next Update will be tail end of June, along with the Chapter 1 Patch (unfinished scenes will be done, and the subspecies selection will be added). Chapter 2 is now 134k words, vs. the original version which was 83k words! Lots of fun variation... or not so fun variation🧍🏻

2.) Chapter 3 has also been in the works. It's going to be a lot bigger now since there's more variation in how Amilia + Vethna get along. Now that I'm able to focus on writing again, bi-weekly updates will return following the release of Chapter 2 :)

2.) Re. The COG Demo--There have been a lot of issues w/ infinite loading scenes. I really do not know how to fix this but I'll keep fiddling with it. Some people are getting stuck between Chapter 1 + Chapter 2, others between 2 +3, and then I surprisingly got a report that got stuck between Chapter 3 + 4. So some people are able to play the first few chapters fine, and others can't get past Chapter 1. I, myself, was able to get to Chapter 2 on my own computer, until last week where it randomly decided to get stuck on Chapter 1. Because where people get stuck is so different across the board, I'm not sure if it's something I can fix, but I'll keep trying 😭 (all the scene files are correct, so idk if it's just a problem with using *finish as opposed to *goto_scene)

3.) That is all! :) Thank you for sticking around despite... very long... hiatuses 🧎🏻Chapter 3 will be the last Chapter to be rewritten heavily. Chapter 4 + 5 are just being ported with minor tweaks where necessary!

#writing update

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simdertalia · 1 month ago

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✨🤘 Band Merch Set 🤘✨

Sims 4, base game compatible | 24 items 💗

This set is brought to you by the lovely patrons who voted in this month's poll, I hope you enjoy! 💗

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the 0-9 keys to raise or lower items to your liking. This & bb.moveobjects are needed for placing the objects that go "on" the display separator. Raise them to desired height, hold down alt and move them right into place accurately, wherever you want!

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

Download below, all in a zip file or pick & choose!

Type “band merch" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming! 💗

📁 SimFileShare (no ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

🌻 Download on Patreon

Will be public on June 7th 1st, 2025 💗 Midnight CET This has been changed for Edgewave being on for this year

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness & things have been rough for awhile now):

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet @fischottersims

The rest of my CC

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deaderpoolmc · 1 month ago

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MC Command Center 2025.3.0 is out!

The latest public release, MCCC/MC Woohoo 2025.3.0, is out!

Full change log for 2025.3.0 is here.

Installation instructions can be found here.

Troubleshooting can be found here.

For support or possible bugs, you should always go to the Discord support channels. We don't do support through PM's:

General Support - Support for other mods or just general Q&A. General Support (Sims After Dark) - Alternate support for other mods or general Q&A MCCC Support - MCCC errors and questions Error Support- Last Exception questions

Compatibility:

This has been tested to be working with (but does not require) all expansions and game packs up to Businesses & Hobbies, and the patch released June 17, 2025 - PC: 1.115.253.1020 / Mac: 1.115.253.1220. It will also work with anything after that Sims 4 update unless otherwise specified on Tumblr/Patreon posts I make after the update. Earlier Sims 4 versions may not be compatible, so we often do not support anything below the specified version here!

The legacy version of Sims 4 will now, and forever, use MCCC version 6.6.0, which can be found on Patreon and on my website.

DOWNLOAD HERE:

MC Command Center - All Modules Version 2025.3.0

MC Woohoo - Version 2025.3.0 (optional if MC Woohoo features are wanted)

ALL TRANSLATIONS AVAILABLE FOR 2025.3.0 CURRENTLY INCLUDE:

French - Thanks, ForeverCamp!

Japanese - Thanks, Halapeco!

Chinese - Thanks, Rebya!

Swedish - Thanks, NamelessPerson98!

Czech - Thanks, Mishka!

Korean - Thanks, Smlee499!

Polish - Thanks, OnlyBroken!

Russian - Thanks, KuriXarya!

German - Thanks, Bonxie!

Portuguese - Thanks, Bichon2057pt!

#mcccrelease

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iingezo · 9 days ago

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!! COMMISSIONS COMMISSIONS !!

Coming off a very rough patch of things but I think I'm feeling a little better, able to line up a couple more commissions as I reorient: ) If interested, go ahead here with the form linked below! ChHaWQNaZfMLt9WV8

Commissions may take ~4 months for completion (depending on complexity / my schedule) with payment in full via PayPal invoice once the sketch has been laid down. The form will close tomorrow June 18th 11:00AM (PST) with folks selected messaged over Tumblr. Messages sent ~ TYSM!

#commissions #commissions closed

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pillowbugs · 1 month ago

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the days when we were young.

quick doodle of some silly teenagers (they will be the leaders of unova in 10 years)

(closeups + assorted ramblings under cut)

the time period i originally used as a reference point in terms of fashion styles was early 2000s, but after adjusting the designs repeatedly i'm not sure how obvious the influence is. all the kids have slightly different styles.

burgh's paint colours match the others in the picture, more prominently elesa, skyla, emmet and shauntal - maybe he was painting them each at some point?

burgh also has some stitches on his sleeve - his baby bugs ate his clothes, but his leavanny helped him patch up the holes :D

his shoes are also filled with doodles.

look closely at the colours of the scarf connecting burgh, elesa and emmet :)

the only two instances of skin-to-skin contact are emmet trying to shove his brother away (from dragging him by his hoodie)... and skyla and elesa holding hands. hmm. it's almost june.

emmet's trousers are painted (or at least there was an attempt) with train tracks and triangles.

the colour of ingo's trousers, as well as the metallic chains and splatter pattern on his shirt, allude to excadrill (no repeating references to the same ace pokémon).

shauntal's stockings have a blueish gradient towards the right as a nod to her chandelure's flames.

the ends of the drawstrings for marshal's hoodie reference conkeldurr's pillars, while his armband is the same colour as conk's... veins? the pink part.

marshal's undershirt is also orange-red to reference alder through volcarona.

#pokemon #pokemon black and white #my art #submas #elite four marshal #elite four shauntal #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #gym leader skyla #gym leader elesa #gym leader burgh

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

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honey pot 🍯

A/N: so after watching a very ✨spicy✨ video, I came up with this deliciously filthy idea of neighbor!joel becoming your fuck buddy. The only problem? You have a boyfriend already 🤭 just a disclaimer, I do not condone cheating and this fic might not be for everyone, and that’s okay!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: you’ve been fucking your hot neighbor, Joel Miller, all summer without your boyfriend finding out until you end up faking an orgasm with him. You tell Joel that you can no longer see him, and he comes up with a solution that works for the both of you.

pairing | hot neighbor!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut, age gap (Joel is 36 reader is 25) infidelity/cheating (done to the readers bf) dom/sub, daddy kink, unprotected piv, praise kink, pet names: baby, angel, sweetness, petal, fluff, consent, some angst??pussy play, we can’t fuck, but we can do other things! Joel is a real good filthy talker, reader and Joel are down bad for one another, helping hand vibes, fwb/fuck buddy, smut with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions but keeps her genitalia groomed, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

You had been fucking your ridiculous, sinfully hot neighbor for the entirety of the summer. It started off as some innocent nonchalant flirting that you thought was harmless. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wouldn’t harm him, right? Besides, you were feeling deeply neglected in your current relationship. The honeymoon phase had worn off, and you were feeling frustrated and lonely on most nights. Guess football and guys night held a higher importance than his relationship with you. Well, so be it then. You could play the good little girlfriend that your boyfriend wanted you to be..and still have your cake and eat it.

That’s why falling head over heels for your neighbor Joel Miller was as easy as sliced pie. It was early June when you found a bouquet of fresh wildflowers on your front porch step with a note attached to one of the stems. It read, ‘Out of all the flowers in the patch, you are by far the prettiest petal.’ -J.M

So, he was hot and poetic? What more could you really want?

It was the following Friday that Joel finally got the courage to show up on your front step. He barely was able to ask you if you’d like to come over for dinner that evening when you blurted out an enthusiastic ‘yes!’

Joel was hot, poetic, and he could fucking cook? Yeah, you were positively screwed in the best way possible. Not only could he cook, but he actually showed interest in you. Your hobbies, your likes and dislikes, and for the first time in months, you actually felt like you were being appreciated.

So, it came as no surprise that after you both indulged his cooking skills, that you proceeded to let him ravage you on the table. Yours and his clothes were practically shredded to the floor as he kissed and licked every inch of your skin like a man starved. He made you cum more times in that evening than you thought was even possible, and my god, his cock? Jesus christ, you’re getting wet all over again just thinking about how it felt like he was splitting you in two, filling you to the fucking brim as you cried out his name and begged for more. Faster, harder, oh please, daddy, don’t stop!

“Yeah? You want more of daddy’s cock? S’that what you want?” He nearly purred as his sweat stained curls lightly tickled your forehead. His eyes were glued to the spot where your bodies were connected. He sucked in a harsh breath as his vision glazed over at the sight of your pretty little pussy tugging his cock right back in with each of his heavy thrusts.

“See the way your pussy is huggin’ my cock so tight? Pullin’ me right back in? Look how fuckin’ pretty she is, baby. Think she is the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my entire life. She’s all mine, right? C’mon, my petal, I needa hear ya say it.” His nostrils flared as he licked hungrily into your mouth. He was consuming every last bit of you, and you were enjoying every minute of it.

“Yours, daddy! All yours.” You whined as your walls clenched down like a tight fist around his cock.

All good things must come to an end unfortunately, and your little fantasy that had been fulfilled every evening that summer, was going to have to end. That stupid boyfriend of yours was beginning to catch on ever since he caught you faking an orgasm the last time you and him had sex. Oops?

It physically pained you to even think about cutting ties with Joel. He was unconditionally good to you. All he asked for was your company. He didn’t need to ask; it was already his.

The leaves were beginning to change with the seasons as fall was approaching on the horizon. It was nearing five in the evening when you heard the all too familiar sound of Joel’s truck tires grinding over the cement. His driver side door swung shut as his footsteps neared your front steps. He was home from work, and immediately he wanted to see you. Nothing else mattered to him except seeing your pretty face.

You were pacing nervously in the front hallway as you went over the exact words you were going to tell him. We can be friends, right? Right. After you’ve spent months in his sheets, and he in yours, you’re just going to be friends? Fat chance.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of his knuckles rapping lightly on your front door as you wringed your hands together, taking a few deep breaths before you grasped the door handle in your palm and pulled it open.

“Hey, baby. Lookin’ gorgeous as usual.” Your fuck buddy drawled with that low, deep, texas twang of his as he leaned his elbow right up against the doorjamb.

Oh, fuck. You could feel a gush between your thighs just from the way he was leaning against your damn door.

Stay strong. Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Don’t–

“S’matter, baby? Everything’ all good n’that pretty head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side as a frown slowly spread across his lips when he saw your eyes suddenly grow glassy as a stray tear wobbled down your cheek.

“Baby–” He started, but you cut him off.

“We can’t fuck anymore, Joel.” You painfully muttered as his hand reached out to warmly cup your face while his thumb lightly brushed away your tear.

“Baby, what’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happen?” He sounded genuinely concerned as more tears began to fall and land on his bronzed skin.

“It’s my boyfriend,” You sniffled solemnly. “He knows, Joel.” Your misty dewdrop eyes met his calm gaze as he let out a soft breath between his parted lips.

“Oh, baby..I'm so sorry. I thought we were bein–’”

“Careful? Yeah, I did too.”

“How does he know?..”

“I faked an orgasm with him the last time we had sex which I think it was a week ago? Well, he grew suspicious after that. I’m so sorry, Joel. I never meant for things to get this messy.” You truly did feel awful for dragging Joel into all of this, and you never had the intention to hurt him.

“Baby, s’alright. Y’know what ain't alright? That stupid boyfriend of yours still not knowing how to treat his fuckin’ girl right. You’d think by now the guy would have some idea of how he should be treating you.” Joel held in a scoff as his hand that wasn’t presently caressing your cheek, dropped down to your waist as he pulled you in close. “I..guess this is goodbye then?”

“I don’t want it to be.” You murmured softly as you leaned into his comforting touch along your needy skin.

“Baby, y’know..it doesn’t have to be a goodbye then.” The gears in his brain were already beginning to twist and turn as he thought of a viable solution to your little problem.

“What do you mean? Joel, i’m serious, we can’t fuck anymore.”

“Sweetness, I know we can’t, and I respect that. I’ll never put my dick inside of ya again, unless you ask. But, I do think I have a solution for our little problem.”

Your pupils nearly doubled in size as the tip of his thumb dragged down across your lower lip as he tugged the soft flesh gently. His eyes bore deeply into yours as your thighs subconsciously rubbed together to relieve the building tension that was growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What is your solution, Joel? I’m all ears.”

“Well, first, I was hopin’ I could get a kiss. Been thinkin’ about these pretty lips and how badly I wanna kiss ‘em the second I walked through that door.” He rasped warmly.

Your immediate reaction was to loop your arms around his neck and close the smidge of a gap between the two of you before firmly pressing your lips against his. You licked into one another’s mouth with the same amount of passion. You could taste a morsel of tobacco along his tongue; must have bummed a smoke off of Tommy, as his hand that was wrapped firmly around your waist, slowly drifted down as he grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek. A surprise squeak slipped past your lips as your tongues tangled.

“So, we can’t fuck, but there’s somethin’ else we can do..” He trailed off as he slowly detached his lips from yours. A string of saliva was visible between your once linked lips.

“You are not fucking sticking your dick up my ass. Don’t even think about it.”

He stifled a chuckle before stealing one more quick kiss. “Baby, I wasn’t thinkin’ about stickin’ my dick up your ass. I promise. I had somethin’ else in mind. Can I show you what I'm talkin’ about?”

You were weary at first, because what could he possibly have in mind? Going down on you? Okay, sure. You certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just say it?

“Okay, I want you to show me what you’re talking about.” You agreed.

“Good girl. I promise this will be worth your while baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he reached for your hand. Your fingers interlaced as he proceeded to lead you up the stairs to your bedroom. Your panties were undeniably soaked at this point, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Go’n sit on the bed for me, darlin.’” He spoke firmly, yet softly as you padded over to your bed and slowly sunk down along the comforter.

“Now, sweetness, before you start worryin’ your pretty little mind about that silly boyfriend of yours, I promise that he won’t know about this.”

You dumbly nodded as you crossed one leg over the other, awaiting his next request.

“I trust you, daddy.” You softly cooed.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to take your pants off for me, baby.”

You wasted no time to pop the button off your jeans as you dragged the zipper down. You started shimmying the denim fabric down your thighs and legs, but before you could even grasp the band of your panties, he was stopping you.

“No, no, Angel. Jus’ your pants. Keep your panties on.”

Why was that so hot.

You slipped your thumbs out from under the thin elastic band of your panties before you kicked your jeans to the side. Your mouth began to water the moment you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle clinking open.

“Good girl. Now, I jus’ want you to lay your pretty ass on the comforter. Spread your thighs a little, but not too much.”

You could feel the wet patch pooling through the thin fabric of your panties as you slowly leaned back on your elbows along the comforter and spread your thighs just enough that he could fit between them.

Your pussy pulsed inwards the second your eyes landed on his bare cock that was hanging out of the opening in his jeans. You nearly drooled as he swiped his thumb across his ruddy weeping tip that had a bead of pre-cum drooling from the small slit. He twisted his wrist a couple times before he slowly approached you.

His lips curved upwards in a sly grin when he saw the cock-dumb look on your pretty face. You took your lower lip harshly between your teeth when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush across your covered aching clit as he gently rubbed the swollen nub in tight expert circles. His freehand was still wrapped around the base of hs cock as he watched your face twist into pleasure.

“Y’know, it makes me so fuckin’ mad that you ain’t bein’ treated right. The only weepin’ you and your pretty pussy should be doin’ is the good kind. Y’got literal honey drippin’ between your thighs, darlin.’ He oughta start worshipin’ you sooner, before someone else ends up doin’ it for him.” He tsked under his breath.

“Joel,” You whimpered wantonly.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna respect your wishes n’not fuck you, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t make ya feel good. I’ll always take care of you, angel. No silly boyfriend of yours can stop me from treatin’ you right.” He murmured as he dragged his thumb down to the inside of your panties. He gently hooked his thumb around the damp fabric before he pulled it to the side. His mouth went dry at the sight of your glistening, puffy, needy little pussy. When it came to women, he didn’t mind their choices to never shave, or to just trim, or to completely go bare. He loved their pussies regardless of how they were groomed, or their natural appearance. They were all beautiful in his eyes, and deserved to be worshiped. But, he couldn’t deny how fucking pretty yours was, and how your slickness clung to the fabric of your panties like glue made his cock twitch in his palm.

He could bite his fist right then and there, but he had a job to complete.

“So pretty, baby. Prettiest little pussy. G’nna take extra good care of her now, okay?”

“Thank you, daddy.” you spoke above a whisper as he slowly slid the tip of his cock underneath your panties. You could feel the slick coolness of his pre-cum sliding across your folds as he rolled his hips forward. A deep grunt rumbled up his chest as he nudged your clit.

“You’re welcome, baby. Y’jus’ sit back and enjoy yourself, okay? Daddy is gonna do all the work for ya.” He promised you with a chaste kiss to your swollen lips as his hands came to rest along your thighs.

Now you fully understood what Joel meant by his solution to not fucking you. Christ, this was almost better than the feeling of his cock splitting you open. How lucky you were to have a man treat you like a princess.

“Oh, fuck.” You mewled as he thrust his hips faster, mimicking the same movements as if he was fucking you. “That feels so good, daddy.”

“Mhmm. I know it does, baby. I told you this would be worth your while.” He took his own lip between his teeth as he focused on the rhythm of his thrusts.

“This is almost better than fucking, almost.” You softly moaned as he increased his pace. Your hands found his as your orgasm slowly began to build.

“Nothin’ is better than fuckin’, Angel. Jus’ so lucky to make you feel good one last time. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. I want you to cum, okay? I want to see you ruin those pretty little panties.” He urged you praisingly as the tip of his cock continuously bumped against your clit.

He was playing your pussy 100x better than your boyfriend ever could as you reveled in the pure pleasurable feeling one last time.

It didn’t take you long to reach your high as Joel’s hips stuttered forward as he spilled his hot seed right between your slick folds. He slowly slipped his cock out from underneath your ruined panties. He pressed soft kisses to your face, a playful nibble to the tip of your nose before his lips found yours in a searing kiss.

“Better take these for safe keepin’ so your boyfriend doesn’t know I was here.” He stated with a snicker as he gently slipped your soaked panties down your thighs. “I’ll getcha a fresh pair, okay, sweetness?”

Just as he was about to get up from your bed, your hand encased around his wrist, caging him in your grasp momentarily. “Wait, Joel?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Maybe..this won’t be the last time?..”

“Baby..”

“I want you, and if that means I have to break up with my stupid boyfriend? Then so be it. I’ll break up with him.”

“Angel, are you absolutely sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. i’ll call him up as soon as you finish fucking me, and i’ll tell him that it’s over.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips as he situated himself between your thighs once more. “Well, I guess you won’t be needin’ a fresh pair of panties after all, huh baby?” He teased.

“Nope. Not while you’re around, Daddy.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika ✨

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #no outbreak!joel miller

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carmenized-onions · 1 year ago

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Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life— Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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sxnnimoon · 13 days ago

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need anniversary jackson joel. like letters.. trying to make a romantic dinner.. maybe trying to get you gifts.. but has to run everywhere to get them.. pls like the legos w seth?? i know this man would go to great LENGTHS

A/N: AHHHH THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED !! THANK YOU SO MUCH💓💓

March, 5:45am

He’d spent all morning preparing his pack, ever since he overheard you and Maria talking about childhood toys he made it his mission to find you one. Was it childish? In his mind yes, but that wasn’t going to stop him from searching in hopes to surprise you for your anniversary. He’d watch as your chest rose and fell, the soft sounds of your breathing filling the quiet space as he kissed the top of your head before heading out to meet Tommy. He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it for not waking you up to say goodbye properly but that was something he could live with.

“Was thinking of leaving if you didn’t show.” Tommy had joked earning an eye roll from Joel.

“I could go alone, get me away from you.” Joel would say, a hand coming to push Tommy.

“You’re getting old, don’t think you’d make it through it all.” Tommy smiled as he got on his horse.

“Very funny.” Joel getting on his and taking off ahead of Tommy.

The pair rode in silence until darkness filled the sky and set up camp, Joel manding the fire as Tommy prepped their first meal of the trip. The brothers made conversation as they ate.

“What the fuck is a monchhichi?” Tommy looked at him confused.

“Some doll she remembered her mother having when she was a kid.” Joel shrugged.

“And a Cabbage Patch?” Tommy added, Joel just shrugged as he shoveled the last of his food in.

“You're out looking for dolls, toys.” Tommy emphasized on toys shaking his head. “You must really love this girl.”

Joel didn’t respond, he did love you. He really did.

His first connection was a bust, they’d made their way through Utah with no luck when it came down to Tommy’s connection. He’d confirmed they had one of two they were looking for but were over in New Mexico, it’d add on extra time but Joel didn’t care. Upon arriving they came up short. Frustration ran through Joel as he and Tommy rode back home. The frustration is still evident when you see him return home. You don’t push, but that still doesn’t stop you from worrying.

June, 1:35pm

Your anniversary was a month away and he’d still come up short. Leaving for weeks on trips he called “supply runs” you’d grown suspicious each time he’d come home empty handed. The same excuse of “it’s for the community” but you didn’t believe it. Tommy hadn’t come this time and he denied Ellie’s protests, even yours because of your growing curiosity. He was alone and he was doing everything in his power to hunt these down for you yet it felt as if he was coming up short each time. This time he made his way towards California. He was gone longer this time but he knew the end result was going to be your happiness. His first stop was Anaheim. He’s managed to find the cabbage patch you were talking about.

“Creepy little fucker..” he said looking at it before packing it away.

“For your kid?” The tradesman asked, chuckling.

“My wife.” Joel grumbled as he left heading for San Francisco next.

Riding through San Francisco he takes note of his surroundings, the place looks promising but that’s what he thought last time. It wasn’t until the lady handed him the doll he knew it was real.

“Thanks.” He said before heading back out to make his way home.

“The things I do for this woman.” He grumbled to his horse.

That night he returned was probably the first night you saw he’d returned home with a smile.

July, 5:50pm

You’d be home soon, another day at the infirmary. Having a nurse for a spouse really did wonders when he’d come home from patrols, a mishap with a build gone wrong or even simple paper cuts. He’d been in the kitchen all day just about. He was trying to cook, given today was your anniversary. It wasn’t something he was skilled in nor did he ever really pre-outbreak but he figured why not try?

By the time 6 came around you’d been walking up the steps and through your front door. Time didn’t exist in the moment as Joel didn’t bother to check nor did he hear you walk in.

“Whatcha burning?” You asked, leaning against the door frame watching him as he jumped.

“Dammit woman!” He held his chest. “I’m old, don't do that.”

“You'll be alright.” You giggled as you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you kissed him.

“I didn’t expect you home yet.” He said.

“It’s after 6.” You remind him.

“Shit.” He groans.

“Should I leave and come back?” You point to the door.

“Was trying to surprise you.” He sighed, throwing the towel over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

“No no, it’s alright.” He waved you off. “Food is almost done but follow me.”

He lowered the heat before covering your eyes with his hands helping you walk.

“Joel?” You asked. “What’s going on?”

You nearly trip as he guides you.

“Shit,” he exclaims, finally sitting you on a chair. “Okay keep them closed.”

He pauses going to grab something as you hear rustling and then two items placed in your lap.

“Open.” He says as he watches you.

Looking at your lap you see two messily wrapped gifts, giggling.

“I know they look horrible.” He says.

“It’s the thought that counts.” You smile up at him. “Thank you.”

You go to get up but he stops you.

“Don’t thank me yet, open them.” He gestures.

“You sure?” You watch as he nods before starting to unwrap one, as soon as you see the packaging your hand comes to your mouth. Joel can’t tell if you’re going to cry or what.

“Do you” you cut him off.

“WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?” You hold the monchhichi close to you.

“Open the other.” He points watching you beam in excitement as you open it, a small squeal coming from you.

“JOEL!” You yell, jumping up into his arms.

“Is this good or bad?” He holds you, confusion on his face.

“You’re the best.” You mumble into his neck as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Does this make me husband of the year?” He asks.

“Shut up.” You smile, kissing him.

#imagines #imagine #fluff #domestic joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #anniversary

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mikiruie · 3 months ago

Text

what? i’m an angel!

── RANZE KURONA ﹕ 黒名蘭世 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. fluff + suggestive — mdni. skater!au. u-20!ensemble cameos. aged up kurona ( 19 ). established relationship. childhood friends -> lovers. bitemarks + hickies. making out. implied / referenced sex. referenced alcohol / drinking. petnames ( baby, angel, cutie, etc ) word count 7256 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

( June 23 — 18:05 )

The familiar graffiti that lines the inner walls of your town’s skate rink has become a second home to you. Not because you skate though, roller blading is way more of your thing anyways as opposed to grinding rails on a board. However, it is very cool to watch.

Many a skater have left their mark on this park and bowl, evident from almost every square inch of its concrete surface having been painted on with spray cans, brushes and splatters of all shapes, sizes and colours. In some places you can even make out the faint brush strokes from decades ago that have now been permanently etched into the creations themselves.

The majority of the once new artistry and its lustre has faded over the years, yes— the colours that used to be brilliantly blinding hues of blue and green are now dulled and grey in tune with the concrete that surrounds it, not as vibrant as some of the much more recent artwork that has been laid down in the last few years by much more professional artists rather than the bored, rebellious teenagers in the bleak early hours of the morning from years past.

Though despite that, much of the original murals and wonderful lettering has still withstood the test of time itself. The bubble words are still completely legible after all these years in spite of hundreds of boards and wheels having skid and worn down the paint layers over time, and you have no doubt that a few particularly artistic individuals in your neighbourhood are definitely coming here to this rinky dink skate rink every so often to relay a fresh coat of paint in the old work’s place— possibly drawing on some even more legally questionable graffiti on while they were at it if you really thought hard enough.

This rink in particular was built for your small city with a population of less than a hundred thousand residents probably somewhere around the late 90’s, so around thirty or forty something years give or take has it been a sanctuary for skaters of several generations. A safe space for the little community that had formed over the many years, grown and passed down to the current generation for them to gather and have a late night skate sesh whenever they desired as the sun set just behind the patch of trees in the distance.

Nobody was barred from the skate park, even if you weren’t necessarily a skater yourself. Which is why you were perfectly content with having your legs hanging off the lip of the rink’s edge as you admired the artwork in it’s hull several feet below you, not needing to worry about someone kicking you out for hogging up the space that was meant for the “real skaters” to use.

At first it was scary hanging around the rink by yourself. For one, it’s pretty deep— nearly half the depth of the average backyard pool. And two, because you didn’t skateboard, though you quickly learned that sliding down the concrete dip is a lot of fun all on it’s own and that the users of your local rink didn’t care whether you actually skated or not.

In fact, they encouraged anybody to come and use the rink whenever and however they pleased, skater or not as long just as long as they didn’t vandalize the equipment the skaters used for their tricks like the rails and ramps, or damage the rink’s artwork. They even let beginner skaters use the bowl to their will as they learned how to master the art of the board, and many of the older and more experienced skaters were well known as go-to’s for skating advice as a newbie.

It was a good thing that this rink was inclusive to others, and especially to beginners. Oftentimes you’d see the regular skaters of the neighbourhood swing by, board tucked neatly underneath one arm with a younger sibling’s hand held in the other.

The smaller child would usually be decked out head to toe in safety gear too; a thick helmet with foam padding on the inside, knee and shoulder pads that were almost the size of their entire forearms, mostly forgotten about hand guards, the whole shabang— with all of their gear so obviously being hand-me-downs from their cool older brother or cousin who had either grown out of the sport or had gotten better equipment as the years passed.

It wasn’t unusual for children to play in the park nearby on their scooters or when just starting out how to roller skate or blade. It was closer in proximity to the local elementary school and had more surface area to ride around on after all. Though the really daring kids (or the ones that just pestered their older siblings enough) would be brought to the fifteen feet deep skate rink just a short five minute walk away, dragging their scooters along or slowly skating their way over hand in hand with their authority figure.

You sat and watched as they slowly eased into the rink, allowing themselves time to mentally prepare as they took their first deep in on their boards even if they were scared shitless. You’d always give an encouraging cheer of applause, paired with a megawatt smile and an accompanying encouraging compliment to go along with it.

“Wow! You’re so good,” or a “You’re much better with your skates than I was at your age, don’t worry,” you’d always tell them with a light hearted chuckle. It was heartwarming seeing the burning determination and passion that each skater, new and old, held in their eyes as they practiced for the first or the thousandth-time on the rink, and it was especially evident in the younger, beginner skaters.

A few groups come and go, but since the sun is setting the majority of the ones with younger kids in tow don’t stay long. You wave each group goodbye as they go about their merry way after their own sessions, and close your eyes as you take in the surrounding tranquility of the skate park’s sounds.

The timid rustling of tree leaves, occasional chirping of crickets in the bushes, and a melody carried by the wing’s song as it chimes all throughout the air around you.

You take it all in slowly, allowing yourself to still to a halt as you sink yourself into nature’s own symphony. You do enjoy the lively chatter of the bustling skating community despite not being a true member, but a moment of silence every now and again is welcome too.

The weather today is great for skateboarding, and as always earlier in the day you had spotted tons of them in this exact rink, socializing and enjoying the start of the summer months. Many came again with siblings of their own as they took advantage of school being out for the year and the clear blue skies to teach the younger ones a thing or two in skating.

Though now, the skate rink is unusually empty. You find it to be a little odd considering that this time of day is what many of the skaters in your area’s called the prime meeting window for a skate sesh, one that isn’t too late but not too early.

Even with the setting sun, it’s still quite hot outside. As expected though during the summer season.

The last handful of the rink’s regulars have already left by now, you overheard in passing conversation with their group that they headed to the Lawson down the street, leaving you alone to your whims as a brisk summer breeze sweeps by to cool your body’s steadily rising temperature.

The wind sends a shiver up your spine as it flies with ease through your baggy, lightweight clothes. It’s not the kind of a shudder you’d get from an artificially made breeze or flurry. Instead it’s a soothing, refreshing one. Your hand reaches involuntarily to rub at your exposed forearms to warm you back up, and you feel goosebumps form along the surface of your skin from the evening air’s chilly wisps.

You click the heels of your sneakers together in boredom. Tongue in cheek, you take notice of a shadow that creeps up from behind you. Though rather than being terrified, you’re filled with giddy excitement inside.

A dark green corduroy jacket soon floats down onto your shoulders and drapes over your figure, warming the sides of your arms back up again as the familiar scent of strawberries embedded within the fibers takes over your senses almost instantaneously, filling your mind and body as you take a deep inhale, being unable to help the cheesy grin that quickly spreads across your face upon recognition of the clothing’s owner.

“Ranze!”

Your boyfriend drops down on the rink’s edge right beside you, settling by your side and slugging an arm over your shoulder to pull you in closer, and you press your face into his chest with a content hum.

The scent of clean soap and shampoo still clinging to his hair mixes with the already overwhelming and intoxicating aroma of honey mixed in with the laundry detergent he uses (that he knows you love so much) from his jacket as you snuggle into the frame of his chest, squishing your cheek against his toned arm in glee.

“Where have you been, baby?” You ask, adding a playful pout and the drawl of a whine towards the end of your question. “Been waiting forever, y’know.”

Your boyfriend hums in response, the setting sun’s orange hues turn his ashy-pink hair to a more auburn burnt sunsietta. You notice that he took out the braid he usually does on the left side of his hair that he keeps in for skateboarding from earlier.

“Shower, shower. I went to go shower after the sesh,” a soft kiss is planted on the crown of your forehead at his words, “Didn’t want angel to hug me after I skated for three hours straight.”

Ranze skates a lot.

When you were both children he actually didn’t know how to skateboard. He instead picked up rollerblading around the same time as you did when you were both seven, doing weekend laps around your little cul de sac before ending the day off with a sweet treat from the convenience store.

And when you got to high school, Ranze mainly switched over to skateboarding, though if you asked he would still be down to rollerblade with you during the weekends, even if he was slightly rusty now.

The change seemed a little out of the blue at first, though it wasn’t until a few months ago that he admitted (shyly, might you add, and on video caught by his skater pals while he was drunk) that he had done so because he thought that you’d find him cooler if he knew how to skateboard.

While the reason was a silly attempt to impress you, ultimately you’re glad that he decided to pick up the hobby. Ranze, the boy you had known since childhood to be quite reserved and somewhat reclusive around others, soon found solace in the little skating community of your neighbourhood after he had made his first trip to the rink the same day he purchased his first skateboard, resulting in him opening up to others and gaining a whole new friend group whose bond was held together by the glue that was their love for late night skating.

Since getting together, you had met the lot of them on numerous occasions. They all got together regularly, normally during sunrise to hang out and skate to their heart’s content. They were nice people, and overall you were just relieved to find out that Ranze wasn’t fraternizing with any bad people.

They were welcoming, not judging your lack of skating expertise and instead asking you more about rollerblading when you found out a couple of them did skate or rollerblade as well when they were grinding or doing kickflips off the skate park’s stairs.

The guy who oddly reminded you of a honey bee due to his blond highlights (who also told you, very proudly, that he did them himself with help from his mom) actually asked if you could bring your skates to the next sesh, he’d bring his too so the two of you could skate together.

Needless to say, you spent a long time digging through your closet for those skates that night.

The group knew you. To them, you were Ranze’s girl, the girl he had known since before he could walk and who liked to sit back and watch her boyfriend do tricks with his friends at the rink late into the night.

And that special title of being Ranze’s girlfriend makes your chest feel heavy with wistful desire, your heart sing joyfully, and your normally polite and reserved smile stretch ear to ear in both appreciation and happiness.

Ranze’s friends learned two things the day he swung around with you hanging off his arm, unable to pull away like stickly sweet tree sap unless it was to watch him skate to his heart’s content in the park’s bowl.

One, You adore Ranze. And two, Ranze adores you.

“Aw, but you know I don’t mind, sweet boy . . .”

You blow a puff of hot air into the cusp of his ear to tease, and when he threatens to reel himself away from you with a loud whine you cling to him even more, watching as he hides his reddened face into the sleeve of his cotton weaved sweater with a satisfied grin.

“Ranze,” you call for him again, with a voice that teeters on the edge of seduction and playfulness. Even with his averted eyes you know he was all ears from the way his head perked up slightly at the sound of your voice,

Your boyfriend really likes the way you say his name.

Whenever you say it, it forces your mouth to break out into a big, toothy grin, something he always loves to see from you. Neither of you tend to smile with your teeth very often for differing reasons— Ranze for his subconscious insecurity of his jagged, shark-like enamel that stemmed from his childhood of dealing with his braces riddled crooked teeth, and you for never liking the way your smile comes out looking in photos or videos, no matter how many times you practiced in the mirror or tried to come to love it on it’s own terms.

Every childhood photo of the two of you is remembered with a closed mouth, simmered smile. Friends, family, schoolmates, they were greeted by it all the same.

But in only the pictures where it's the two of you together, you're both beaming brilliantly in each other’s presence. It became more apparent to him when you began dating, how your carefree cackles and open mouthed smiled were reserved for him, and him alone in the comfort of one another.

“Hm . . .”

Overcome with cuteness aggression, Ranze settles for simply pinching your cheek gently as a means to reprimand you. Not enough for it to hurt, but it definitely feels ticklish. You squirm around in his hold, hand clasped around his as you try to pry his hand off, the skin of your face only stinging lightly when he lets go.

“No, no. You wouldn’t like me when I’m all sweaty, angel,” he insists stubbornly, and you pout at that.

“You don’t smell that bad when you sweat, baby.”

He simply shrugs, letting his head rest atop yours, warm hand intertwining with your own. The cuticles at the ends of his fingers are dry and cracked from his incessant picking, despite your pleas and pouts for him to stop that god awful habit. “Reo told me I do, though.”

You playfully gasp at that sentiment. “Well he’s wrong!” You declare loudly, and Ranze is a bit taken aback, raising a brow at you quizzically.

“Why are you so hung up on this, angel?” He asks curiously, biting the inside of his cheek and tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Is there something wrong with me taking a shower?”

Giggling at his naivety, your grip on his forearm becomes tighter as you snuggle further into his hold, scooching closer to his side. The concrete scrapes at your denim shorts, fraying the hem as the frost-bitten air sweeps its way up the jacket that Ranze has pulled around your frame.

“No,” you shake your head affirmatively with a longing smile, “‘just . . . wanted to see you sooner.”

Your gaze drifts downwards while speaking, flickering from the skin between his eyes, down the slope of his nose and settling on his lightly chapped lips with a low timber in your voice. A chill nips at your heart, yearning to pull yourself closer into his embrace— itching for him to hold you tight as your thighs squeeze together in want.

A strained whimper of his name reaches his ears faintly, although muffled by the sleeve of his sweater. He leans down to your level, acting as if he didn’t hear you clearly enough as he holds your gaze with his own.

“Yeah, angel?”

Another whine rips from the back of your throat at that beloved pet name of yours, lips pushing out into a pout. Glossy and inviting, his mind wanders to endless nights that start with both of you tangled in messy sheets, where your lips become swollen and chapped by the time the sun rises, and he wonders if you’re really the angel he makes you out to be to his friends.

There’s a stark change in the air around the both of you, and Ranze seems to notice the shift in your demeanor too. He can tell from the way you press his arm further into the cleavage of your loosely form fitting shirt, tempting him to take a peek down past your nude coloured bra. Whether intentional or not, he inhales sharply at the sensation of your plush breasts pressed flush against his arm, separated only by the flimsy fabric of the home-tee you threw on without second thought before running over here and the jacket he gave you earlier.

Ranze knows that look in your eyes. Sultry without intending to be, when you avoid looking directly at him to save face but your body gives away your desires without a hint of a lie laced in your actions.

You do this all the time, pretending to be innocent and shying away in order to not be the one making the first move. He knows you want him to be the one to lead you into a kiss first, to take the lead more often because you enjoy the feeling of him taking charge even if the other ninety-percent of the time in the relationship you’re the one who holds the reigns.

So, he listens to your silent pleas, your unspoken cravings for his touch by crashing his lips into yours first. The startled squeak that erupts out of your throat slowly melts away, turning into pleased hums and indulgent murmurs as a satisfied smile settles on your face.

This song and dance is familiar to the both of you. You lead him right into the palm of your hands with fleeting touches and honeyed words of affection in order to get what you want. And it works like a charm without fail, lending it’s 100% success rate to the way that Ranze always manages to find himself succumbing to your whims and pleas each time as he carves his affections for you deep into his heart with each makeout you goad him into.

And despite being the first to initiate this time, Ranze lets you set and control the pace at your own will. Even though he’s definitely more assertive now than from earlier in the relationship, you’re still the one in control. He follows obediently, unwavering.

Not that it bothers you greatly, since it means that you get to have a little extra fun with him on top of that.

“Did you— mm, have to sneak out again?” you giggle in between kisses, tugging on the dog tag of his chain necklace to pull him in closer. Ranze lets out a sound akin to a groan, still too entranced in the kiss but audibly embarrassed by the desperation in his tone.

“No . . .” he admits reluctantly, pulling away from your lips momentarily to catch his breath. His chest rises and falls in sync with yours in a rhythm, perpetual and gentle just like him. “I snuck out again to see you.”

You scoff, biting the bottom of your lip to subside the giggle that nearly makes it’s way up your throat.

“Wow, okay you rebel,” you quip as a joke. “Your parents are gonna get mad at you again if you keep doing it.”

“Then stop making me want to see you all the time . . .” His pout deepens at your teasing, followed by a beautiful red blush that crawls its way up his neck and spreads across his cheeks. It’s so boyish the way he tries his best to conceal as much of it as he can, averting his gaze and bringing the sleeve of his shirt up to his face to hide behind.

You sit back satisfied as you dwell in the giddiness of the moment while you let him calm down his racing heart. Sometimes you have to resist grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him around like a chew toy. He gets so easily flustered when being teased by you, something his skater friends were quick to catch on to and poke fun of after having you hang around with their group for a few skate seshs so they could “see what Ranze’s girl was like.”

(“His eyes never leave you when he skates!” Isagi had huffed once while on a convenience store run with you, as the two of you purchased slushies and boxes of candy at the nearby 7/11 for the rest of the group. “I swear, he’s going to break his head open one day just because you’re watching him.”

You simply giggle at the observation, keen and intrigued about your boyfriend’s habits. “Is that true?” You ask him, the three extra large, overflowing slurpees in your arms starting to numb the bare skin they touched.

Isagi sighs, shaking his head. “Well, yeah. But we want you to stick around.”

“You’re good for Ranze, so it’d be a shame if you stopping coming around.”)

His flustered face is adorable you think as his sleeve drops and his lips draw closer to yours, the warmth from his breath ghosting over your lips invitingly. The hot air of both your breaths mixes with each other, and you can still make out a light pink reminiscent of his roaring blush from earlier that still dusts his cheeks.

The only difference now is that his eyes are more narrowed, glazed over and darkened with desire that swirls in his eyes— and a deep sense of want pools inside your tummy at the dreamy sight.

“And who made me like this, angel?”

The delicate skin around your lips is swollen now from his work as he tries not to bite down too hard on the fragile skin, cautious to not accidentally cause you to bleed with his sharpened teeth.

It’s happened before, you still remember the horrified look on his face when he pulled back and all he saw on your lips was scarlet red blood, the colour draining from his face before you knew what was happening as he quickly pulled out a box of tissues from his bedside drawer.

(‘Baby, what’s wrong?’ You asked, confused at how your boyfriend’s mood could apparently flip on a dime, tongue darting out instinctually to lick away your spit before your eyes widen at the recognizable metallic taste in your mouth.

It wasn’t long until you had pulled out your phone’s camera app to check for sure, slightly surprised and maybe a little bit amused at the sight of bright red splotches staining your mouth as Ranze scrambled to grab a fistful of tissues for your bleeding lip.

“Wait— Ranze, I don’t need this many tissues!”

“Tissue, tissue!”)

The first couple of times it occurred he grew hesitant to make a move again, scared of kissing you again in fear of hurting you for a second time. His kisses for the next little while gentle and featherlight, akin to how he’d treat a priceless glass dove perched atop the mantle of his grandma’s fireplace. Meant to be out of his reach, for good reason lest he accidentally sent it tumbling to the floor, shattering it into a million pieces beneath him.

Little pecks here and there aren’t enough to satisfy you, though. They were sweet, and filled with the same innocent love he held in his heart for you that made you giggle relentlessly when you thought of him, but you simply craved more from your too timid and reserved boyfriend.

His pliancy towards you left a searing, aching fire in your heart that just couldn’t be contained, though Ranze hates to think about how he could hurt you in any capacity with his jagged enamel (and you’d hardly call a nipped lip an injury at all until you assure him that it was no big deal— slyly admitting to him that a part of you liked when he got so into the feeling of your warm mouth and pillowy lips that he bit down on the fragile skin, all while you pawed at the underside of his hoodie with a certain resolve twinkling in your eyes.

Your lips weren’t the only thing that went red that night, evidenced by the morning after you spent the night at his house while his parents were away and you woke up to a few red indentations of bite marks littering your shoulders and expanse of your skin, along with a very worried boyfriend whom you had to calm down repeatedly after he got an eyeful of the handiwork he had left on your body a few hours prior.)

Your head tilts in faux innocence and glee at his words, maintaining your facade of blissful ignorance.

“Me?”

Dusty pink gemstones for eyes sweep all along your face, studying your facial features intensely before landing on your soft, plump lips. They twitch up slightly at the ends, shiny and slick with both of your spit from earlier. Without a word, he wipes some of it’s remaining essence away with the pad of his thumb, and you pucker your lips to kiss it’s grooved surface as one final push over the edge before he tucks it under your chin swiftly.

A simmered “yeah, you” manages to barely escape past his lips before tilting your head upwards and encasing your mouth with his once more. Pleasantly surprised, you happily abide by his lead when his hand drifts to the side of your face, holding you close as the sunset behind you warms both your hearts full.

He drinks up all the delighted giggles and squeals that come from you with ease, the feel of your warm mouth molding and meshing with his own in perfect harmony. The familiar taste of strawberries on his tongue soon begins to coat yours too, and you hungrily pull him in closer by the hem of his sweater’s hoodie to taste the delicate flavour more carefully.

His hand presses lightly against your backside as he lets you reel him in further, and then there’s the sharp edges of his teeth too. You love it when he’s like this; lost in the sensation of your lips on his while still trying to keep himself in check, and while it is adorable how careful he is, you bite down on his lip as a tease, enabling him to groan into your mouth and push his limits further.

“Ranze,” you whisper his name in between kisses like a gentle melody to his ears, “Stop holding back.”

He makes a noise of dismay, muffled by you slipping your tongue into his mouth before he can protest. “Can’t, I can’t.” He surmises weakly, eyebrows knitting as he tries to pull away from your soft lips before being pulled back in by you.

You’re Ranze’s first girlfriend (and you intend to be the last, too) so everything about love he knows has been taught by you, for you.

His demeanor is akin to a little puppy who hasn’t been trained or taught any tricks yet. When you first became boyfriend & girlfriend, it was up to you to show him the ropes. Adjusting to PDA that wasn’t platonic (though honestly with him you don’t think it ever was), helping him build the courage to tell his parents you two were a thing now (they suspected it for years), and showing him what made you feel good.

It was a long winded and careful process. It felt . . . odd that the shy little boy you had known since childhood who kicked a soccer ball around with you when bored was now giving you featherlight kisses along your tummy before going down on you. It was strange that the friend who used to hide behind you in line when you corrected the cashier, saying “he asked for no pickles” was now sucking hickies so deep and noticeable onto your neck that you’d have to hide them later with thick layers of colour corrector and concealer while he muffled the sounds of your moans with two fingers slipped past your glossy lips.

It was scary knowing that the bite marks that littered and tainted the surface of your once untouched and smooth skin had been caused by the same guy who had practically pleaded with you to come with him to the pet store to buy a new pet once his parents had finally relented and given him permission. That same innocently delighted gaze you had grown to know and love through the years, one that filled with glee when he first laid eyes on a cute little hedgehog in the shop’s window now looked up at you, his eyes now hazed and clouded over with lust while he sucked on your clit like a baby to it’s bottle until you let out a loud, hiccupy cry as you came all over his tongue.

He keened into your perverted fantasies wordlessly without question or fear, letting you take him by the hand and dive head first into a scary new world of firsts that neither of you had ever experienced or encountered before.

Your first kiss? Stolen by him at the doorstep of your home after your first date, granted it was just a quick peck on the lips. His first time? Gave his virginity to you on his 18th birthday when he nervously admitted that was all he wanted as his present (and damn, you did not disappoint).

Everything is all so new, so raw to him. And he wants to experience as many new firsts as he can with you. So he’ll let you have his way with him, let you prod and poke around to test what he’s comfortable with.

And though he’s still a little hesitant each time (he still gets all nervous and red in the face if you so much as even smile at him while he’s with his friends), he’s much bolder now than he was a few months prior.

He takes control more often, something that delights you as he tries to push your lips away from his in order to bare himself from becoming too greedy, but you manage to reel him back in each time.

He knows you like it when his hand settles on your thigh when you make out, so he lets it trail downwards to hug you by the waist before letting it rest right above your shorts. Skimming the hem and threatening to slip his fingers underneath to palm at the soft, plush skin of your thighs.

Ranze knows you love when you can easily hold onto his hair when kissing, so he makes sure to guide your hand up the back of his head where he relishes in the feeling of your knuckles curling into the hair, grabbing fistfuls for your own enjoyment and pulling him closer and deeper into your embrace.

He hates to admit it but whenever you do tug a little on his hair, it turns him on just a bit.

Or maybe a whole lot if the bulge in his sweats has anything to do with it.

The sudden realization of his growing boner shocks him back into reality as he pulls away from you in a hurry out of sheer embarrassment, reeling backwards with his hands on your shoulders in the hopes that you didn’t feel the massive hard on of his that he’s now sporting against your thigh. Only this time when he detaches himself from your lips it’s a lot more forceful, pushing you away with his palms and shifting himself over to the side.

“House.” He breathes out, need dripping from his tongue. His face is flushed pink, matching the maroon in his hair. You have to resist biting his cheek from how cute he really is to you.

“House. Let’s go back to my house . . . please.”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

. . .

( August 24 — 13:35 )

Today, Ranze is out skating with his friends again. Only this time you’re not here, having a prior commitment to attend to— much to his dismay.

“Sorry, baby:((” You had texted him early this morning, this crisp, wonderful morning that he can’t share with you because you’re not with him. “My mom asked me to go grocery shopping this week, and it’s kindaa like a whole day affair so I won’t be able to see you today:( I’ll make up for it tho, kk?”

Although he responded with a heart reaction to your messages and a casual “sure. see you tmrw angel,” not being able to see you today was fucking with him in a lot more ways than he thought. Normally on the weekends he’d skate around the neighbourhood with you in tow for the majority of the day (slowly, so that you could keep up with his pace) before ending it off with a convenience store run and a quick make out on his living room couch before his parents came back home from work.

Weekends are his favourite, but with you unavailable they’re not all that special. He’s fed and watched Pocari for quite a few hours now, and even though he loves the little hedgehog he adopted with you, there’s only so many hours he can sit and watch Pocari play with his nutrition ball on the floor of his bedroom until one grows tired of it.

So when his friends call him up spontaneously asking for another skate sesh at the park later on in the afternoon, Ranze agrees almost immediately, grabbing his deck propped up against his bed and bolting out the door and down to the park in an instant.

But it’s almost like as soon as he meets up with them and instead of dipping into the bowl he sits on it’s rim and stares at the graffiti art etched into the concrete (most of it was done courtesy of Bachira) that they can tell something is . . . off today about him.

Once they realize that a certain someone isn’t hanging off his arms today is when it all clicks for them.

It feels strange not having you around for once hanging out with him and his friends at the rink. The shift in character from both Ranze and the general atmosphere of the session is obvious, and the guys try not to point out the way Ranze is obviously not putting his all into his grinds like normal.

That is until Reo pipes up.

“. . . Sooo,” he decides to be the one to break the ice first, taking a swig from the beer bottle in his hand while he makes a huge show out of searching the rink for your lack of presence. It’s quite obnoxious how he puts a hand up to his head and scans the so obviously empty skate park for any signs of life while the rest of the group laughs along.

“Where’s your angel baby, Kurona?” He muses jokingly, plopping his skateboard onto the ground right beside him. “She seems to be missing right now.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ranze merely huffs in response, barely entertaining him and his antics.

“It’s really really weird when you call her angel.”

The other guys of the group stifle a giggle as Nagi elbows the billionaire just below his rib cage before he can open his mouth again. “Can you please keep your mouth shut for once?” He drawls, and their gazes shift towards Ranze, who simply spins the wheels on the underside of his board with a complacent but distant look on his face.

“He’s acting like his girlfriend went and died,” Bachira comments cheekily with a grin, to which Kunigami nods. “Yeah, it’s a little weird. It’s not like she left the country or even city either . . .”

“Geez, man. If you’re that miserable without her here, then go hang out with her instead of us.” Chigiri quips up wittily without thinking. The other guys protest in good fun, saying “Aw, Chigiri! Don’t be so mean to him!” and “Yeah Princess, Kurona’s just missing his angel baby so much right now!” paired with loud hollers and the sounds of kissy faces being made at him (probably by Bachira, if he’s being honest).

Ranze to their shock merely lets out a dejected sigh over their jeers, much to the group’s collective astonishment.

They raise their eyebrows at him, the silence that takes over urging him to explain or at least elaborate.

“Something, something. She said she had something to do today,” is all he mutters to them, groaning “But I’m so bored, bored without her here” and resting his face in the palm of his hand, gazing at the cracked concrete underneath his feet.

His friends purse their lips in response, glancing at each other with blank expressions that simply read ‘This guy is hopeless’.

Ranze pays no attention to them, ignoring their stares quietly. He knows what they're thinking, he’s not stupid. He just doesn’t have it in him to care, not when you’re absent from his presence.

Today is windy, and Ranze doesn’t like wind. It messes up his braid and it’s always such a hassle to redo it each time, but he knows you adore windy weather, and would do anything to fix his wind whipped hair in an instant.

If you were here with him, that is.

Eventually Ranze gets up and onto his feet and dons his skateboard, in spite of the numerous jokes and mentions of you that his friends throw his way. It’s a skate park, he might as well skate. Even if you’re not there to watch him.

A few hours pass by, full of obnoxiously boyish laughter from the group as they watch their friends repeatedly attempt and fail at several trickshots. Though busted up ankles and arm rashes aren’t anything new to them, just another aspect of skating one has to become accustomed to when they dive into the sport.

When it hits noon the gang dips the park and heads down to the nearby mall for a well needed break inside a heavily conditioned space. Chomping down on their grub for awhile, they’re back out onto the streets and skating back to the park in just under two hours because Isagi really wanted to show off a new kickflip he had been practicing.

Though the hottest time of the day has since passed, mother nature is wicked in the summer. It’s only been about an hour and a half since they’ve left the mall, but the sun’s rays are relentless as it continues to blast them with continuous heat throughout the rest of their sesh.

“Man, it’s getting hot again,” Bachira begins to whine, hastily unzipping his sweater to reveal the Zico, #10 jersey he wore underneath. “I thought when the sun sets it’s supposed to get colder! Isn’t that how it works, right?”

“The sun won’t be setting for another few hours,” Chigiri comments, whacking his friend’s helmet-ed head hard with the base of his water bottle.

One by one, the other guys follow in Bachira’s lead, each taking off various pieces of clothing in order to cool off from the sweltering summer sun. Kunigami wipes the sweat from his brows away with his forearm, Nagi pulls at the collar of his shirt repeatedly to fan himself, and Chigiri settles for tying his hair up in a loose bun for more air circulation at the nape of his neck.

(Even stuffy mister “I’m too cool to skateboard” Rin Itoshi eventually starts feeling the sun’s rays beat down on his head too, flipping his hoodie up over his head with a disgruntled groan.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” Isagi jests lightly, and Rin scowls in response before skating off with the older boy behind him in tow.

“Piss off, Isagi.”)

The heated summer’s itch soon gets to Ranze as well, panting from the scorching sun burning down on the nape of his neck he grabs at the ends of his hoodie and yanks upwards. His braid becomes tangled as he does so, struggling to pull it off of himself after a few seconds of discomfort.

It’s only when Ranze tosses it aside and breathes out a sigh of relief as the refreshing summer breeze blows into his shirt and cools him down does his friends’ conversations come to a standstill, quite abnormal for a group of rowdy and loud teenage boys.

“Uhhh . . .”

“Should we tell him . . .?”

“Ranze,” Reo is the first to call his attention to the matter, pointing at his own neck with a grin. “You got a little, uh. Something, there.”

“What, what?”

“Look down, man.”

Ranze tugs at his shirt’s collar, and his face near bursts into flames on the spot. Large splotches of hickies dot along the fair skin of his neck’s expanse, staining it all sorts of shades from angry reds to muted purples.

“I— I . . .”

His friends begin to chortle and tease him, further smothering him in embarrassment as he desperately tries to hide the bruises when Hiori joins in. “It’s not just your neck, Ranze,” He pipes with a coy smile, motioning to the bottom of his friend’s shirt.

Pulling up the hem, Ranze gets the fright of his life.

All along the skin of his tummy, the sides of his chest and the slopes of his abdomen are fresh bites and scratches, still tender and new, left behind from the last few nights this week. And no one in the group has a single doubt in their mind on who left them on his skin— they’re not just a sign of how insanely needy you are for your boyfriend, they’re a fucking mark of possession in his friend’s eyes.

Informing them that while you may be known as ‘Ranze’s Girlfriend’ to the rest of the group, you’re really the one who wears the pants in this relationship.

“Didn’t know Ranze had it in him to be so . . . active?”

“Me, personally— I think he’s a little bitch, letting his girlfriend use him like a scratching post.”

“Damn it, angel . . .”

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