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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 5 months ago

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MY LOVE, MY ALIBI | CALEB | XIA YIZHOU (LNDS)

♡ tags ; psuedocest / adoptive incest, afab + fem!reader, minor age-gap (3 years), mentions / non graphic depictions of child abuse (from readers days in the orphanage), childhood crushing, mutual pining, developing relationship, size difference, some religious imagery, loss of virginity, petnames (baby, princess, pipsquak), use of meimei once and gege a few times but very sparing, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, marking, light masochism from reader, mouth-spitting, fingering, bare-backing, 18+

♡ wc ; 23.3k (kill me)

♡ a/n ; hey. this is an incest fic for adoptive siblings. if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. block me if you need to. please spare me lecture.

also - i have reader be carried by caleb a couple of times but dude has a bionic arm so he's strong as shit to me. the size difference tag is mostly about his dick. aside from the carrying there is no phyiscal indicators for reader

important to the fic but i play in simplified cn. please go listen to the simplified cn voice actor before you read this. for my sanity. most of my characterization is based on various cn translations from the kind cn fanbase. special thank you to mao @/yinyuedijun and this yt channel.

♡ synopsis ; for as long as you can remember, the sight of caleb's back is whats made you feel safest. it's no surprise that every man that comes after him never quite measures up.

extended authors note. | caleb playlist | ao3 | tipjar

PART ONE: ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

At seven, you knock out one of your teeth roughhousing with one of the orphanage boys.

The good news? You’re winning. You’re at the age where size matters more than gender but the boy you’re fighting is both bigger and older than you.

Even so, you manage to pull off shoving him back.

You don’t know his name, only his face— buzzed head and red gums, the pristine picture of anger. You roll around with him in the small stretch of yard behind the orphanage - white tanktop stained with grass, all knobby knees and short limbs as you fight and fight and fight with every ounce of your strength.

You are seven with something to prove and a lot already lost. Your pride refuses to let you lose further. You recieve a hit of adrenaline when you launch the top of your head into the older boys chin and hear his teeth clack from how hard it lands. He collapses in a pile, spits curses he learned from the grown-ups that come in and out as he lays there.

He nearly jumps you when you’re both down. Your head is throbbing where his chin connected and you can tell if he decides to fight you again, your chances of winning have slimmed significantly.

You see it in his eyes. In his face. He’s so angry. Always is. You knew it was a bad idea to provoke him to begin with.

He nearly, nearly jumps you and almost knocks you out completely.

So you decide it might be better to prepare for it. You fold up. Put your arms up high and brace for impact when a shadow - long, endless, casts over your head. Eyes half open, a familiar pair of beat-up sneakers stand in front of you in the grass. You hear a familiar voice. It’s colder than you’re used to.

“Bullying a little kid is lame,” Caleb says, sharp. It makes you shrink further even though it’s not directed at you. “Quit fighting or I’ll get one of the grown-ups.”

You can’t see what's in front of you. You only hear a shock of gasps around you—another confrontation that quickly settles into silence before Caleb turns around.

His face is soft as he bends down to be eye level. Kind, boyish, gentle - he opens up his arms. He’s not happy about something. You can tell because his smile is a little dimmer than normal. You desperately hope it isn’t because of you.

Even knowing Caleb is going to scold you a bit, you find yourself welling up in tears from relief even over fear. You wail as you wrap your arms around his neck and Caleb hoists you up and carries you on his hip like you’re still a baby.

He’s silent as he carries you into the house.

“You shouldn’t get into fights,” He says, soothing. You sniffle as he walks you inside. His shirt smells like summer, hands fisted in it. Holding on for dear life. Call for me next time.”

Caleb sits you on the mattress, in the room all the older kids share. Your feet don’t touch the ground as he kneels in front of you and rifles around under his bed. He has bandages and alcohol, cotton swabs and gauze.

His eyes are kind as he assesses your wounds. Pours alcohol onto a cotton pad and frowns each time you sniffle and sob from the pain of getting them cleaned. “A crybaby like you shouldn’t fight anyone, seriously.”

“Shut up,” You say first. You hang your head low, instant regret. Your hands close again, blunt nails digging into your palms. Your lower lip trembles. Caleb quickly puts a hand on the top of your head when he notices your distress. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just depend on me, alright?” He grins with the same front tooth missing. Like a mirror image of you, you think. “I’ll always help you.”

At ten, you give up celebrating your birthday.

You’re the age Caleb was when you met and now you’ve both left the orphanage and lived away from it for a few years. You’ve spent nearly three years with a woman you call Grandma and the world feels a lot kinder with her in your life. She takes good care of you. Gives you a warm bed to sleep in, and good food to eat. Doesn’t get angry when you break cups or get up in the middle of the night to go pee.

You live in a house with only three people and you even get to have your own room—one you don’t have to share, not even with Caleb. It’s nice to sleep where there’s no one else, even if most nights you crawl into Caleb’s bed anyway and sleep next to him because it's more comfortable.

Grandma is nice to you. Sometimes, she looks like she’s somewhere far away but it never lasts for long. You’re thankful to her for taking you in.

You have a warm bed to sleep in, good food to eat, and Caleb is right next to you. He’s your brother now, so you can be together forever. And none of the adults from the orphanage are here to punish him anymore when he tries to protect you.

You’re ten and the world seems to be trying its best not to hurt you any further. Somehow, this only makes you feel more uneasy.

You’re happy. It scares you. You often wonder when someone will punish you for it. If someone will be blamed for allowing it. It makes you feel helpless when you think about it too long.

But you have Caleb. He makes it easier. You can cling onto his shirt when it gets too hard. And he’s older now, enough to really feel grown up.

A night, when you clutch the fabric until it stretches wide, trembling after you’re plagued by bad dreams - having nightmares of rusted rain, Caleb is there.

No matter how deeply asleep, he always wakes up to hold you.

( You wait for him to tell you that you’re too big to be getting scared over nightmares, but the day still hasn’t come. You hope it never does. You think you’d be so sad you would never stop crying. )

You’re ten, and the world seems kinder - but you know better by now. You try to take precautionary measures against letting it take everything from you again.

And you start small. With yourself, and your birthday.

You’ve only ever celebrated a few birthdays. In the orphanage they’d celebrate a lot at once, so it never felt very special. You can’t really remember the ones you had before then, don’t remember much from then at all. Since you’ve been adopted, Grandma has celebrated your birthday and made it special. She and Caleb cook your favorite meal together and you sit around and cut-cake afterwards.

They even decorate the house with balloons and streamers.

Your birthdays now don’t compare to the ones you had then.

Nothing bad is happening but still. You like celebrating your birthday. But, can you feel okay about getting to celebrate a birthday at all? When you thought for sure your life might end before then?

Before your eleventh birthday, you announce to your family that you don’t want to do anything special this year. When they probe you with questions about why not, you refuse to give up any answers.

Caleb is thirteen and heartbroken when he hears you say this. Asks questions even as you turn your nose up and refuse to answer. You get into a fight about it, one of the very first of your entire relationship.

It’s that same night you begin to sleep in your own room.

In the weeks leading up to your birthday, you find your house to be more quiet than usual. Caleb is busy with something but you blame yourself for the distance between you. He always comes back seeming tired. Even though he still pats your head and smiles at you the same way, you notice when he seems a little less there at the dinner time.

When your birthday finally comes, your grandma still decides to celebrate it in a small way. She makes your favorite food and gets you a cake and candles. Hugs you when you cry about it, too. The only thing they skip is the decoration.

(You’re brave though, when next year rolls around and tell them you miss it. It makes Caleb happy enough to hug you tight.)

The warmth that fills your heart seeing your name in iced letters is too big for your body. You wonder if this is what having a family was like.

At night time, after dinner and before you cut the cake - you open your presents. There’s two for your eleventh birthday. One from grandma and one from Caleb. Usually, they sign their gift to you together but this year they’re separate.

At first, your heart sinks, but you try not to think about it. Grandma gets you a bike that matches Caleb’s so the two of you can ride together. You’re happy to have it but Caleb insists you can just keep riding on the back of his if you don’t want to learn.

You open Caleb’s gift second. It’s wrapped in pretty paper with a bow on it so you undo it carefully. Inside of it is a plain looking box.

“Open it,”

There’s a pair of earrings and a necklace when you do. It’s not cheap plastic like all the other jewelry you’ve ever had in your life. Little apples covered in gemstones, and a little gold necklace with a pendant and a locket. Your eyes go wide, fingers trembling a little as you touch it.

You look for Caleb’s face unthinkingly. Kind and warm, eyes crinkled and shoulders slack in relief when he sees your happy reaction. His hand is warm as it rests on your head, rubbing gently.

“It took a while but I’ve been helping our neighbors for money so I could buy it for you,” Caleb says, looking down at you with an easy grin. “The day you were born is important for me, so don’t say that you won’t celebrate it from now on. Okay?”

When tears well up in your eyes, you barely have to say a word before Caleb brings you into his waist. You cry to him the same way you always do - with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt like you’re terrified of where you’d end up if you let go.

Even when you ruin his shirt with salty tears, Caleb never voices a word of complaint. His steady heartbeat and warm hands that make you feel like he’s already done it all before, stay exactly where you expect them.

Your dependable, kind older brother.

At thirteen, you take your first field trip overnight.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to make it happen.

Grandma was easy to convince, but it took you fourteen whole days to convince your brother that you could handle going on a school field trip without having your hand held the entire time.

(You can still hear the amused, taunting lilt in his voice from when you first mentioned it. Sure you’ll be okay pipsqueak? My bed won’t be there for you to take over if you get scared, you know?)

Ugh. He can be so strict. An you swear he was even more stubborn about it than usual.

You had to use every tactic in the book to get him to say yes. Kissing up to him, acting extra wistful, doing your chores and being super well-behaved. After strategically buttering him up for two weeks prior to you just asking, you also made sure to ask when he had one of his friends over. He’s strict regardless of who's around, but having another person in your corner is good for morale.

(This method is effective for the record. Just as Caleb goes to turn you down, his friend throws an eraser at him and clicks his teeth.

“There’s a limit to your siscon behavior. Just let her go.”

You sneak said friend a candy the next time he comes over as thanks.)

After a lot of persistent begging, Caleb relents and allows Grandma to sign your permission slip. It’s an overnight trip sure—but it’s heavily supervised and rooms are separated by gender anyhow. You really don’t know what he was so worried about.

So far, the trip has been really fun. You went to a butterfly garden conservatory as a part of your science project and one landed on your nose. Your friend even managed to get a good picture. In the afternoon, you did a bit of sightseeing and got to buy some street food.

When evening rolled around, you and all your friends holed up in the same hotel room sleeping together on one big floor. You stayed up a few hours later than you should’ve—gossiping and discussing the newest chapter of a very popular romance webnovel. Most of them are out by the time the clock hits midnight.

And now, you’re the last one awake at 1am.

Unfortunately, no matter how long you try to sleep—it is hard to sleep away from home, knowing Caleb isn’t right down the hall. No matter how much the thought makes you frown.

You’ve outgrown the habit of crawling into his bed every night. Still, you think you rest easier knowing that he’s there. You’d never admit it but subconsciously, it comforts you just knowing he is. The few times you get nightmares of the Chronorift these days, your nightmares are especially persistent. You don’t crawl into his bed like you did when you were a little kid as often as you used to. Even when you want it, it’s just a little embarrassing.

Regardless though, he’ll stay up with you until it passes, and until you go back to to sleep. It’s the only thing that helps it go down easier some nights. That he’d be there no matter what happened.

By the time the clock strikes one-thirty, you get the feeling you just won’t be able to sleep unless you at least call him.

So, after carefully sneaking your phone out of your bag - you leave your hotel room to wander the halls and end up in the lobby in your PJs.

You realize your incidental act of rebellion when you catch some stares from late-night guests. You hesitate on whether or not you should go back before deciding that’d be pointless. Fingers hovering over the call button, it takes a beat before you hit and hear the number dial. He’ll probably scold you but you know he’ll answer.

He picks up in one ring. His voice is thick with sleep when he speaks. “It’s late. You should be asleep.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Gege,” You say, crossing slippered feet against the tile of the hotel lobby floor. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice softens instantly. “Somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head before realizing he can’t see you. “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” A beat. “I thought I would sleep better if…I talked to…someone.”

It’s too embarrassing to tell him you wanted to talk to him, specifically. Caleb is quiet on the other side of the line before he laughs, just a little. “You were so adamant on wanting to go with your friends, huh? I thought you’d be just fine. Were you being brave for show?.”

You frown a little, groaning. “I did have fun. A lot of fun. We talked a lot before bed too, and now everyone else is asleep. It’s not like I regret going. And I wasn’t being brave, I was just—”

“Sure, sure. Still can’t sleep unless you know I’m there, huh?”

Silence stretches over the line. You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment as you stretch your legs out, chin tucked against your chest.

“Maybe I should just hang up on you,”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Caleb says more gently. “You can call me as much as you want.”

“You’re being nice like when we were kids.” You observe.

Caleb scoffs a little. “I’m always nice.”

You roll your eyes and Caleb laughs like he knows you did it. It’s quiet again before he speaks. In the voice that makes him feel older than he is. “I’m worried about you so I’m being even nicer than usual. Is that okay?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s more to it than he lets on. You trace a pattern into the worn, fabric arm of the chair you sit in. “Why?”

“I get worried when you go somewhere I can’t see you.” He says agreeably.

Your face tugs into a frown, strangely mortified by the sincerity of it. “It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I’ll be fourteen in a few months.”

Caleb laughs. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a kid.”

You huff. “That’s not fair. Does that mean I’ll have to beg you like this to do anything for the rest of my life? You’re too much.”

“At least until you turn eighteen.” Caleb replies, voice airy and content. “And if you’re still a little weakling then, probably a few more years after that too.”

You groan. “How terrible. What kind of brother are you? So cruel.” You pause “You’re more like my dad sometimes.”

“Since you’re my responsibility, I usually have to act as all three.” Caleb says with ease. “You should get used to it.”

Despite your grievances, your body relaxes exactly the way you expect as you listen to him talk. You yawn out loud, sleep making your eyes and limbs heavy.

“Finally tired?” He asks, voice softened. Doting. It’s so instant, you don’t have the will to fight it. “Go sleep. Make sure you eat tomorrow morning and don’t just wait until noon.”

“Okay, Gege.” You yawn again. “Goodnight. Love you,”

A long silence stretches between you. You wonder why he hesitates. “Love you too. Now go to bed. And don’t sneak out without telling your teachers again,”

“Wait, how did you—”

“I know everything.” He says dismissively. “Goodnight, okay?”

You pull back and stare at your phone. He’s a little scary sometimes.

“Yeah. Okay. Night,”

At sixteen, you go experience the first real heartbreak of your life.

It’s less over the actual relationship and more about the events leading to your break-up.

Your secret boyfriend of five months kissed one of your closest friends. And you caught them both red-handed.

It was in the gymnasium after school a few weeks ago. You nearly fist fought them both before getting overwhelmed and simply running away in tears to a nearby playground. Your two other best friends had to pry you out of a bed of mulch and take you home after wiping your tears.

You have a list of grievances about the situation. You like (?) the guy but you loved your friend - but now you have neither. And all of it happened for a reason you cannot wrap your mind around at all.

You’re thankful for your other friends who have taken your side in the matter while still trying to get to the bottom of it. And it’s good having them, but in your time of teenage angst - the one person you’d like to tell absolutely can’t know.

Not telling your older brother is hard. Keeping the secret makes you feel guilty enough, but it’s made harder when he’s home. And he will be for the next two weeks until he has to go back to the dorms. They’re on some kind of spring break.

Until then, you make it your mission to keep up appearances. Since the one person you don’t want to find out about your relationship is the person who’d find out the fastest.

Caleb is strict. Has been for as long as you can remember. Though you’ve never explicitly spoken on dating - he has, more than once, “subtly” warned you about having an interest in the opposite sex. You remember how you made stupid heart-eyes to one of his school friends years back and he still brings it up whenever you ask about him and how he’s doing. As if even wanting to know is some kind of betrayal.

(And well, maybe you do ask just to see him react like that. It’s…funny. It’s not like Caleb needs to know that.)

You don’t like keeping secrets from your brother. You’re close. Way closer than most people ever are with their siblings.

Maybe because Caleb has always taken care of you—he feels less like a sibling you can pointlessly squabble with and more like your guardian at times.

It’s hard for you to lie to him explicitly so the fact you’ve kept the relationship under wraps for five months is kind of impressive.

You always told yourself, you’d tell Caleb if it ever got serious. Truthfully though, you didn’t think it was going to last. Didn’t even want to accept until your friends pressured you.

Your now ex-boyfriend is the one who asked you out, which is what pisses you off the most. He’s one of the popular guys in your grade and he’s…nice. Was nice. You don’t think you’d be sad if he simply broke up with you and went out with your friend. You’d think less of him maybe, but it’s not like you’re in love with him.

It’s all the other stuff that’s weighing you down. It’s getting into a fight with your friend. It’s getting two-timed by the jackass who asked you out first. One you didn’t even like that much.

(Maybe not at all.)

It’s wanting to whine and complain about all of this to your older brother who would take your side but not being able to - because you can’t tell him half truths. You don’t have it in you. You barely have it in you to lie to him.

(Truthfully, you think the only reason you’ve been able to all this time is because you’ve kept said boyfriend at arms length somewhat knowingly. You haven’t had a proper kiss.)

Telling Caleb everything is a long time compulsion you don’t know if you’ll ever unlearn.You don’t know if it’s loyalty or gratitude—only that it makes you feel like a dog whose been leashed to a post for most of your life before it gets unchained.

Even when you’re no longer shackled to it, you find you can’t go anywhere. Being without it doesn’t free you, not really. You find it goes against what you know to try to escape without hearing the click of metal.

You stay by the post. You tell Caleb everything. It feels outright wrong to lie about something important.

(And it’s still hard lying about something unimportant.)

You’re sure it speaks to the depth of your attachment but you always end up spilling your guts to him. Like a child always wanting to please their parents and behave. You know Caleb will accept you, even if he gets angry. But you don’t actually know how he’ll react and that scares you into not wanting to tell him at all.

The thought of disappointing him is what makes you most uneasy.

So, you decide that you’ll take it to the grave. It’s your one half-ass rebellion and these are the natural consequences. As long as you process your friendship grief and wear out your anger - it’ll be smoothed over before you know.

Meticulously, you time your sessions of grieving and angry debriefing phone calls in the hours Caleb is out of the house. You work hard at keeping up as if nothing is happening in your life at all. You feel an unshakeable feeling of guilt the entire time, one that has you waking up in cold sweat but you ignore it because… well, you don’t really know how to fix it.

(Truthfully - you’re irrationally worried that he’d leave over something so trivial, and you’d be seven and all alone in the world again. As nonsensical as it is, and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, your attachment to Caleb really matters that much to you.)

You very nearly make it to the finish line of this plan too. Almost. .

In the middle of your crying session - you answer a knock on the door and assume it’s Granny (who does, at least partially, know what’s going on). You open it without thinking.

It’s the last person you want to see in the moment.

You quickly try to shut the door but Caleb is quicker. Slides his unnecessarily huge body through the small gap and shuts it behind him - trapping you both. You stumble back a little, but he catches you by the wrist to make sure you don’t actually fall.

You feel like a deer in headlights. Red, water rimmed eyes, runny nose, and face puffy - you try to pull your sleeves over your hands and wipe your face. Even though he’s already seen it. You’re too old to be crying like this in front of him. It’s humiliating.

Caleb grabs your wrists easily before you can wipe them away. You blink away a few unshed tears to get a better look at his face. You inhale, your chest tight - feet like lead as you look at your older brother. His pinched expression, almost pained but still tender. Still gentle. Just seeing it again makes you want to cry.

“I knew it,” He says. He drops your hands and instead cups your face with his palm, thumb wiping away tears as he cups your cheek. His expression is firm. “What’s wrong, hm?”

It’s like something in you collapses.

You give into it without any effort.

Caleb makes it so easy, after all, to be the weakest version of yourself.

With him, there’s no desire to fight what feels inevitable. So you let yourself fall to nothing in Caleb’s arms and cry. You’re torn up over your first real friendship fight so you let yourself lean on him. Just like you do at seven, and ten, and all the years before. Fist your hand tight in the fabric of his shirt like you’re worried he’ll shake you off, even though he never does.)

(Later, you’ll remember this conversation and realize that there was never any room for anyone else. It was a kind of teenage naivety to think otherwise.

You’ll hear the sentiment from everyone you know—friends, colleagues, family: the person you can be weakest with is who you should marry. If only you had known that then, too. Maybe accepting it would’ve been easier. Maybe you would’ve known sooner what feeling you’d spend the rest of your adult life chasing)

Caleb rests his hand on the back of your head as he tucks your face against his chest. It’s warm and soft. The comforting scent of detergent and cologne, undercut by oil and jetfuel. You wish you could bury yourself in.

You stand and cry like that in silence for a long while. Caleb holds you tight without asking any questions, his chin resting on top of your head, patting your back.

When you pull away from him, ready to explain - he walks himself over to your bed and sits on it. His expression is unreadable. Concerned but trying not to worry too son.

With his legs wide, he opens his arms out to you to invite you into his lap the way you did when you were kids. You wonder if he’s joking—trying to make you laugh and cheer you up.

But in the moment you’re so fragile, you tuck your chin and sit anyway. He stiffens briefly, as if surprised but soon enough, strong arms lay drape your waist as he lets you lean into him.

“Ready to talk about it?”

You fidget. “Aren’t you busy?”

He shakes his. “I’m all yours.”

Your chest feels warm and fluttery when he says it. It soothes you. .

You sniffle, adjusting in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks. “You don’t have to,”

“No, I—” You shift in his lap. “It feels wrong. Not telling you.”

Caleb hums. “You’re at that age. I already know that much. But no matter what I’m on your side, so don’t hide when you’re feeling sad or upset. Okay?”

“Nn,” You nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s really fine. It’s not like I can really be mad at you, right?”

You make a small, thoughtful noise. “You say that but you’re unexpectedly good at holding grudges.”

Caleb laughs. “Hm, that’s true. But not with you.”

You repeat the words to yourself, half-dizzy with a smile. “Not with me.”

Caleb smiles at you. He holds you a little tighter. You grab hold of his jacket, white knuckling the fabric until your heartbeat settles.

“So. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

( In the end, you tell Caleb everything from start to finish.

It’s just as you predicted. Once you start, it’s hard to give him anything but the full truth. Caleb listens to you intently without interjecting. Rests his chin on your shoulders, leaving you with nothing but his body language to pick up on his moods.

He stiffens when you tell him you had a boyfriend. Calms down when you tell him you didn’t like him very much, that all you did was hold hands and cuddle and you still think it was a waste.

Caleb listens to it all. Hangs onto your every word until you’ve tuckered yourself out. You think of what they say about how a burden shared is a burden halved and hope that it’s fine to depend on him this much all these years later.

Caleb is silent and steady for the duration of your talk. Towards the end he tells you: “No boy should ever make you cry. Should I get revenge for you?”

“Gege,” You say exasperated “And what about boys making me cry? That’s all they do from what I can tell.”

He doesn’t refute that. “ That’s true. It’s better to avoid them, really. If I ever make you cry you though, you can hit me,” He replies. You laugh a little.

“I don’t think you would make me cry without good reason.”

“If I do, I’ll make sure to repent for my whole life after.” He says, joking. Maybe joking.

Your cheeks warm “Your whole life feels like a long time.”

“Is it? You can’t really get rid of me easily, so I think it makes sense.”

“I guess that’s true. You can’t get rid of me either, you know.”

Caleb grins at you. “How lucky.”)

At nineteen, you go to a club in the Linkon entertainment district for the very first time.

Your friends dragged you here. It’s your first year of the Hunter Academy and your first time living away from home. You’ve spent most of the school year completely focused on training and working towards your goals - trying to be strong enough to work alongside a certain someone and hold your own.

You’re not here of your own volition, but honestly? It’s not so bad. Drinking and dancing with your friends proves fun for the first couple of hours at least.

After that gets old though, really more stressful than anything.

You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place. That’s the main cause of your current unease. The club is 21+ and it was already an ordeal getting in. The longer you stay, the more restless you feel—the more you want to leave before anyone gets caught up in anything.

You’ve been knocking back drinks all evening, courtesy of some of your friends - and the night is starting to come to a halt for you internally. All the discomfort and overstimulation go from engaging to overwhelming, and your head is starting to spin.

You’re in the section where you and your friends got invited. Apparently there’s someone tonight who's popular in the nightlife scene - son of some rich business man you think. Your friend has been doing you all the solid of keeping him happy. Your eyes flit over to where they dance on the floor and you feel yourself wince just looking at them.

Shit, your head is throbbing.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sink back in your seat and think about what the best strategy is to get out of here.

All of you should go home honestly. There won’t be major consequences for simply being intoxicated, but sneaking into an establishment like this really might affect your ability to graduate. Your academy is not known for its leniency.

Aside from that, you’re tired. You should have more energy than this. You would normally, you think. But it’s a Friday and you had taken up some extra training since you had no plans to be out. The addition of alcohol dehydrating you and the sharp and particular pain from stiletto heels makes you lethargic. Dead on your feet.

It’s later in the night but not so late people are leaving. A second wave of attendees are shuffling in now. You have half a mind to mix with the crowd and leave by yourself. It feels like a good idea at least.

But then, more people are brought to your section. You’re only half-paying attention as the guy from earlier, the one paying for you all, happily introduces the new group to people already sitting.

“...And Caleb, it’s good to see you. You’re usually too busy to come to things like this,”

A pair of eyes bore into you. You freeze completely, eyes glued to your phone screen as you catch a glimpse of the one person you absolutely do not want to be meeting here.

“Yeah,” A familiar voice says. His voice is light like he’s not noticed anything.”I’m glad I came. I’ve already seen some interesting things.”

The dull throb in your head turns the corner to a sharp pain. A feeling of complete misery washes over you. Truly, the worst possible outcome. You wonder what Caleb is doing here in the first place. From what you know, this isn’t usually his kind of establishment either. Maybe someone from his dorms dragged him here too? You think it’d be something like that.

You make the mistake of looking up as Caleb slides in opposite to you with a few other friends. His expression is completely unreadable as your eyes meet across the table. He flashes you a smile that makes your nerves stand on end. All you can do is look away, eyes flitting back down your phone.

A text appears at the top of your screen.

from cpt big bro (1:03am): nice to see you.

A feeling of unease immediately feels you, but when you look back up at Caleb - he’s pretending like you don’t even exist.

You don’t know why you feel so guilty in the first place. Sure, you snuck in here but it’s not like you did something unheard of. And you’re past the legal drinking age in the first place. And the clothes weren’t your idea. You’ll tell him that when he inevitably asks.

You’re not doing anything so wrong but you’re worried he’ll get the wrong idea.

(A voice in your head asks: what idea? You tell yourself it’d be embarrassing if your brother thought you were looking for a hook-up. It’s reasonable enough.

You decide not to interrogate the reasoning any further, even when the feeling doesn’t go away.)

You find your gaze falling in your lap as you try to dissolve the overwhelming feeling of shame and upset just knowing Caleb’s seen you like this.

It’s worse though to have him ignoring you. You know he’s probably doing it for your sake. Even knowing he’s not malicious doesn’t make it much better. Your eyes stay glued to your phone screen.

You don’t know how much time passes before someone else joins you at the table.

A woman this time.

“Caleb! You actually came,” She says over the music. You watch her from your peripherals as she slides in next to him without hesitation. “I thought Kenji was lying to get more girls to show up.”

You hear him laugh a little. You think he sounds a little uncomfortable, but maybe you’re reading too much into it. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Isn’t that always how that goes?” She hums. Your eyes widen slightly seeing the way she presses herself up against his arm. “But I’m glad you're here. Maybe I can convince you to dance.”

“You can try,” He says. You know he’s just being amiable. Or at least, you think he’s just trying to be amiable.

You’ve never really seen Caleb flirt with a girl, so you don’t have a real reference for what does and does not count.

It’s the first time in all of your life you’ve ever seen Caleb get hit on so closely. You’re used to his popularity of course - but back then, Caleb usually made a point to run away. No one ever got near enough. He’s always been nice about it of course, tries to let people down easy.

You don’t know the girl who's flirting with him now, but you can tell that they know each other. They’re sitting close, but not enough to be obvious. You can hear them too, though. Hear how she talks to him. It’s not hard to tell that she’s hitting on him. And your brother isn’t reciprocating but he’s not quite turning her down. It doesn’t seem to bother him, enough that when he makes jokes playfully rejecting her - the conversation still doesn’t sour.

They get along, is what you mean. Better than you thought they would.

Your stomach churns.

You try not to think about whats making you sick. But it washes over you all at once. More dizzy than nauseous. You feel like someone is tying your insides into a coil. The more you try to divert your gaze - the harder it is to ignore it. Caleb glances at you from time to time, but it seems accidental at best.

Your heart is hammering. You think about how long it’s been since you’ve last seen each other. All the things that have happened while you’re apart.

When you find you can’t sit and handle anymore, your body makes the decision to leave for you.

It happens quickly. You stand to your feet, nearly stumbling in your heels as you talk to a friend on the dance floor and make-up a nonsense excuse about needing to leave. She offers to call you a taxi, but by then you’re already making a bee-line to the door and out of the club.

It’s late when you leave. Your whole body feels like it’s trapped in ice as the unforgiving night air whips your skin and leaves you cold. You stumble down the steps in your heels until you finally make it onto the curb with all the other drunk club-goers trying to get home or sober up.

You’ll flag down a taxi, go home, and pretend nothing happened. You repeat the routine to yourself over and over.

It feels like the only way you can handle it. Your mind can't process it otherwise. Can’t think too hard on what you might’ve been privy too.

“Where are you runnin’ off to?”

You freeze when you hear Caleb’s voice. You have half a mind to break into a sprint but you aren’t sure you can without breaking your ankles with your heels. Another part of you is preening over the fact he came immediately to find you. You turn around and try to walk away briskly - only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you towards him and making you come to a halt.

“Let me go,” You mumble.

He holds you a little tighter.

“Don’t be like that. No matter how much training you have, I know you can’t run in heels so quit it,” Caleb says, with a sigh. “Why’d you run off?”

“What do you mean why?” You say, words slurring. “Who’d wanna see—hicc—”

Caleb frowns at you. “Why’re you trying to be tough if you can barely keep yourself standing up straight?”

He sighs, bending down. You let out a noise as he undoes the strap of your heel.

“Take them off,”

You pout. “How am I supposed to walk home like that?”

“I’ll carry you on my back,” He replies. “Your ankles with have a hard time if you keep wobbling like that,”

“My feet will get dirty from the pavement.”

You’re being difficult on purpose. Drunk and upset, arguing with anything he says. Caleb knows this you’re sure but he doesn’t seem to have a reaction to it besides mild exasperation. Despite that though, he still tends to you.

He makes a face at you before sighing. You watch as he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it over you. It’s oversized on him, even more so on you. It fits more like a dress and covers more than your outfit does.

When you’ve slipped your arms through it, he drops down onto his knees and undoes the other strap of your heel. He turns around after that, signalling for you to get on his back. You want to refuse him but you find you don’t have the words to do so. You comply with his request, putting your arms around his neck as he lifts you with frightening ease.

He bends down with you on his back to pick your heels up and carry them.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me anything?” You mumble. Caleb sighs. It makes you bite your lip.

“It can wait a bit.”

“Hmph.”

You find you have nothing left to argue with him. You give up on trying to refuse and let him carry you, both hands lifting you up as you keep your arms around his neck. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, worried your makeup will smear on it.

You don’t know how long you walk. Your eyes are closed for the duration of it and you only open them again when you sense a change of lighting. The noise of an automatic door and a tired greeting alarms you. You feel embarrassed, suddenly, at the idea that someone else has seen you like this.

Caleb just greets them as normal.

“Aren’t you gonna let me down already?”

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

“No, but—”

He doesn’t respond to you further. You get the impression there’s not much meaning to continue arguing so you keep quiet.

You watch from over his shoulder as he roams the aisles until he comes across cheap pairs of slippers and socks - next to other random household items. He picks the correct size without asking you. Seeing it only adds to the strange feeling you’ve had since leaving the club.

He goes to self check-out, pays for the sandals, then carries you to one of the few seats and table near the window of the 7/11. Carefully, he sets you down on one, your heels on another, then silently opens the packaging. He drops to his knees and looks up at you in silent question.

“You don’t need to—”

He doesn’t say anything when you attempt to refuse him. Keeps quiet and just waits for you, not unkindly. You frown and hold your foot out to him. He rolls each sock carefully onto your feet, pulling them all the way up over your ankle before the slippers follow.

“Do they fit okay?”

“Mm,”

You nod. Caleb hums. Holds his hand out.

“C’mon. Pick out something to eat or drink so you sober up a bit,”

“While we talk?” You ask, voice suddenly small. He pauses, smiles just barely, and pats your head with the same firm hand he always does. It makes you want to cry.

“Yeah. While we talk.”

You nod as Caleb helps you off the seat. “I’ll go get some water.”

“Okay,”

You think of what you want to eat. Childhood memories whisper answers to you. Chips and candy - sweet and salty so you have balance. You remember the way Caleb would cut into his own snack budget for you to get what you wanted. He’d pretend to complain, but he’d smile at you while you ate.

You pick the same things you used to. You wonder if he’ll notice.

He returns with two bottles of water. “Did you finish choosing?”

You nod. His eyes drift to your hands. He cracks another smile that makes you happier then it should.

“I see. Let’s check out then, hm?”

Your heart flutters. You follow him quietly. He goes to the cashier the second time around - amiable, friendly and easing some unspoken tension. Apologizes for the inconvenience and, with familiar diligence, asks if there’s a recycling bin for him to toss trash nearby. The cashier offers to do it for him.

Afterwards, he holds his hand out to you like it’s only natural for you to want to hold it. You take it.

Of course, you do.

He guides you outside, and the two of you sit on the curb. An expectant look appears on his face when he dusts off place beside him where he’s hoping you’ll sit. You do, knees touching - folding your hands into your lap. He opens the bottle of water and hands it to you.

“We could’ve just shared one,” You offer.

“I’m not so stingy,” Caleb says.. You purse your lips. You want to tell him that’s not what you mean, but you don’t want to ask yourself what you do mean.

You take it from him and drink.

Silence stretches over the seemingly endless night. The streets of Linkon prove to be busy and limitless. Given the district you’re in, you’d expect it to be more packed - but the streets are desolate. Proof of life resides in the lights of buildings and clubs but now, here—it feels like you’re the only two people left in the world.

It’s quiet for a long while. You sit like that until you break the ice.

“You still haven’t asked me anything.”

“Well,” Caleb looks at you from the corner of his eyes and shrugs, taking a drink. “I can kind of guess why you were there in the first place. Don’t have much of a clubbing spirit, you know. Your friends probably told you to go right?”

You nod.“You’re not upset?”

“Mm,” Caleb sighs. “Not at you for just going. It’s hard to be mad at you especially when you…” He trails off, an almost imperceptible smile on his. He shakes his head before continuing and you miss the window to ask about what that was all about. He glances at you again. “Your dress is too short, though.”

You feel heat crawl up your skin. “It’s not that bad. And I’m nineteen,”

“So? You’re still my baby sister. Naturally I won’t approve, right? You know that much.”

You bend over your knees, pouting. You feel weirdly happy but try not to think about it. “You’re so unreasonable sometimes.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’m being very reasonable right now,”

“...Mm.”

Tension lingers in the air. You open the chips Caleb got you and tilt it his way. A peace offering. He takes one.

“Why’d you run off?”

You make a face. Will yourself to not cry as you tuck your chin.

“...I dunno.”

He glances at you. You miss the knowing expression on his face. “Even if you were doing a good job of lying, you know that wouldn’t work on me right? Did something happen? Something you can’t tell me?”

“Nothing happened but you—”

Caleb interjects. “Me? So it’s because of me then.”

You bite your tongue. Caleb is lost in thought.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night showing up. Didn’t know you’d even be there. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” Caleb starts.

“It’s not that,” You say quickly. The frustration just thinking about it makes your throat well up. You can feel it. You drink water trying to wash it down.

“Then?”

It slips out of you, exasperated as you sit up and turn to look up at him.

“You were ignoring me,” You say, voice wet and shaky - hands fisted at your knees, shoulders tight. You still haven’t sobered up much. Your lips curl into a frown. Caleb is stunned into silence. “You didn’t even… I thought you were mad at me. And then that girl sitting next to you was—”

You stop yourself. Caleb looks at you wide-eyed. Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again soon after. He processes what you’ve said slowly, though he doesn’t seem surprised by all of it.

“I wasn’t mad at you. Surprised, but not so mad. Even if I were mad, I wouldn’t ignore you. It’d make more sense for me to drag you out myself, don’t you think?”

You huff. “It felt like you were mad at me. And—”

You want to ask. Who was she? Why was she so close to you? Why didn’t you push her away? Do you like her?

Nothing comes out right. You bite your lip. “That girl… was she your friend?”

Caleb stops. He looks awkward all of a sudden. “Huh? No, no. She’s my senior. She has someone else she likes,”

“She was hitting on you,” You say bluntly, sticking your feet out. “And you didn’t stop her.”

For a brief moment, you swear he looks amused. His expression settles again quickly. “I know she’s not being serious so I didn’t feel like there was any point causing a rift.”

“She’ll get the wrong idea. If you don’t turn her down properly and just let her—” Be all over you. Touch you so close. Get in your space. “...flirt with you.”

A beat. “You think I should turn her down properly then?”

It hangs in the air. You want me to turn her down?

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yeah.”

“Will it make you feel better?”

Your eyes meet. For a brief second you feel like someone has stolen all the air from your lungs in one go. You look down.

“Yeah,”

Caleb’s breath hitches just a touch before he speaks. “Okay.”

He opens his arm up to invite you closer and slot into his side the way you used to. Blinking wetly, you scoot across the concrete and tuck yourself under the safety of his arm. Your face is close to his chest. He smells like cologne and iit makes your heart beat feel erratic. His hand comes up to stroke your head and you let him soothe you like you have so many times before.

“No matter what happens, there’s nothing you could do or say that’d make me angry enough to ignore you. I’d never ignore you if I didn’t think you wanted me to,”

“I never want you to ignore me, ever.” You say immediately. “Never ever.”

He chuckles. The way it reverbs in your body makes you dizzy. “Okay, princess. Noted. Do you wanna sit a little longer or should I call a car for you?”

You tuck into his side. It’d be nice if you never had to leave him ever again. Pressing into him, your words muffle in the fabric of his shirt. You tug at the hem.

“Wanna stay here. Just for a bit.”

He hesitates above you. But a while later, you feel his lips at the crown of your head - right at your hairline. His voice is gentle. “Sure. As long as you want,”

At twenty-two, you often dream of your older brother.

At first, it’s grief. Caleb dies not long after your birthday and in the months that pass - the warm memories of your childhood seem to follow you into sleep. Some nights, it feels kind to see him. In your dream, you run into his arms and he holds you tight when you tell him you missed him.

Grief holds the rest of you hostage. You want for nothing and think of nothing except your brother. You miss Grandma too, of course you do.

But there’s nothing in the entire world like a brother. Like your brother—who you could ask anything of. It’s hard to unpack the loneliness you feel. Hard to explain it to other people.

In the months you correct yourself from saying have to had—and watch peoples eyes change into one of sorrow and pity. At the worst of it, you can’t even pretend to think of that as a kindness. Can’t even thank them for being nice. At the worst of your grief, you find yourself especially angry at being pitied. You look at people and want to say they don’t understand. They don’t know what you lost. There are no words that make it digestible. You bite your tongue, give a tight-lipped smile.

What you wanted to say was this: How dare you act like you understand what I lost? How dare you feel sorry when you don’t know the half of it? My brother is dead. A piece of me is missing.

You never say any of it. You bury the words in the black vast of your grief and throw yourself at finding answers.

Your feelings about the incident change the more you find out. About Grandma and the abomination in your heart—and you cycle from anger to sorrow to unease.

They never change about Caleb though. The apparition of him, warm and broad, cycles through your dreams every now and again. Some nights, you wake up expecting to be seven years old again—clinging to your older brother, the only thing you know in the world that’s made you lose everything.

Most nights, you wake up from dreamless sleep and feel yourself wanting to cry.

(You don’t cry often when he’s gone, even when you should.

Who would be there to hold you now when you do?)

When you finally see Caleb again, see him alive—your emotions become just as complicated as your mind has been in the months of his absence.

You’re ecstatic, you’re angry, you’re terrified, you’re so so sad. You are all of these things at the same time.

And then, you realize that the death of Caleb did not only change you. Your older brother comes back to you. He’s warm, kind, and gentle sometimes. But it’s not the same. There’s something about him, inexplicable, that is changed forever.

Caleb dies and comes back wrong—but this only strengthens your resolve. To do what, exactly? You aren’t sure. You don’t know what you want and you still know nothing about the Aether Cores. Or about what Caleb does.

All you do know is that your older brother has come back to you, and you are empty without him. You’d rather have him wrong than not have him at all. You’ll fix him or become wrong with him before you ever let go of him again.

(Even the way he is now, sometimes, he seems worried about ruining you. You want to say sometimes—then ruin me. You know what he’d say if you did. He knows he’d tell you to watch your tongue and not to say what you don’t mean.

You’ve thought about it, though. You’d rather that then he disappear again. You’d rather you know what's going on then not. )

Things have changed. Caleb has changed.

You have changed, most of all.

When you hear from Caleb for the first time he no longer wants to be your brother - that he’s tired from playing house with you, your first reaction is devastation. The memory of that dread is so strong, you still feel it when you replay it all in your mind. Caleb above you, caging you in, unreadable—no longer what you know.

You don’t think about anything. You can’t. It destroys you completely to hear him say it. Makes you want to cling to him and beg. Cry loudly enough to wake the version of him that did want to be your brother. That loved you unconditionally.

When you have to go the next morning and find a memory of your childhood tucked away - you realize not all of him is lost to you. That the parts of him you loved so dearly have not entirely disappeared.

So you stay, and try to mend the broken pieces of your relationship back together.

At twenty-two, you often dream of your brother.

When he comes back to you, you think you’ll be given one more dream before he disappears. You figure the real thing is back in your hands. It’ll go back to the way it was before, where your sleep is long and dreamless but that’s fine. As long as you can wake-up and see the sun, without feeling like yours was stolen from you—anything is fine.

At twenty-two, even after you learn he’s alive, you often dream of your brother.

The first time you ever have a wet dream of Caleb is just after he comes back to Linkon.

After you sit in the garden with Caleb and blow the hydrangea petals away from his face, and his hand comes up to touch you. After he promises to take good care of the flower he takes back to SkyHaven. After he tells you there was no way he’d be able to stay away from you.

When you sleep the night after he returns home, you dream of Caleb again.

This time you’re in your bedroom—the one from your childhood home, that Caleb spent so many years taking up space in. You dream of your brother on top of you and you both look a little younger. His face contorted with pleasure, and your hand being the one to give it to him. The image missing from the waist down, all you can see is the clear view of him over you. Making it so obvious what you’re doing. Doing together.

You wake up from your dream with a feeling like something’s crushing your chest. A wheezing breath as you struggle to calm down. A distinct feeling of wetness between your legs that cling to your PJs when you stumble into your bathroom - trying to relieve yourself and being confronted with the reality of what just happened.

The first time you have a wet dream about Caleb—you only feel shame. You tell yourself that it’s a fluke, and that dreams are meaningless anyway. It makes you violated to think of him like that. You can’t control what you do in your sleep. You decide not to dwell.

Weeks pass and you see Caleb again. You share fruit and more conversation, and the following night - you have another wet dream. This one, more vivid than the last. Different. You dream of Caleb with a baton to your neck and the tension in the room when he caged you in his arms. In your dreams he’s cruel as he drags the metal end down your body, pushes it against your—

You wake up the next morning almost inconsolable.

The cycle repeats for as long as you see him. Every time Caleb appears in your life, you dream of him the next night. You wake up in shock, wet down your legs and spend all morning trying to suppress it down as far as you can.

You tell yourself all sorts of things when it happens. You reason with yourself. Dreams are nonsense. You can’t control them. It’s your brother. You don’t think of him like that.

(You think of all the times you’ve seen him since he’s returned. All the ways his eyes soften for you, all the ways his hands linger—how ever since he’s denied being your brother at all, you think of what that might make you now.

It breaks your heart to not have him as your brother. Your precious family. An unbreakable bond. The one you love most. He touches you the way brothers aren’t supposed to, and you remind yourself of what you can’t have. You remind yourself of what loss you would feel first.

He always looks pained when he touches you like that, though. And, for some strange reason, sometimes you want to tell him: Did you know I dreamt of you touching me? So you don’t need to make that face. Like you’re wrong. My dreams couldn’t make you this gentle.)

The harder you try to force it down, the harder it is to pretend it’s nothing. You push and push and push—but each time you see him, the cycle repeats.

Eventually, it’s too hard to pretend. You refuse to name it, or think about it—but when you let your mind stop forcing it so deep into your subconscious, it’s easier to reconcile.

It doesn’t go away. But your skin prickles with embarrassment, and you sigh, and you move on from it. Even if the dreams don’t stop, you can go on about your day when you leave it all alone.

You think maybe, if you and Caleb never saw each other again, it might even work to rid you of the dreams completely.

But he’s your brother—your precious family, the one you love most. You see him all the time. Whenever your schedule allows it, he’s the first person you check with to see if you can come spend time with him. Even if he can’t be with you, you stay over at his place to eat his food and watch TV on his expensive flatscreen.

It makes you feel like you live together again.

(You try not to reel at the thought. It’s normal for siblings to stay together from time to time. It’s like a sleep over. That’s all.)

So it’s not unusual for you anymore to drop by his place. You even have a key.

(Your key, you think. Caleb put a stupid green apple cover on the top part of it. It’s for you, and only you.)

Even when you do come over, sometimes you only see him at night. You have little conversations before you need to go to sleep (or rather, when he makes you go to sleep.) But it still feels better than only seeing him sometimes.

So it’s not unusual for you to be here in your PJs and watching something stupid while draped on Caleb’s couch.

It is unusual, however, to have him come home so soon.

PART TWO: SO ONLY SAY MY NAME, IT WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

You pick your head up as soon as you hear the security system for Caleb’s apartment announce someone at the door. The time reads 6:56pm.

Heavy footfall makes you pick yourself up, crawling to the edge of the couch and standing on your knees to catch sight of him. You lean forward.

“You’re home early.”

It takes him a second to register who's talking, but he smiles slightly when he does. Turnt towards the doors, he’s leaned against a wall as he undoes the laces of his steel-toed boots.

“So are you,”

You give him a melodic hum. “I got off since we have a holiday. I have Monday off too.”

“Yeah? That’s good. You should try to rest up some,”

“I will. Gotta catch up on my shows first though,” You reply thoughtfully. “I’m like half-way through ‘em.”

“Workin’ hard I see. Try not to over-exert yourself.” He adds, playfully sarcastic. You nod.

You answer him in silly earnest. “Of course. I’m more relaxed here so don’t worry.”

He pauses as he finally stands back up. You see him at the other side of the room with a smile.

“Yeah?”

You feel something in your stomach that you choose to ignore. “Yeah. Plus I don’t have to eat my own groceries.”

“It’s better you eat mine than me wasting them,” He says with a shrug.

“How generous of you.”

“Right?”

You lean forward, resting more of your weight on the couch. “Did they just send you home early too? Or is it some special Colonel privilege?”

You see him shake his head as he slides off his coat and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a plastic bottle of water out of it before taking a few long drinks.

“Mm, kinda the first.” He says thoughtfully. “I got injured in the field today, had to go to the infirmary. It’s a minor injury but I checked in with my commanding officer and he told me I might as well go home.”

You frown. “What kind of injury?”

“It’s really fine,”

“Caleb.”

He sighs, turning towards you. The open fridge door illuminates him. “Just got a bruise along my thigh from how I fell. Nothing broken.” He says. You’re still frowning at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How can you be fine if they sent you home?”

“It’s not like that,”

“I don’t believe you,” You say petulantly. Caleb shuts the fridge door with his hip as he laughs.

“What, you want me to show it to you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s on my thigh. I’d have to take off my pants,” He says, laughing. He joins you on the couch - sitting where you were laying—eyeing you while he waits for you to come join him. You narrow your eyes suspiciously but crawl over to him anyway, sitting beside him with your legs up. “Unless you’re really just wanting me to strip, promise it’s fine. I’ve had it worse,”

“That’s not a good thing. If it were me you’d be freaking out already and fussing over me.”

“It’s different,”

“Is not,”

“Is too. My little sisters still a bit of weakling, see—if I don’t take good care of her she’ll end up hurting herself even worse,” Caleb says, voice high.

“I’m not even weak. Maybe not as strong as you but not weak.”

“When you get stronger than me, we can talk about who gets to worry about who,” He says, flicking your forehead lightly. You pretend to flinch at the injury.

“You let me do whatever I want except worry about you.”

“You got it. Glad you’re getting up to speed.”

You elbow him. Caleb laughs.

You sit back with your knees to your chest, frowning. Caleb leans back, arm stretched on the back of the couch. Inching closer to him subconsciously, your brow furrows as you think about his injury.

It’s like he reads your mind.

“You’re really worried about it.” He murmurs.

You purse your lips. “No shit.”

“Don’t cuss,”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“So?” He raises his eyebrow.

“You make me want to strangle you sometimes.”

“If you succeed I’ll be impressed.”

You glare at him. “I’ll make sure to wait until you’re fully recovered so it counts,”

He relaxes into the couch, eyes filled with mirth. “Smart move.”

“You’re still in your outside clothes. Don’t you want to wash up first?”

“Do I smell bad?”

“No, that’s not it. But if you get too comfortable, you might not want to get up to do it, you know?”

“I’m not like a certain someone, so I’m not worried about that.” Caleb says. You huff as he continues on. “I just wanted to sit with you for a bit first. Is that not okay?”

“I didn’t say all of that. Don’t put words in my mouth, jeez.”

He hums. “Just checking,”

Comfortable quiet settles between you as Caleb sits and watches your drama with you intently.

You relax further into the couch as you settle back in, once again engrossed in your show. It’s a period and fantasy drama about a once noble woman getting married against her will to a supposedly cruel emperor. Crude description aside, it has high political stakes, violence, and good writing.

The romance aspect of the show was what drew you in more-or-less, but it’s a slowburn between the main couple. You’ve mostly been watching for the high-tension plot. It captures both your attention and seemingly Caleb’s too.

“Wait,” Caleb interrupts half-way through an episode. “I want to watch the rest with you but I need to shower,”

You smile at him. “It’s good right? It’s not a lot of romance but there’s other stuff. We can watch it together after you wash-up and maybe…we can have a drink together.”

“You’re so interested in that,”

“I want to know what kind of drunk you are. It’s not fair you’ve seen me drunk and I haven’t,”

“Pfft,” He rubs your head with hand, amused. “What kind of reason is that? But you know what? Sure. Order whatever you want with my card while I go shower.”

“Yay!”

You pause the TV as Caleb stands up and stretches, fishing for his wallet and passing you his card. Snatching it from between his fingers, you give him a mischievous look that makes him laugh.

“Go shower,”

“I am, I am,” He holds his hands up. “I’ll be quick,”

You watch your drama late into the evening.

You drink casually with Caleb as you binge watch the final few episodes of the season you started on. You take a break later in the night to have dinner delivered to you, but afterwards - you decide to keep watching.

Caleb wasn’t lying when he told you he holds his drink well. You’ve both been knocking them back since eight pm. Even with the time to sober up in between, he seems like he hasn’t had a single thing to drink the entire time.

You feel far from wasted, a warm meal in your stomach settling some of inebriation - but you still feel somewhat tipsy. At least enough to have that pleasant, warm, loose-limbed buzzed. You’re sober enough that Caleb doesn’t get on your case about drinking enough water - though you sure it’ll be a different story in another hour or two if it keeps going.

Half-past midnight - you’re two episodes deep into the third season of your drama.

Relaxed, you’re half-way draped on Caleb - legs in hips lap and nursing another cheap can of beer. After several episodes of action and violence - the story is starting to get back to the romance aspect for the main couple.

Maybe it’s your fault for not thinking it through, but you’re really not expecting a graphic sex scene to play so soon after so much high plot.

In the first place, it doesn’t start out like a sex scene. The main character went to go visit her injured husband after he returned from battle. Sweet, you thought. Maybe you’d get to see them have some intense, longing eye-contact like they’ve been having for a while now.

You aren’t sure when exactly it takes a left turn. You’re tipsy and comfortable and warm. On your phone looking things up on social media.

They kiss once, then twice before a breathy moan cuts through the comfortable.

Before you can scramble to find the remote and scrub through it, the scene changes instantly in temperature. A few tepid kisses rapidly go from chaste to deep, all tongue and teeth.

Near full blown nudity flashes across your T.V. screen as a strange heat creeps up your neck. You feel like you’ve had enough mental torment when you see the male lead kiss his way down the female leads neck. It’s more uncensored then you thought.

Your voice is trembling a little. “We should uhm,” You swallow thickly. “Where’s the remote..?”

Caleb feels a little… different. He seems startled hearing you speak, looking at you with lidded eyes. “Not sure. Think you had it last,”

“Oh, right. I don’t,” Another moan rips through the tension between you. It takes your full body effort not to jump. “....really remember where I put it,”

“You want me to help you look?”

You blink at him. “I mean… we should, probably look for it. Since, uhm… you know.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” Caleb interrogates. You stare at him.

“You aren’t?”

Caleb is quiet for a long time, like he’s thinking hard about the answer.

“I feel fine,” Is what he says after what feels like forever.

“You feel… fine.”

He nods without looking at you. “We can skip it if you want. Probably have to get up to find the remote, though.”

You sink back in the couch, your face feeling warm. “It’s fine, then.”

You’re a little startled as the couple on T.V starts to really have sex - at least more than foreplay. It’s not full frontal, but the sounds and angles are enough to get the point across. Caleb just… watches. Relaxed.

“You sure?” He offers, glancing at you again. “It’s fine if it’s too much for you,”

Frowning, you sit up slightly. “What do you mean too much for me?”

“Hm?”

“You’re saying it like you’re used to it,”

Caleb gives you another glance. Assess you once or twice before looking back at the T.V.

“Does it matter if I am or I’m not?”

You find yourself at a loss for words. Is he used to this? That can’t be the case, right?

“You never dated anyone when we were growing up.”

Caleb nods. “You don’t really need to date someone for something like that, though it’s better that way.”

You find yourself shocked by his answer. He’s changed a lot, you know that but—

But it feels wrong. You can’t imagine him just hooking up with someone and having a one-night stand. He’d only ever do it with a girlfriend. So if he has any experience, it’d have to be with someone like that.

He smiles at you. “You’re making a scary face.”

You look up at him, unsure of what face you should be making. The question slips out before you can stop to think about whether or not you should even ask it.

“So are you… used to it?”

He pauses before leaning in. “This is the second time you’ve asked,”

“That’s…”

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing someone’s little sister should ask their older brother right?”

You snap your mouth shut. Caleb leans a little closer. “Right?”

“You’re not answering,” You whisper. Your foreheads touch.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?” Caleb says.

Your eyes widen, teeth pressing against your lip as you tear your gaze away from his face. . “No,”

“Is that what my answer should be or are you answering what I just asked?”

You don’t give him a reply.

Caleb lets out a soft breath of laughter before he finally seems to decide he’s teased you enough. He gets like this more and more lately. Most times you cool off from it quickly but…

You aren’t sure what drives you to make a move. What makes you tug him back to you by the front of his shirt when he tries to pull away. If it’s the alcohol, or the jealousy that makes you do it. It’s hard to say what the source of your heart pumping so hard is—only that it’s all Caleb’s doing.

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you drag him forward and kiss him as hard as you possibly can, only barely avoiding biting down with your teeth. Chaste but harsh, you press your lips together with nothing but pure desperation, air pushing hard through your lungs as you do. For a minute or two, longer than a kiss should last.

And then, you pull away. Out of breath like you just ran a marathon, cheeks hot and flushed. Your first kiss that you initiated. It’s almost mundane.

Embarrassed, your first instinct is to jump off the couch and lock yourself in the bathroom. But Caleb knows you. Even better than you know yourself.

He catches your wrist as he leans towards you. His expression is unreadable.

“You kissed me,” He says, completely entranced. “You did right? I didn’t just dream that?”

“It’s your imagination. You must be drunk,”

He laughs good naturedly. “Maybe I am.”

Your frown deepens. How do you refuse him when he acts like that?

Your heart feels like a jackhammer against your ribcage. You can’t. You really can’t. You shouldn’t have—

“I didn’t mean to k-kiss you,”

Blatant heartache fills his eyes. It feels like something is crushing your chest. “Is that so?”

You squeeze your eyes, relenting only a little. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t.”

Caleb scoffs “Why? Because you see me as your brother?”

“You are my brother. You are and you always will be, and I don’t want to lose that. I can’t, I can’t. You’re—”

“Why can’t you?” His voice is raw, almost desperate. Trying so hard to understand you. It makes you hurt seeing him like that. “What can I do to become more to you?”

“You’re already`—” Everything to me. “You’ll always be the most important person to me.”

His hands grip tighter, devastation darkening the familiar aura of warmth you’ve come to love. Like he’s at the precipice of something considering what he should do. It takes him a while to come upon answers. Staring at you so desperately before closing his eyes, loosening his grip like he’s ready to let you go.

He looks like he makes a choice then. Really makes one. You can already predict what’ll do. What smile he’ll give you but it feels different from other times.

You hold onto him before he can, hand fisted in his shirt. He startles again, softens, not agitated despite how wishy-washy you’re being.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” You say, so quietly it almost evades you both. “But I don’t want to lose you as my brother if we become more than that.”

Silence falls between you.

“You won’t lose me,” He replies, gently and easily. Your eyes meet. It’s nice. “I want to be everything to you, remember? All of it. I want you to only think of me for the rest of our life. For us to only need each other. You don’t need to give anything up. When have I ever said no to you?”

You turn away from him, shaking your head. “You said that you never saw me as family, that you wouldn’t be—”

Caleb stops you. “I want to be everything to you. Everything. I want us to only need each other. I had to make you understand. From the start, I never intended to give anything up for anyone else.”

“But that’s…”

“I don’t care if it’s wrong,” He says, reading your mind. “I’m asking what you want. Tell me who you want me to be. I’ll do all of it for you.

You glance down, away from him - guilt, remorse, fear. You’re resolve is wavering, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud.

His voice softens. A hand, big and warm and kind, cups your cheek. You know. Know every scar, every touch.

“Tell your big brother what you want and he’ll give it to you.”

Something in you shatters. The weak resistance you’ve been trying to hold onto so desperately, denying yourself of what you’ve wanted deep down all this time. Having it offered to you, handed to you—proves to be too much. It all comes tumbling down.

Your voice comes out like a whine. Your dependency more than shows.

“Touch me,” You gasp, voice wet with tears. Caleb cracks a slight smile. “Touch me, please—want you so bad. Don’t want anyone else to have you.”

Caleb looks elated. Adoring. Madly and terribly in love.

“What a crybaby, hm?” He pulls away from you, standing up before scooping you in his arms “Here. Hold onto me. I’ll carry you,”

“Caleb, I’m too—”

He stops you. “I have a bionic arm. Don’t say you’re too heavy. It could carry ten of you.”

He keeps good on his promise. You wrap your arms around Caleb’s neck as he picks you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist, a gasp leaves your mouth as his hands rest under your thighs - lifting you as he walks you to his room. It reminds you of when you were little though a lot has changed since then.

The realization makes you nervous.

“The TV is still playing.” You mumble..

“You won’t be able to hear it from my room,”

“This is embarrassing,”

“You’ll live.” Caleb hums.

“I hate you,”

Caleb opens his bedroom door with his hip and closes it the same way, walking you to the end of his bed and dropping you on to his mattress. He leans over you, hands on either side of your thighs to keep himself up - inches away from your face.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean. It’ll make me sad.” He says sweetly.

You pout. “Sorry,”

He laughs a little. “It’s okay,”

This close to you, you feel a strange warmth glow your whole body. You crane your neck up to kiss him chastely, pulling away and feeling shy again.

“You taste like beer,”

Caleb stares at you for a long time, smiling slightly. Dazed. “Should I go brush my teeth?”

You look down, away from his face, your hands fiddling with the ends of his shirt. “No…”

He presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing. “How can you be so cute, hm?”

“Quit that,” You whine.

“If you get this embarrassed just hearing you’re cute, you’ll have a hard time later on.”

You blink up at him owlishly. He laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m barely holding it together, you know?”

You look up at him.

“What do you wanna do to me?”

His eyes seem to dilate. “Don’t ask me that,”

“Tell me. I want to know,”

He laughs breathlessly. “That’s unfair,”

“I don’t have to be fair with you,” You say petulantly. “Tell me,”

“I’ve spoiled you too much.” Caleb says, faux regret. “Even if you get scared, you can’t run away.”

“I won’t get scared,”

“Really?” Caleb hums. He moves to the side, his mouth next to your ear - voice barely audible. He puts his hands over yours as he towers over you. “You sound confident, but you know—I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. So badly that it scares me just thinking about it. Can you handle that?”

It’s a confession you think, as much as it’s dirty talk. He pulls back and you’re face to face again.

“I’m not scared of you. Even if you can’t control yourself I won’t be scared.” You tell him, headstrong as always.

His smile falters. “I don’t want to hurt you,”

“I know you like to call me a weakling but you know I’m not really made of my glass,” You stare at him, eyes tracing over his features. “It’ll be hard for you to break me in one go. Might’ve be fun,”

He tsks. “Don’t talk like that. I’d prefer to treasure you.”

You look at him for a long time quietly.

“I dreamt of you.”

“Hm?”

You feel your face flush, but for some strange reason - you have an urge to tell him. The words come easy. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a reason to confess.

“Of you touching me,” Caleb’s eyes go wide. You smile a little. “Used to dream of you when you were, you know… but it wasn’t the way I dream of you now.”

“How do you dream of me now?” His voice is strained.

“They’re dirty dreams,” You say, fidgeting. “Sometimes I’m touching you and making you feel good. But most of the time, it’s you doing whatever you want to me.”

His voice is hoarse. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” You lock eyes. You can see it in him. It almost feels cruel, but you’re not saying it to tease him. “I had a wet dream about when you were interrogating me. You were being mean in that one. Really mean,”

“I already said sorry about that,”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,”

He swallows. “Oh,”

“Yeah, oh.” You slide your hand up his arms, squeezing the back of his biceps as he leans over you. Look up at him with mutual love. “I’ll only say it once so please listen carefully: I’m fine with anything if it’s you.”

It’s unexpected when Caleb tackles you to the bed. Not to kiss you, rather—but to hug you. You squeal as you both drop onto the mattress with your legs hanging off the edge. Caleb’s full weight crushes you, trapping you in his arms. You find yourself laughing a little, giggly as you feel him squeeze you tight enough to crush you.

“You’re squishing me, Caleb.”

He laughs breathlessly, rolling you both to the side. Pulling away with your face inches apart, he beams.

“Do you know that I’m crazy about you? Or do you say things like that not even knowing?”

“I don’t know,” You say, burying your face against his chest. “I just know you take good care of me. I want to take good care of you too,”

A spectrum of emotions pass through Caleb’s features at once at the admission. It’s the most vulnerability he’s ever shown you.

His body stiffens. He takes a deep breath before pulling away from you. You watch him innocently as he pushes himself up closer to the headboard. Rolling onto your stomach, you stare at him as he rolls onto his side.

“More comfortable this way, right?”

Consider without trying, your face warms. Caleb’s voice is whisper soft. “C’mere.”

You push yourself up until you’re closer to him, legs no longer hanging off the edge.

Within his reach, Caleb’s hand find your waist. He’s strong, you forget it all too easily—until he’s manhandling you to be in his grasp. Careful but demanding. Rolling on his back, he pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling him.

The view proves too much for you both. His face is pink. A sheepish smile on his face.

“Regretting it?”

You shake your head quickly, careful not to rest your weight on his lap. He rests one of his hands on your thigh, closer to your knee and steals a glance at you.

Like this, you become aware of him for the first time. Consciously, as if he’s become a completely different person. All the things you’d never allow yourself to consider, slowly draw into focus. Like seeing him with a new set of eyes.

You notice every detail. Sparking arousal and curiosity, you put your hand on his chest and just stare. Unconsciously, your fingers reach for the dog-tag necklace you gifted him - straightening it. Metal warmed underneath your fingertips, you center it on his shirt. At the dip of his muscles where his chest is.

Fitted tank-top shows off enough to give you an idea of what’s underneath. Smooth, alabaster skin. Muscles bulking underneath the ribbed cotton - soft and supple from lack of tension, rising and falling with each breath. Your thumb smooths over the silly apple-shaped pendant, the raised letter of the dogtags. The brief skin to skin makes the air feel electric.

You do it unthinkingly, really. Following your instinct, you rest your hand on his chest before sliding them up closer to his neck. Defined clavicles, the long column of his throat and how it leads to the angled curve of his jaw. Eventually, your hand finds his face. His boyish features—handsome but youthful. Caleb leans into the touch. His usual, playful teasing nowhere to be found. It makes you jolt in surprise. His expression is painted by desire, a rosy flush to what's an otherwise perfect face.

His voice grows thick. An octave deeper than you’re used to. “Having fun?”

“Nn,” You shift under the weight of his gaze. “Sorry,”

“S’fine,” He says, pressing his cheek to your palm. “You can touch me however you want.”

Hearing it embarasses you. But your reply comes quickly. “You too,”

Caleb smiles shakily. His hand slides up your thigh. It’s slight, barely there. His hands are trembling.

“Can I kiss you?”

“We’ve kissed before,”

He shakes his head. “It won't be like before.”

“I don’t have any experience,”

Caleb laughs breathlessly. “I don’t care.”

You frown, but let yourself fall forward. Suddenly inches apart, your eyes widen. Caleb is staring at you this time. His eyes soaking in your expression, gaze falling onto your lips and staying there. They flicker back to yours for silent permission.

You meet his eyes completely assured. He swallows and cranes his neck, his hand coming up to your face to cradle it. His thumb traces your lips, inching himself closer and closer. You can hear his breath. Feel it on your face from how close you are.

Cupping your nape, he presses his lips to yours with unfathomable tenderness—undercut with the hottest flames of desires you’ve ever felt. It’s hard to describe it. All of the kisses you’ve ever had in your life have been Caleb’s, but this one really is different.

An unfamiliar desperation fills it despite being a gentle press of lips. He pulls away and you miss him. Try to chase it as he speaks against your mouth.

“Open your mouth, baby. Breathe through your nose,”

You listen to your older brother obediently, mouth parting as he leans in to kiss you again. Soft at first before pulling you down deeper into him by your. A moan escapes you subconsciously and you feel Caleb shiver. Eyes closed, you let him guide you through it. He controls the depth, the pace. You kiss deeply like that, holding each other before he pulls away again.

Every time you part, you feel a strange pang of sadness. Caleb never leaves you like that for too long

Your mind is hazy with desire as you fall into a pace with him. He breathes hard each time he pulls away from you, seems overwhelmed each time he kisses you again. Switching between deep kisses to chaste one, your lips throb from the overwhelming intensity of it. His mouth perfectly warm, lips soft and full. Wet as the kiss deepens but not unpleasantly. A tingly sensation that makes your skin prick.

You make a noise of surprise when Caleb slips his tongue against your mouth. But you don’t dislike it. Rather, out of curiosity, you copy him.

(A habit of your childhood—to copy your older brother and keep what you like from him as your own. )

Caleb inhales when you mirror him. Your eyes flicker open briefly to see his face, pleased by the draw of his eyebrows, before letting them close again.

There’s nothing intimidating about kissing Caleb. Every fear you harbor about how you should do it is washed away by the sheer force of your lust for one another. Like a gap of communication has finally been bridged—with your soft tongues sliding against each other, brushing against his palate, open mouth panting, subconsciously rocking your hips. Each second of doubt is brushed away by the overwhelming feeling of mutual, lovesick desire. It flows through your veins with more naturality than even your blood. Nothing more righteous, more sure.

You kiss like you’re telling him every secret you’ve ever kept—lips incapable of anything but honest confession. Holding onto each other in desperate, desperate necessity. A lifeline. A lifetime of holding it in, unraveling like the seconds couldn’t pass quickly enough to answer for it.

It feels like the beginning of devouring. You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your life. It gnaws at your conscious thoughts.

Desire simmers as you subconsciously settle your weight on Caleb’s lap, rocking your hips against the pleasant hardness meeting it. Not entirely sure of what it is your even touching. Caleb moans softly each time you do.

“Fuck,” Caleb pulls away finally. You whine and he laughs at you. Kisses you again, just once. “Shh, baby.”

“Nn, you don’t wanna kiss?” Your words come out slurred, even to your own ears.

“Not that I don’t want to, but you’re—” His laugh comes out higher, breathier. “Doing a little more than kissing,”

“Mm?”

He looks up at you. Amusement mixed with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Feels good,”

“You’re this weak to a little pleasure,” Caleb says. His hands are hot as they squeeze your hips. “Can’t you feel what you’re sitting on?”

The question sobers you. Caleb hold you steady to stop you before changing the pace. Uses his strength to hold your hips down as he grinds you over the full length of his…

“Oh,” You’re startled. You’re grinding against—

“You’ve been grinding against my dick like that without thinking about it at all. Isn’t that dangerous?”

A shiver wracks through you. Caleb’s voice is husky, low when he says. It’s crass and to the point—something you could never imagine hearing him say. But now that you have heard it, it makes it feel like your whole body is melting. Sticky arousal climbs through your limbs, leaves your mind muddled as you moan. Shivering, you fall forward in his arms. He closes them around your back, grinding his hard-on against your clothed cunt. The way it catches on your clit so indirectly feels so good you could cum from it.

His lips find your face, your jaw. His kisses affectionate. “Feels good, huh?”

“Mmm,” You press your face to his neck. “Caleb,”

“Do you want to cum like this? Or do you want me to make you feel even better?”

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Caleb says, a promise. “Better. Promise. Do you want that?”

You nod. “I want it,”

“Gonna lay you on your back, okay?”

You make an affirmative noise as Caleb flips you on your spine with ease. Surprised by his strength again, you gasp a little as he turns you over until he’s over you. He kisses you sweetly.

Your head feels full. Too heavy on your shoulders. You want to put your tongue in his mouth again and you don’t feel all the way there. Caleb looms over you.

“You’re beautiful,” Caleb says, breathless. Your eyes go wide. “Really fucking beautiful,”’

“That’s…”

“I think it all the time. Want to say it to you all the time, but I never wanna scare you.” Caleb hums, a hand on your thigh.

“Why would that scare me?”

Caleb chuckles like it’s obvious. “You get skittish easily, you know? When I act less like your brother and more like…”

You finish the sentence for him with a pout. “My boyfriend?”

He hums like just hearing it feels good, eyes lidded. “Yeah. Like your boyfriend.”

“Well that’s….”

“Do I make you nervous?”

His expression is playful. Makes your stomach flip. Your hand finds the hem of his shirt.

“So what if you do?”

“It’d make me happy,”

“You want me to be nervous? How mean,”

He leans into your space. You kiss again and feel disappointed when it’s over. Were you always so desperate?

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It just feels good to know you think of me that way, yeah?”

Something about it, about him like this makes your stomach tie in knots. You make a face, head tilted trying to tempt him into doing what you want. Caleb knows without you speaking a word, always does. Dips his head down to appease, lips firm and steady. Soft and full enough to make you melt. Your arms around his neck, a little breathless, mewling at the way it makes it feel like there’s electricity in your skin.

“You really like kissing, huh,” Caleb says. He pulls away again. Casts a brief glance your way before he peppers kisses all across your face. Draws his lips down your jawline, hot and wet as he noses against your skin. He finds your pulse and darts his tongue across the sensitive skin of your neck.

You keen. It’s a sudden sound, sensitive. Your body shivers. Caleb makes an affirmative noise and does it again. Scrapes the same spot gently with teeth.

Another pitchy moan escapes your lips. Caleb breathes from his nose like laughter. Places more experimental bites and licks all along your neck. Your voice slips before you can catch it.

“Harder,”

He appeases you. Just like always. Feeling his teeth in your neck makes your mouth fall open and you moan his name like a small prayer.

His teeth leaves marks along your neck at your request, hands at your waist to hold you in place as you learn more about your body. You can feel your shorts dampen as he does it. It overwhelms you, makes you tremble with every light breath and every sordid bite. You don’t have any experience, have nothing tangible to compare it to except the things you did alone in your bedroom.

It doesn’t compare at all, though. No amount of relieving your sexual urges as a desperate teenager or fumbling against a stranger in a club even kind of helps your mind make sense of it. Caleb kissing and biting down your neck, his hands touching your skin—it’s the first time in your life you’ve ever felt it. First time you’ve known touch like this.

First time your mind has been rendered so useless to think.

He rests his mouth as his hands slide up your sides. You gasp slightly as they go underneath your shirt but you don’t make any move to stop it. Further and further they go until the reach for your back. Searching for something.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” He whispers..

“I don’t at home,”

He lets out a breath like the winds have been knocked out of him. “Right,”

“Are you into that?” You ask before you can stop yourself, surprised by the sound of your own voice. Caleb just laughs like he’s in disbelief.

“Take a guess,”

“I just don’t get it,”

Caleb doesn’t say anything to that. But his hands maneuver. Stopped just underneath the swell of your tits, his eyes look up at yours and ask for silent permission. His shoulders sag with relief when he receives it.

The way your chest fits in Caleb’s hands makes your breath hitch. Squeezing the fat of them, relishing how they feel between his palms. He’s quick after that, pulling your shirt up until it’s gathered underneath your neck. There’s an impatience to it that surprises you, something uncharacteristically lacking composure as he halfway undresses you.

His eyes linger like that for a long time. So long it makes your face burn.

“Stop staring,”

“...I don’t know if I can.”

There’s something like awe in his gaze. Your spine tingles, goosebumps appearing on his skin. The way his hands hold onto your waist. He presses his cheek just below your sternum with an loving sigh, kissing it as he picks his head back up. It’s sweet to the point it almost nauseates you. It might if it were anyone other than Caleb.

His thumbs draw over your nipples, hardened from arousal. Your chest rises and falls in anticipation, in ache. Thighs squeezing together in a silent admittance. His touch is experimental, careful in observing what elicits the most reaction out of you.

Chest tender, takes one of your nipples into his mouth without warning. You gasp, hand covering your mouth as you feel him smile against your chest.

The air shifts again. Hotter, heavier—there’s a sudden carnality to the way he’s touching you. Mouth latched onto your nipples tenderly, grazing them lightly with the blunt end of his incisors like he can guess everything you like. His mouth on your chest is overwhelming. It baffles you that something can feel that good. Each time you think you can’t be surprised any more, Caleb makes good on making you feel better and you’re forced to eat your words.

Between your legs is throbbing hard. Whatever Caleb can’t fit in his mouth, he teases with the rough pads of his fingers - brushing and squeezing and twisting. Alternating as to make sure nothing goes neglected. Your hips cant against air, frustrated by lack of friction. Caleb is relentless, but does not make any move to sate your growing desires.

“Caleb,”

His eyes are washed over as he looks up. A look on his face you don’t know, have never seen until now. His voice is low in the back of his throat, strong hands cupping your chest and squeezing.

“‘Mm?”

A sibling bond like this, you think, is to blame for understanding so quickly what Caleb wants. Something you know innately, deep in your subconscious that makes your cheeks grow hot. A hot, prickly feeling goes down your back and all your clothes suddenly feel restrictive. He sits and remains steadfast, but you can sense it too.

It feels good but something is missing. Something is off.

Despite his restless desire, he’s taunting you. Goading you. You groan and Caleb laughs.

“Don’t—Caleb. Please,”

“Did you want something?”

Another groan leaves your lips as his smile remains unfaltering.

“You promised you were gonna make it feel better,” You say, so petulant and childish to your own ears you wince.

Somewhat predictably, this works on Caleb right away. Overwhelming lust tucked carefully behind a thoughtful smile. “I did, huh?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” You reply. He laughs but not for long.

He has something flash on his face at your reply. You just kind of know. “Sorry, sorry,”

“Stop holding back.”

He looks surprised. “I’m not—”

You nudge him with your knee. “You are. You think I don’t know you? Didn’t you say you wanted me to see you differently? Stop acting like a cool older brother. It’s annoying,”

His expression is one of awe and amusement. It’s not quite that he’s irritated, but you can sense that you just barely get under his skin with the implication.

“Weren’t you the one who was crying about not wanting anything to change? Now you’re chiding me? You were acting so spoiled just a minute ago to get your way and now you’re saying you don’t want me acting like your big brother, hm?”

Your eyes widen at the change in character. It still feels like Caleb, but it’s so intense. Too sincere to be completely playful. A strange mix of lust, nerves and fear wash over you. “Just—”

He pushes himself back up to hover over you, swift as a hand cups your jaw, forcing your gaze up. Pure arousal shoots through your veins, almost unwittingly, as you catch sight of Caleb’s gaze. An vengeful quality to it.

“Meimei,” He says, and your breath hitches. Your head is clouded with the immoral lust of hearing it this way. “Your older brother didn’t teach you how to lie, right? If you want something, say it with your mouth. Say it clearly,”

A flush crawls onto your face, eyes darting away. Caleb allows you this much mercy. To let you look away feels kind.

It’s an uncomfortable sort of feeling. To acknowledge what desire, what reaction you’re seeking. It’s unfair, and childish - since Caleb has done nothing but love you from the very moment you met him. Kind, gentle, considerate—you love him so deeply that it hurts to breathe just thinking about all you’ve experienced.

Something about what you’re asking of him is ugly. Born of selfishness, the desire to have all of him, too.

“Ugh, just—stop saying you want me and show me,” You say, full of distress.

You see it in his eyes when something clicks.

And then, with a sudden force, he kisses you. It’s rougher than the ones previous, deeper, greedier. What you want. You moan into his mouth as Caleb licks at your lips, pulling away to kiss your cheek. Sweet as always.

“Don’t regret it,”

The change is immediate. In a way, he’s still just answering to your desires - but you don’t dislike this part of him. Your heart rate kicks up as Caleb strips you of your shirt completely before settling himself back down to where he started.

From just beneath your breasts, all the way down the place of your belly and navel - Caleb places hot, wet kisses to your skin. No longer languid but hurried, long fingers curling into the very edge of your waistband as he drops down further and further before settling between your thighs. He glances up at you when he begins to pull down your shorts but doesn’t ask you for permission and it makes you feel a strange thrill when he doesn’t.

Caleb tugs your shorts off and helps you wriggle out of them in one go - an audible groan escaping his mouth. Plain, tattered cotton panties hug your hips as you lay with your legs up. He nudges your thighs open as you place your feet flat on the bed. With your legs spread, your clothed cunt is readily visible.

He lets out a soft breath. When you look down, your eyes meeting—there’s something almost animalistic to him. A completely and utterly ruined expression, blush dusting across his nose and cheekbones.

“I want to make you feel as good as you can, okay?” Caleb says breathlessly.

He brings his mouth to your inner thigh, closer to your knee and places a sweet kiss on the skin. Both of his hands are gripping hard onto your hips, as he breathes in the scent over and over. It sets your body alight to see it in glimpses. His brow is furrowed as he sucks and bites sloppy hickies into the soft fat of your thighs - working his way up slowly. When he finds you properly marked on one leg, he repeats it on the other.

You can feel the ache of fresh bruises. A sensation that coaxes a completely new wave of arousal straight from the deepest depths of your body. An impossible wetness soaking the paper-thin cotton, sliding down the curve of your ass from how keyed up the touch makes you.

It’s less that he’s satisfied in his markings with you, more that his desire for you grows too heavy. Caleb stares at your pussy with eyes of pure, unmistakable reverence.

You have never been able to picture another human being looking at you the way he does.

So much ardor. So much bone-deep, blood-red voracity in a single gaze. The shakiness of his breathing, the harsh grip of his hands, that unsteady look in his eyes as his nose and mouth hover over the soaked panties over your pussy. As if you can see the words repeating in his mind: want, want, want. Nothing more certain.

Your whole body wracks with a shiver. You whimper with your hands fisted at your sides in anticipation.

A startled gasp escapes you as Caleb doesn’t do anything but press his nose firm to your pussy and breathe. Deep and unrepentant like he’s trying to memorize the scent of you, use it to track you like a bloodhound. Embarrassed warmth floods your system and you squirm in protest of his actions.

But you’re trapped there. Completely and utterly, rendered helpless by his gri. His eyes flicker up unfocused but quickly go back to being closed. It’s all the communication you need to know he intends to do exactly as you’ve begged him to do. To expose the extent of his unsavory appetite. Inhaling the scent of sweat and skin, of a day of lounging and leaving your pussy completely confined.

He looks so madly-in-love in the moment you find it hard to breathe even a word of protest. Your clit throbs unhelpfully in response.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when Caleb finally, finally drags his tongue over the seam of your panties. He doesn’t pull them off—instead sucking the wetness from the material. Puffy clit helplessly pulled into the force of it while trapped under your panties, you buck your hip up against his tongue. Caleb obliges you. He points the tip of his tongue and slides it over the small bud through the cotton - completely stiffened from arousal. You shake at the touch, the wet promise of pleasure. How the drenched fabric of your panties gives the most gratifying, mind-numbing friction. You moan loud. You can’t help the sound that leaves you when he licks your pussy.

You’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this way, but you’re under the impression that most people will never know a pleasure like this in their life.

When your underwear is completely saturated with spit - only then does Caleb let off from you. Without a single word of warning, he tugs away the material. Exposing your pussy, bare and throbbing - he blows warm air onto your clit and watches as you squirm.

Another beat of admiring before his mouth latches onto your pussy again. Panties tugged away haphazardly, his tongue sliding from wet hole all through the seam, the soft folds of your pussy - settling at your clit. He licks experimentally, wading through your moans. When his tongue tastes your clit just the right way, you practically scream.

With newfound dedication, he commits to worshipping your pussy with his mouth.

It’s humiliating. Purely euphoric and undeniably stimulating, boneless as Caleb’s tongue laps desperately at your clit. His eyes shut, completely blissful - brows furrowed and moaning into you. He eats you out like it’s what he’s wanted to do his entire life and this is the last opportunity he’ll have to make good on his dreams.

The corrupted thought lights fire under your body anew. To think of Caleb lusting for you when he shouldn’t be. Like a forbidden fruit, ripe and sweet and nearly his—nearly within his grasp but always just barely slipping between his fingers. Your kind, sweet, considerate older brother thinking of ruining your mind and body. The idea he’d been torturing himself over it makes you sad but more than that it incites impossible longing. You want him to want you even more than he does now.

You can feel your body ache for it for the first time. Like a reply to his feelings, you think of how good it will feel when Caleb finally fucks you. Takes you, plucks you from vine and claims you all for himself.

But the act of him tasting you like this is more than good. The tender bundle of nerves is throbbing hard against the wet flick of his tongue - hips rutting to meet the perfect motion of his mouth. Something in your belly warms. Sweetens your senses and melts you from the inside like crystalized honey coming to liquid sugar over a flame. Your mind has melted away so utterly you can’t do anything but reach your fingers through his hair and chant his name.

“Caleb,” Your voice is unfamiliar to you. Worked up beyond any rational understanding.. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.”

Closer and closer, Caleb remains completely persistent in his efforts. Licks your clit and laps up all the arousal that spills - silky fluid like ambrosia to the unending heat of his mouth.

The knot tangled inside of your body unravels with an alarming speed. Makes your eyes go wide before you shut them again hard, your spine arching off the bed - every muscle in your body going unbearably tense as Caleb’s tongue toys with your clit. The filthy sound of licking making your ears ring.

Your body goes taut. It feels like a calamity. A pure rapture, like God himself is bringing pleasure. The kind that can only be derived from being your maker. Caleb has that in common with him, you think.

Your voice rings loud, hands fisted in his hair. You’re cumming hard, and fast, and there’s white behind your eye-lids. Smatterings of bright stars as you press them shut.

You cum so hard you can’t breathe. For a brief moment you’re weightless before it all comes crashing down in one swift go. Caleb eats you out through it relentlessly and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name - asking for mercy and receiving none. It feels so good it terrifies you. Your body is trembling, cunt spasming around his tongue as Caleb continues his assault.

You feel something wet rush out of you but Caleb is undeterred. He drinks it all down, every last drop until he’s satiated at least some of his endless, terrifying thirst.

When he pulls away from your pussy, his mouth is soaked in saliva and your cum. He looked the most satisfied you’ve ever seen him in your life. You’ve never been so scared of someone while being so unbearably aroused in the same breath.

“You taste so fucking good. Better than I dreamed in my entire life. Need to taste it again. I almost don’t want to do anything else.” He laughs breathlessly. “Almost.”

“Caleb,” You whimper. completely helpless as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, ‘m still cumming,”

“Gonna make you cum over and over and over.” Caleb says cheery. “Promise,”

After cumming the first time, your body's sensitivity increases tenfold. Where you think it’ll cool off the glaring heat, melting you down to your core - all it does is turn it higher, make the feeling more tangible. Caleb’s offer to make you cum again excites you more than it scares you. You stare at him when he comes up for air.

“Kiss?”

“Even after all that?”

You nod sheepishly.

“Jeez. How cute can someone be?”

He comes up for a kiss, surprised when you lick into his mouth. You like tasting yourself on him, tongue dipping in for more. Caleb smiles at your enthusiasm, eyes lidded when he pulls away.

“Open your mouth,”

You give him a blank stare but do as he says. He puts a hand on your throat, tipping your head back before you feel something warm hit your tongue. Your eyes meet Caleb’s in surprise, instinctively swallowing the spit as it slides down your throat. Caleb meets you with an eager kiss, a gentle affection in his voice. “Good girl.”

Something washes over you hearing the praise. A soft moan into his mouth that leaves Caleb with raised brows. “You like hearin’ you’re my good girl, huh?”

Your face feels hot. “...Maybe,”

“Still so bad at lying, pipsqueak. Some things never change,”

The affection in his voice makes you forgive him. You know the tone, the sound—the lilting coo of your older brother's voice when he’s teasing you. It’s a way of speaking you could recognize in a heartbeat, the kind of voice that you’re anxious without. It shouldn’t soothe you in this context, shouldn’t make your pussy feel so achy when you know exactly how he’s addressing you.

Caleb kisses down the length of your body again. Neck to navel until he settles down between your thighs. You can’t mask your surprise. Caleb looks up at you from between your legs.

“What? You thought one time would be enough for me?”

Truthfully, yes. You’re a little startled at the thought he’s going to do it again. Make you feel all of that again. An anticipatory shiver makes you squirm but Caleb holds you in place. He presses another kiss to your clit. “One time doesn’t even come close to being enough.”

True to his word, Caleb starts the process all over again.

The second time around, he doesn’t let himself up to breathe. You’re locked in place as his increased familiarity with your body has him driving you over the edge even faster. Firm grip on your thighs, face buried between your legs - he laps at your clit for what feels like an endless amount of time. The pleasant warmth of his mouth paired with the focused, precise licks on your sweet spot make your body wrack with an impossible pleasure. It’s gentle enough to not be completely overstimluating - but his endurance, his persistence in doing it makes your experience a new high. A trembling mess of limbs and quiet, desperate pleas. Too much, too fast - toes curled as he hoists your legs over his shoulders to give him full access. Clit pulsating, stiff under his tongue with his nose bumping occasionally.

It feels so good you’re almost content to let him stay there. Let your mind wash away and succumb to the gluttony tying you to the bed. You cum twice again from the pressure - your body experiencing each one longer. Unable to withstand it, your hands clenched tight trying to level yourself with the feeling. A pleasure you’ve never experienced, the kind you doubt you’d be able to feel with someone else.

Caleb has always been like this in that respect. Your older brother who set the standard for every other man you ever came across. You were always using him as the gold standard, comparing every man you’ve ever met to him. Especially ones who claimed to like you. What would your brother do, how would he act, how would he treat you. He’d never tell you if you were too much. Never call you spoiled even when you act it, embody it so why settle for less? Why want for something else? For someone else?

It’s not surprising that Caleb touches you with the same level of care he’s always given you. Even less surprising that your body longs for it so desperately.

Caleb is your big brother after all. He takes care of you like this. No one else gets to have it. It makes you entitled, moody, and emotional just to think of him acting this way with someone who isn’t you.

Yearning and deep affection well up inside of you as these things cross your mind. Whisper to your longing as a deep, endless need overwhelms your mind. Your third orgasm steals the breath out of your lungs. A shockwave of emotions washes over you, as you tug at his hair. You let out a throaty whine.

“Caleb,” You whimper, pulling him off. “Caleb,”

Attuned to your emotions, Caleb is quick to pull away when he hears the audible distress. He pulls away from you, worried. “Shhh, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. Did you want to stop?”

You shake your head rapidly. Caleb gives you a small smile. “Just being a crybaby, then?”

The truth is, yes, just a little. You can’t voice this to Caleb so you instead give him some unknowable, unreadable look. He reads it almost instantly, shifting himself to hug you tight. Without any words at all, like he knows every single thought that passes through your mind. You wrap your arms around him and nudge your nose against his neck. He smells familiar.

“This what you wanted?”

You nod against him. Caleb’s heartbeat is steady in a way that brings you bone deep comfort.

“Be more pampered with me. More selfish, more demanding, more spoiled. Gege will do anything for you, so don’t hesitate.”

Hearing him refer to himself that way makes your stomach flip. You nuzzle yourself deeper into him, aroused by the sound of his laughter - playful but smug. You speak against his chest, words muffled.

“Want it inside right now,”

His breath hitches immediately. “Yeah?”

Another nod. You pull away to look him in the eyes when you ask. You know how to beg Caleb for something. You’ve been doing it your whole life, and right now is the most sincere you’ve ever been. Doe-eyed and full lips, all covetous and coy the word falls from your mouth with ease.

“Please,”

It has the exact impact on him you want it to have. Groaning, the outline of his cock twitching with a shameful lust, almost blanking out at the thought. He scrubs a hand over his face.

“You’re gonna kill me,”

“Please,” You repeat. Caleb kisses you as if to stop you from saying it again.

“I have to stretch you out on my fingers. It’ll hurt otherwise,” You open your mouth but Caleb cuts you off. “Don’t say it’s fine.”

“Caleb,” You whine and he laughs sympathetically.

“Be a good girl,” He placates, and it works on you just as maddeningly as your begging does on him. “Hm? For me?”

You melt. How embarrassing.”...Fine,”

He coos at you lovingly and you make no effort to deflect. You can’t. Your usual fire and wit, your banter is dissipated. Brain thoroughly undone from so many orgasms and the deep, aching want in your cunt - so apparent it makes you want to sob. A desperation to be full that you didn’t fathom existing in such a bodily way, something you thought only existed in porn.

Sensing how strung out you are, Caleb changes positions again. Instead of laying between your legs, he curls up besides you. He turns on his side, sliding an arm underneath and hugs your body close to him. Like he’s cradling you. Your legs slot together, one of yours between both of his - your other leg on the outside. Caleb hikes your thigh up - high enough to have your legs spread. The arm not supporting your back is supporting you, his forearm underneath your thigh.

At this angle, you’re face to face. Caleb can see you clearly as he cradles you in his arms. A large hand squeezes your ass before reaching around - teasing your clit with long fingers.

You feel…small like this. It’s the way you’re being held. The feeling of Caleb’s arm under your back, sliding up to hold your neck.

His fingers are exceptionally long. Slender and thin, with thick veins from wrist to pinky, more appearing less visibly to the rest. His palms are big- making up the bulk of their size. You feel yourself fixating on them in their movements.

On the calluses on them from handling guns, to the few thin scars from your childhood that have remained on his body into adulthood - now scarred. The way his fingers caress you, stroke your clit slowly. He kisses you again with a silent question like: you like this, right?

The eagerness of your tongue into his mouth answers it for him, a puppy keen on greeting it’s owner. Caleb laughs sweet into your mouth, encouraging you with all the kindness he has in him. His fingers slides through your slick folds impressed until he reaches low enough to be at your hole.

You’ve put your own fingers in there before. You think you can handle someone elses.

You find out fast that you can’t.

Caleb’s fingers are long. They’re thicker than yours, and longer than yours - and just the first one gives you a stretch you're not expecting. You shudder, a noisy breath. It’s an intrusion, a noticeable one. Caleb is careful, though. It’s easy for him to push the digit it when you’re so wet inside. A soft squelching noise makes your skin burn hot but Caleb goes on undisturbed.

His finger reaches deep. He fucks it in so slowly and so carefully but it feels like it never ends. All the down to the knuckle with just the one, you find yourself shuddering. Caleb is quiet, but you can hear the labor in his breaths. Feel his cock pressed against your inner thigh and twitch.

You moan his name instinctually - not for any particular reason and he says nothing. Just thrusts his finger in and out. How can something feel so different on the basis it’s someone else? You can’t hold still, rocking your hips against the sensation. Caleb groans unabashed.

“You want it so bad, huh?” He says, half-delirious and so pleasantly smug. You nod immediately.

“A little more. Hang in there, okay?”

Okay, you think. You’d do whatever it takes in the moment for Caleb to fuck you more quickly so you bite in the side of your cheek and try not beg stupidly each time he repeats the process. Another finger, longer than the last - stretching out, reaching deeper than anything has ever gone in your life, thrusting until your pussy takes it. It surprises you to know just how much you can take when you take three and you really feel it. How soft it is inside.

“Enough,” You whisper hoarsely.

Caleb doesn’t heed your request. Another finger goes in. It takes four for him to finally feel like it’s enough. Four fingers stroking from the inside out, an almost brutal precision curling against your g-spot. Not enough to cum, just enough to get so wet he can’t pull his fingers out without the filthiest noise you’ve ever had to follow it.

Completely out of your mind, you grab onto him weakly. Every ounce of shame and sense gone.

“Caleb,” Your voice is a pant. “Fuck me. Please, please—just do it,”

His own voice is no better than yours. “Gotta grab a condom from my—”

Your voice is vicious. Like you’re lashing out at him. “No. Fuck me.”

Caleb is quieted by it. Unsure of how to react. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

A reprimand. Soft as ever. Tears well up in your eyes immediately. “Please hurry,”

“We have to use a condom next time, okay?”

You hear nothing that comes out of his mouth except the words next time, and nod.

He gives in. You’re thankful he always does. You’re at your wits end and you don’t know if your body can handle any more waiting. Not getting what you want with Caleb unsettles and upsets you. Especially this strung out.

Caleb rolls onto your back again after he pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, unwittingly falling onto your back with both legs open. Presenting yourself in some impossibly obedient way that you can’t catch quick enough to stop, knees bent and up in the air. Waiting impatiently for Caleb to follow.

He follows suit moments later. His hand resting on your knees to spread your legs for him, taking in an eyeful of you as he stands on his own.

At the angle you’re laying and with nothing to distract your senses - you can see Caleb in full shape. Your body responds in kind for you, throbbing between your legs as you cut his figure. Tall and strong and broad, visible muscles and deltas. There are veins above the lowcut of his waistband, thick and tempting. A little lower than that - a patch of dark hair that leads to…

Your throat feels dry seeing Caleb’s cock standing to attention, just underneath his sweatpants. Eyes blinking rapidly trying to make sense of it. How it strains, a wet patch where it ends. Your breathing slows significantly. Your mouth watering, mind fizzling like a bottle of champagne. The ache in you urges deeper, hand going between your legs to soothe it. Or maybe welcome what's coming.

Caleb is breathless. Amusement undercut by lasciviousness. “Enjoying the view?”

You nod stupidly. Caleb grins a little. Makes a show of hooking his thumb into the top of his sweats and tugging all the way down. A thick trail of hair and the smooth, uncut outline of his cock has you gasping. When he tugs his pants all the way pas his thigh, you feel completely speechless.

He’s huge. Utterly. Too heavy to stand on its own, uncut, veiny. You blink in disbelief, like everything in the room has paused. It’s burly. Ridiculous. Thick enough to look like someone’s forearm. Pearls of pre-cum dribble of out of the tip, pulled back to be revealed. A ruddy reddish brown and angry. It’s darker then the rest, throbbing in a way that looks almost painful. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it but that was on accident in a bath before it was—

You stop your train of thought and just stare for an unknown amount of time.

He looks sheepish. The tips of his ears crimson red, all the way down to his chest. You make an unintelligible noise at the sudden change in attitude and also at everything else.

A sensible person would feel fear. Not your strong suit. You don’t know if it’s bravery or lust that inspires the reaction in your body. You just know you want him to fuck you so bad you might jump on him to get it.

“We don’t have to get in today, princess. We’ve got time to—”

“If you try to deter me one more time I’m going to run away from home,”

Caleb closes his mouth. He just mumbles something, but obliges you right after.

In what can only be considered a miracle, Caleb finally settles between your legs. His hands are on top of your thighs as he taps his tip against your clit, rubbing the pre-cum into the mess, The feeling of skin on skin elicits a gasp out of you both. His voice is shaky.

“Might not last,” He says hoarsely

“S’fine.” You put a hand between your legs and spread your pussy open for him a little wider. A move from porn that works on him instantly. He swears hard under his breath, not giving himself a chance to indulge in the feeling long.

Tip nudging through slick folds—Caleb finally, finally slides in.

Another synchronised moan, sweat breaks out onto your skin as you feel the thick tip of Caleb’s cock finally come through. You feel full. It’s completely different from four fingers, more invasive on your body than ever. .

It elicits a chain reaction. You watch Caleb above you, death grip on your hips trying to keep his composure and not fuck a hole through you. A horrible part of you almost wants him too, even knowing you absolutely wouldn’t be able to take it.

You’re trembling. It feels ridiculous but you’re so worked up that -

“Gonna c-cum,”

Caleb’s eyes blow wide. “From—fuck. That ain’t fair, you can’t,”

You buck your hips up and groan. He’s stretching you out so fucking good. One more time and it’ll hit that spot and it’ll feel so perfect, so right. You need it. Caleb shakes over you.

“Mercy,” He says, not sober enough to laugh. You’re going to lose your mind soon. Maybe you already have.

“I-s it all in?”

“Half,” Caleb grunts. You moan at the thought.

“Fuck me. Shit, please,” Your voice breaks high on the last syllable. Caleb looks like he wants to protest, wants to tell you to take it slow. But you can see it in his face that he’s reached his limits. Or maybe he reached them a long time ago and he’s already far gone.

But he listens. Your jaw goes slack and he pushes in. Inch by tortuous inch until you feel him bottom out. Feel his hips on the back of your thighs. His cock is throbbing inside of you, silken walls clinging onto the shape like you’re being pried open. It doesn’t take anything. He shifts as he bottoms out and your voice comes out in garbled, unintelligible noise.

“O-oh, ‘m cumming, cumming, ngh,” Your back arches up that leaves your mind blank. Completely white out, nothing but static as you cum again. Cum around the hard, intrusive length of your older brothers cock - bullying into your cervix until it’s wet and pliable and fuckable for him. Stretching out like it’s his to shape and mould. You can feel it in your body, each vein and each curve. Caleb lets out a whistle. Sharp and so fucking dark, it exicites you helplessly.

“She’s clingy just like you,” He says, fond but sneering.

Your head spins when it dawns on you on what he’s saying.

“Caleb—”

“I feel conflicted. Are you naturally this gifted?” He laughs, folding over you. Overtaken by something. Bending you under his weight. “Or is it because it’s mine that you’re making it so easy?”

“I was worried, you know,” He pulls out. The disappointment and gaping emptiness are brief. You hear the way your body refuses him pulling out. “Worried about how such a tight hole would fit something so big. Worried about your body, but you’re taking me in so fucking well. So perfect,”

You’re panting. It feels so good. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, limp under the weight of it as Caleb gives you a slow few thrusts to get you used to the size. But you’re so stretched and sensitive it just feels fucking incredible from the jump.

“Be a good girl and let me in.” You clench down on him. He grins to himself. “That’s it,”

He bottoms out again. Slams hips and fucks you in one swift, unforgiving motion. Groaning, he puts his hands up under your knees, driving his dick into you with animalistic need.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good. Too good. I’m never gonna be able to think about anything else. It’s not like I was before but you’re-” Out, back in. You haven’t made a single coherent sound. “You’re just too good. It’s warm and wet and still so tight, how are you still so tight, huh? It’s like you don’t want me to leave.”

For a brief moment, the two of you make eye contact. The vivid color of his eyes burns bright, pins you underneath the weight of his gaze. It goes straight to your stomach, making it flip in one smooth go.

“Tell me it’s okay,” Caleb says, barely restraining himself.

You look up at him confused. He suddenly looks like he’s at his wits end.

“Tell me it’s okay to fuck you hard,”

Like a woman possessed, you reach your arms around to squeeze his back and biceps. You put your mouth close to his ear as you bring him down towards you.

“Gege,” He twitches inside of you. “Fuck me as hard as you can,”

You underestimate just what effect it’ll have on you. On him. As quick as he possibly can, he pushes his hands under your knees and folds you into a mating press so deep it makes you scream. He’s pistoning you instantly, pounding into your pussy like he owns. Your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders without realizing.

“I love you,” are the only words that come out of his mouth. It has you clenching down even harder. “Gege loves you more than anyone else in the world, okay? More than anyone.”

Just like that, Caleb fucks you. Given up on being gentle but still trying to make you feel good, trying to touch somewhere no one ever will again - he folds you up under the weight of his body and fucks you with relentless stamina. Your mind is gone. His cock is fat and heavy inside of you, splits your pussy open as the tip knocks against your g-spot with each thrust. His balls smack against your ass on each go.

It’s too much. For your brain, for your body, for your insides - getting permanently rearranged like he’s crushing your womb. A feeling like it should be painful, but it isn’t because he’s got you so good and open. This a reward for you both. For his patience. Every thought wrung from your head, impressed by your body’s own avarice for cock. Addicted to the feeling of getting strethed, gaped completely open. It feels like you’re cumming without a clear end.

Wanting Caleb to cum inside of you is a distant thought. Pleasant like a lullaby as your body yearns for it. Another sharp orgasm builds. It builds and builds and builds - and you know’re going to be fucked through it again.

But this time Caleb is close. Right alongside you. Sweating and panting in your ear as he pounds into your frenzied.

His voice comes out like a whine and it turns you on even more. You say it before he can think of pulling out, tightening your legs around his waist.

“Cum in me,”

Caleb grinds himself deeper. “Gonna cum in you, baby. I love you, I love you—fuck!”

Pure euphoria floods your entire nervous system as Caleb bottoms out one last time. His cum fills your pussy in thick, long spurts. It feels hot as it takes, makes you shiver with how it feels. Disappointed at the idea it’ll flood back out.

Caleb, still balls deep - continues suddenly. Where you think he’s gonna pull out, he doesn’t. Instead he fucks you again, this time more clear-headed as he rubs your clit - a hand between your bodies. His voice is shot.

“Sorry. Don’t wanna be selfish. One more nice and easy, then we’ll clean up?”

You have no room to protest. After all, Caleb is nothing but relentless when it comes to spoiling you. You let him fuck another orgasm out of you until you’ve got nothing left to give.

He collapses on top of you after your pussy milks what's left of him

You kiss when he does, sweaty and tired. You look at his blissed out face and kiss his nose with affection.

“I love you too, Gege.”

He pauses then laughs. Brightly. Hopelessly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,”

You aren’t sure when exactly you pass out.

You remember lingering with Caleb in his bed before limping into the bathroom. And a bath too, if your memory serves you right. You must’ve fallen asleep in the tub with Caleb, the broad warmth of his chest lulling you right to sleep. You’ve got good endurance from being a hunter, but you’re tuckered out just thinking about earlier.

Also a little embarrassed.

You wake on the couch of the living room. Cleaned, changed, and tucked into with a blanket over you. There’s a scent and the quiet sizzle of a pan. Your limbs feel heavy as you pick your head up. It’s still dark out but it seems like morning.

You rub your eyes as you swing your legs over and place them on the floor.

Standing to your feet, you find slippers at the end of the couch and feel your heart swell ten sizes. You put them on before padding into the kitchen.

Caleb is at the stove like you thought he’d be. You flush seeing his back covered in scratches and a bite or two - none you remember leaving. You know your body is in the same state if not worse.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his broad back. Your voice is small, embarrassed. Everything feels brand-new.

“G’morning,”

Caleb turns the heat down and puts the spatula on the counter top, turning to face you. He looks down at you with a boyish grin. Unfairly handsome, making you pout.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Feel okay?”

You tuck your face into his chest and nod. “Just a little tired. I don’t hurt or anything.”

“That’s good, then,”

You make a little mm sound and stay there for a while. Caleb is content to hug you until you pull away.

“Caleb?”

“Hm?”

Your face feels warm. “...Kiss?”

He stops, then beams. Dips his head down to catch your lips in a kiss that feels romantic and practiced, but doesn’t make you feel strange in a bad way. You’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one. Does everyone feel butterflies like this?

Maybe there’s something wrong with you. He pulls away and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“You’re less moody than you usually are when you wake up,” Caleb teases. “Good to know. An effective way to deal with your attitude is always welcome.”

You frown at him, feeling furious for more reason than embarrassment. It’s really unfair how flirtatious he is. “Shut up,”

Subconsciously, your hands are fisted as you cling to Caleb’s chest. With no shirt to hold onto you, your muscle memory finds it the most steady. They’re clenched hard from embarrassment and a flood of other feelings you need soothed.

Caleb grabs your hand and unfurls them for you. Strong, warm, big hands grasp yours in their palm and open them both softly - fingers interlocking until you’re no longer so tense. Just melted away.

“I’m right here,” He says. A wave of emotions passes over you.

You hold his hand and squeeze it. Once, twice - it has a steadiness the grip of fabric doesn’t.

You smile to yourself. Helplessly happy. Overwhelmed with pure, unrelenting love.

“Yeah,” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. “You are,”

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #lads smut #writing tag #psuedocest cw #incest cw #this is super vanilla. but of course there is incest sdkjfsd

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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

Note

old man!joel coming home from a long day of patrol, pissed with whatever tommy and/or ellie did to annoy him, and bending reader over while she does something like dishes or cooking. he is POUNDINGGGG the living hell out of her and muttering shit about how his day was terrible while reader is practically drooling and fucked dumb 👅👅👅

listen... i was screeching like a bitch in heat while writing this. FFFFUCK ME. thank you for this, anon, i love you 🫡

old man!joel miller collection masterlist | notifs blog

tw/tags: 18+, mdni. pwp/filthy smut. blissful domesticity / you're doing the dishes. free use. mild breeding kink. joel is a bit rough bc he's annoyed, poor baby. joel eats you from behind while you scrub. hair pulling, one playful spank, one account of rimming. unprotected piv. creampie. implied age gap. reader is female but not described other than hair that can be yanked.

You were elbow’s deep in the kitchen sink, doing the dishes, when you heard the front door creak. “Joel?” You called out, peeking over your shoulder. It was late at night, and you had just finished preparing the meal for the evening. No matter how late it was, you always waited for Joel to come back home when he was assigned to patrol. It was a good way to wind down for the day, have some warm food to replenish your empty bellies before heading together to bed. “M’back, sweetheart,” he replied from the hallway, loud enough for you to hear. “Take off you boots!” you warned him with a chuckle. “Otherwise, you’ll have to mop the mud off the floor before dinner!”

You heard his huffy grunt from the kitchen, quickly followed by the dull thud of his boots hitting the wooden planks.

Your attention returned to the pile of dishes and pots in front of you, scrubbing them clean with a sponge and bare hands.

“What do I always tell you?” Joel gritted right behind you, his broad hands palming either side of your hips.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “To wear gloves, I know. But I won’t be longer than five minutes, I promise.”

“You’re gonna ruin your hands,” he tutted. “And you know I like ‘em soft.”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw the deep crease between his prominent, silvery brows. Joel wore a downcast expression, the crows’ feet around his eyes kissing the corners. His pepper-and-salt curls were wildly pointing everywhere, a testament to how windy it was outside.

“How’s patrol been?” you asked while you focused on the task at hand again.

“Shit. It’s been a rough day,” he husked out, shaking his head. “I hate patrols with Ellie and Tommy. They always do my head in.”

Your lips curled up in a smile—it was good for him to spend time with his family. Deep down, you knew he enjoyed their company, although all the banter left him exhausted by the end of the day.

“No, you don’t,” you retorted with a giggle.

“Yes, I do,” he growled in your ear, his calloused hands smoothing out over your tummy. “They don’t know when to shut up.”

The energy emanating from Joel’s body was intense, charged with frustration and a hint of exasperation. Without asking for permission, his meaty fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it expertly quick before he pulled the zipper down.

“They fucking bully me any chance they got,” his chest rumbled with a contained grunt before he unceremoniously pushed your pants down to your knees. “Ellie and her puns drive me crazy as it is, but Tommy always has to chip in.”

You gasped, eyes fluttering for a second, when Joel’s left hand dove past the elastic of your underwear and his fingertips stroked the unruly curls on your mound. Squirming a little, breathing shallowly now, you scrubbed the pot harder. Your concentration faltered again when his ring finger wiggled through your slit to find your needy clit.

Joel nibbled at your earlobe, his tented jeans hard pressed against your ass. The heat of his chest warmed up your back, loosening the muscles, all the while his pad thumbed your nub lazily but determinedly.

“I wonder when they will run out of stupid jokes,” he went on, as if you were not melting under his touch. “I should burn those magazines in the garage.”

You hummed like a nightingale, your mind emptying of all thoughts. But soon his hand slid out of your panties, leaving you clenching for more. Before you could tell him not to stop now, Joel placed his hand between your shoulder blades and bent you over until your boobs were hanging into the sink.

“Old my ass,” he rasped before you heard him kneeling behind you. “I ain’t that old.”

You didn’t dare to point out how his knees had just cracked—you didn’t want to sour his mood anymore.

Still foaming the same pot, Joel’s fingers hooked around your panties, slithering them down your thighs until they tangled with your trousers on your knees. His broad hands grasped your ass cheeks and coaxed them apart—the cold air of the room kissing your wet pussy made your skin bristle, but soon enough the cold was replaced with Joel’s warm lips.

You sobbed audibly, arching your back, while Joel lapped at your entire fold, from your throbbing clit all the way up to your rimmed hole. Your breathing accelerated, heart racing wildly now, when he gently licked your puckered entrance before pecking it and returning to your creaming bundle of nerves.

“They said my aim is getting worse with age,” he complained, his lips talking against your inner labia. “Had to fucking show ‘em how it’s done.”

Joel then latched onto your clit and you moaned uncontrollably, your knees trembling with blinding pleasure. He suckled on it, the tip of his tongue circling around it from time to time, edging you to the summit of a much-needed orgasm. He paused for a breather and you grinded your crying cunt on his nose and mouth, silently begging for release.

“Tommy didn’t hit the can,” Joel huffed, nudging your clit with the tip of his nose. “Still had the guts to tell me that I am the one whose aim is getting worse? Clown.”

How he could ramble about his day while he was eating you out from behind was beyond reason. You barely had two brain cells rubbing together right now, forcing you to keep on scrubbing the same pot over and over again until the protective coating was coming off.

Joel sank his tongue in your palpitating opening, and right there and then you came. Wailing, you let go of the pot and sponge to grab at the rim of the sink, breathing heavily as he fucked you with his tongue throughout a shattering climax. Your creamy juices poured into his mouth and Joel drank from you like a man starved for water.

When you stopped shuddering with the afterglow, Joel got up to his feet behind you. Resuming your task with the dishes, you grinded your wet pussy on his zipper, the pull tab tickling your clit, asking for more.

Joel palmed your globes, squeezing them tight, before he took a step back to unbuckle his belt. Only a second had passed between hearing his zipper going down and Joel stabbing your cunt with his veiny cock, burying himself down to the hilt.

“Oh, f-f-fuck,” you stuttered under your breath, brows bunched up in concentration as you scrubbed the next dish.

Joel sighed heavily behind you, his hands clasping your waist to keep you in place. “Out of six cans, I only missed one. One! And only because the wind got a bit too strong as I was shooting! I had to listen to Ellie mocking me all the way back to Jackson and Tommy laughing his ass off.”

The way he was freeusing you had you gushing everywhere—Joel knew he always had your consent, didn’t matter if you were asleep or awake. You just wanted him pounding you hard until your brains and guts got fucked out into oblivion, just as he was doing you now against the kitchen counter.

Joel’s thrusts were sharp, deep and relentless. His hard cock stretched your inner walls impossibly so, a dull sting blooming into a very tight coil low in your belly. Your pussy hugged him, fluttering around him in uncontrollable waves, every time he was fully seated inside you.

For five minutes, he remained silent behind you, only his heaving grunts, your needy sobs and the squelching sounds of your cunt filled the musky atmosphere of the kitchen. When he rutted in, you pushed your hips back, eagerly meeting him halfway—your bodies in heavenly unison, as if your pussy had been made only for him. Only for his cock to ruin.

“Need this,” Joel muttered while one of his hands landed between your shoulder blades again, your back arching some more. “This sweet pussy of yours to blow off some steam.”

Before you could purr in approval, your drool falling off the corners of your mouth into the dish you were mindlessly scrubbing, Joel bunched your hair up in a ponytail and yanked at it. You gasped at the sudden, harsh tug that forced your head back. With every jerk on your hair, your puffy lips wolfed his pulsing dick down more eagerly, squeezing arrhythmically as another orgasm began to boil inside you.

You just couldn’t remain quiet any longer—when Joel jackhammered in and pulled at your hair, you moaned like a slut. He was fucking you so hard now, your breasts jiggled in the farmhouse sink, your underboobs hitting the ceramic. The clapping sound of your bodies meeting competed with your wanton whimpers, but you made a point of screaming louder.

Feeling a renewed rush of blood coursing through Joel’s girthy cock, you clenched your used pussy around him with a very tight grasp—so tight, that he was humming and ruggedly breathing while he climbed up to ecstasy. Joel tugged at your hair again, and this time he kept on pulling, your back impossibly arched like a bow ready to snap, until the back of your head was resting on his right shoulder.

“You know my aim is excellent, darling,” he groaned huskily, announcing his orgasm.

Joel pulsed one last time inside you before his cum filled you up in spurts, rope after rope of his white seed gluing to your inner walls and clinging onto every crevice inside your pussy. And when he did, you finally unravelled with him, an overwhelming euphoria drowning you as you sobbed and screamed your pleasure, leaving creamy rings on the base of his cock.

Joel kissed your cheek before letting go of your hair. Both of you were heaving now, trying to tame your breathing back to a normal pace and calming down your hearts. Joel always fucked you dumb and he did delivery this time—you only wished you were also cock drunk.

He pulled out sfotly, your pussy quivering one last time at the emptiness he left behind. You felt Joel’s tantalising fingers in your slick seam, gathering the leaking cum from your pussy lips to push it back inside you. You moaned again, biting down your lip, as he fingered you with his tacky spent, putting it back inside your cunt so it would take.

“Can’t waste it, sweetheart.” With just a few pumps of his thick fingers you came again, your thighs still shaking as you straightened your back.

You looked over your shoulder again to glanced at him stuffing his soft cock back in his boxers, with dreamy eyes and mouth agape, some drool still wetting your chin.

Joel snickered behind you, chuffed with himself. He swiped the spit off your chin with his thumb and licked it off his finger as if it was a little treat.

“What’s for dinner, sweetheart?” he asked, way more relaxed now, while he pulled your panties and jeans up and readjusted them for you.

“Lamb stew, but I wish there was cock on the menu,” you pouted, dreamily sighing as you rinsed off the dish and left it on the drying rack besides the sink.

Joel slyly grinned at you, playfully spanking your ass. “For dessert.”

#asked and answered #anon #old man!joel miller #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal character #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #ppcu fandom

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writers-potion · 1 year ago

Text

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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screampied · 1 year ago

Note

plz write a domestic toji fic

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, house husband toji, reader is pregnant, toji attempting to cook, petnames.

wc. 1.8k

toji quirks an arched brow in frustration. with a concise glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday, it reads three am. sighing, the back of his wrist smears a sheet of sweat off his forehead as he gets a good sniff of the cuisine. like always, he stayed up all night, watching those random cooking mom videos on youtube. trying so hard to mimic their recipes and methods but failing anyway. “tch. fuckin’ shit,” he grumbles under his breath, covered in nothing but flour. the sizzling of the pan was quite loud. the smoke detector went off at least four times. he was wearing another thing you bought him. an apron that had the words of ‘kiss the cook’ imprinted near the front in bedazzled little sparkles. “why does it keep stickin’ to the pan.”

as his annoyance grows, he hears familiar little footsteps approach the linoleum kitchen floor. it’s you, his shoulders lower and his mood softens at the sight of you in comfy silk pajamas and a grouchy expression. “toji? ‘s like three in the morning,” and as you take a whiff of the air, you furrow your own two brows. “are you . . cooking?”

“yeah yeah,” he gruffly grouses, going back to whisking the flour. “go back ‘ta bed, baby. almost done. ‘m jus’ practicing.”

“at three am,” you deadpan, a hand rubbing against your plump growing tummy.

so cute, you were a few weeks pregnant yet everything was moving at such an rapid speed. with the way your body was changing so quick, he could barely keep up. toji hears the sass in your tone as you speak and he knows good and well he should be back in bed with you. you wondered why the left side of the mattress felt empty. you waddle over beside him, hugging him from behind. his bulging muscles rub against you and you let off a playful little whine. “tooooji, you need sleep. come back to bed.”

“princessss,” he plays along with a fake pout, his entire hands covered with piles and piles of doughy flour mix. “but ‘m makin’ breakfast for us two,” and with a brief notion of turning the fire down a bit, he utters last minute. “er— three.” and you smile at him not forgetting to include your unborn child.

toji never cooks, it’s always been just you.

it’s not like he was incapable or anything. he’s always found a liking to watching you cook though.

you always prepared him the best of meals, so good that it had his mouth watering, licking the tips of his tongue in sweet sweet relish.

right before you’d got pregnant, you’d pack him the most divine lunches for work, always with such loving care. you’d never forget to leave him a little adoring note or two, wishing him the best of shifts. so the moment you ended up getting knocked up, he wanted to try.

try to do better,

for you.

sacrificing his sleep wasn’t really an issue—he didn’t mind if it wasn’t for you and his unborn baby. and if toji had to learn how to cook simple meals, he’d do that.. despite the struggle it was.

giggling, you stretch your arms over his torso.

“toji . . making pancakes is easy,” you hum, and his muscles relaxes from your gentle touch.

he’s missed you dearly, even though he was only out of bed for at least a good hour now. hearing him swear vulgar curses underneath his breath at messing up the instructions was quite near adorable. peering at the mess in front of you, you take the cerulean blue mixing bowl from him. “you could’ve woke me up if you needed help, you know.”

“i know,” he grumbles, his voice softening a bit.

you pause—toji’s body language seems a bit different. it shifts. he looks a bit ashamed.

once toji turns off the stove, he deeply sighs. “i just wanted ‘ta learn how to cook for us— you know, like as a family. so when the baby’s here, i’ll uh- be prepared. don’t want ya to be doin’ everything, darlin’. y’er gonna be limited to do lots of stuff soon ‘n i jus’ wanna help out a bit more.”

with a smile, you stroke a thumb against your husband’s chin, right near his little scar. “awww,” and there’s an immediate embarrassed scowl stretching against his thin lips.

toji wanting to try more for you made your heart swarm up with a variety schools of butterflies. it flutters and flaps as he spoke. speaking in a soft tone, a thumb swipes a few remnants of flour near the crevices of his lip. “you’re sweet, toji. but i don’t want you stressing out over cooking. ‘s okay, besidessss we can always do it together.”

“eh,” his eye twitches at your smug growing grin. “that’s… not what i meant, mama.”

“don’t eh me. yeah it is, you want me to teach you how to cook like me,” you simper, planting a kiss against the back of his arm. “you wanna learn how to be a househusband?”

toji groans, turning to face you. verdant eyes leer at you for a long time—but he could never stay too vexed at you, you were so adorable, especially whenever you were this enthusiastic.

“that’s not the term i’d use for myself, but i guess,” and he wipes a few pounds of flour off his apron. “don’t worry ‘bout the mess. i’ll clean that up too.”

“i like this new toji.” you tease, leaning up close to press a wet kiss against his temple.

toji buries his hands in his pockets, staring off to the side and trying to ignore the incoming flush setting against his skin.

oh, you had him weak,

weak everywhere—weak in the knees.

he was feeling himself getting soft as the seconds pass. toji couldn’t lie, he was starting to like this new side of his too. he’d never in a million years admit it though. “baby please,” he grunts, switching the sink on to wash his hands. as the water screams out of the faucet, he lathers everywhere with soap before grumbling. “been watchin’ so many of those damn mom vlogs of cooking. was so annoying, wanted to pull my hair out.”

“you could have just asked me for help, silly,” and your arms securely wrap around his beefy body once more. toji’s frame was a lot more broad and built compared to you. he sucks his teeth, leaning into your touch before staring at the kitchen counter. “okay, good. you have all the ingredients . . eggs, flour, milk, umm sugar..”

and as your words continue and you observe his unkempt handiwork, toji clears his throat. “i gave up once the things kept stickin’ to the skillet.”

you let off a pretty laugh that makes his ears twitch. “welllll that’s probably because you didn’t add enough oil or butter to the pan,” and he watches as you grab a nearby stick of butter. you cut near the end part it with a butter knife before spreading it on the middle of the pan.

toji cutely stays quiet, staring intently and taking in everything you’re doing. he’s attentive, he doesn’t wanna miss anything because he’d soon be doing this for you and his soon-to-be baby.

after a few long seconds, you turn on the stove and it starts to sizzle again. “okay, so you mixed the batter, that’s good. now all you have to do is just pour a good amount into the pan and flip it once it’s a brownish color.”

“ehhhh.”

“toji, you wanted to cook so you’re gonna cook.”

“yes ma’am.” he sighs, his tone playful.

some minutes pass before you both finally finish making a fresh, scrumptious batch of pancakes. with your arms wrapped around him, you showed him all the steps slowly. you were patient with toji, helping him pour the batter and mix it. every time he messes up, you’d kiss the edge of his arm, reminding him that he can just try again. he calms down after a while, and you step away to watch him make a pancake of his own. he flips it over, and he has a sly grin—glancing back toward you, hoping you caught that. you did, giving him an encouraging smile before showering him with praise.

it was almost four am and toji was desperately trying to stay awake—you could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open with how he’s swaying a bit. turning off the stove for the nth time, you set the steaming hot spatula aside before looking in toji’s direction. “we can always eat them when we wake up.”

“we?” he grumbles, combing a hand through his messy strands, giving it a solid scratch.

“yes, we,” and you wrap the heated pancakes with plastic wrap, tucking the undersides of the plate with the material before putting it in the microwave to preserve heat. you then grab onto toji’s hand. “we’re going back to bed.”

with a sigh, he knew he wasn’t gonna win this little spat. toji squeezes your hand back, yet before the two of you could go back into bed, he bends down.

raising your brow, toji gets on his knees before bringing a chaste kiss toward your tummy. “hey little one,” he whispers, rubbing a palm gingerly against the front of your stomach. dark, tired eyes meet yours and he bedaubs a thumb near your the print of your navel poking through your his oversized t-shirt. the cold, frigid texture of toji’s fingertips almost tickles. as he softly runs a finger down the center of your growing belly bump, a bit of flour gets against your clothes. “how are my girls? any cramps or pain i should know about?

girls,

the gender was still too early to determine but toji always pondered about how it might be a girl.

“n- no,” you breathe, moving a few raven strands of hair out of his face. everything felt different, it was as if you were walking with volumes of water stored within you. toji’s always been supportive during your pregnancy, he was trying. he stands up again before kissing the crown of your head. “you still think ‘s a girl?”

“kinda, yeah,” he utters, and a strong arm slings around your shoulders.

toji guides you to bed, not minding your cute slow waddle of a walk. “up we go, c’mon,” and he helps you up the steps, lowly chuckling into your neck at your adorable state. toji was always patient, the moment you finally reach the bed, he pulls down the fat cover so you could climb in. “…. thank you baby.”

“for what?” you slump against the cushioned sheets, slipping off your baby blue socks. toji crawls in beside you, leaning in to switch off the lamp. he still had a bit of flour on his face—and he spots you swiping some of it off with your thumb.

toji groans, acting as if the next incoming sentence was gonna kill him.

“for . . teachin’ me how ‘ta be a good househusband,” he pouts, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “i love you.”

“i love you too toji.”

��i love ya more,” and he lowers his neck to kiss the middle of your stomach. “oh, ‘n papa loves you also, little one. love my girls so much.”

#★vegasbaby.#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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redcali · 2 months ago

Note

can you write how each of the lads men would react when you tell them you want children? (or it could be any of them) (your fics are nice btw)

Reply: Yes that is so cute!! ────────────────────

✦ You tell the LADS men that you want children ✦

PAIRINGS: Xavier x reader, Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader TAGS: slight suggestive content, mostly wholesome cute fluff, short blurbs

────────────────────

“Xavier, I want to have kids.” You announce.

You two are currently in Jeremiah’s greenhouse, helping him tend to his flowers. Xavier’s hands still on a potted plant as he looks to you, his eyes wide.

“Right here?”

“W-what?” Your face turns red. “No! Of course not! I meant, when we get back h–”

But Xavier is already pushing you up against the cool glass of the greenhouse, his chest against your back and fingers dipping below your waistband.

“Too late,” he hums, pressing soft kisses to your sensitive neck. “ You’re absolutely right – I want children too. Right now.”

You two are at Sylus’s favourite restaurant when you casually bring up that you want children.

Sylus’s hand stills, as he looks up at you from his steak with an indiscernible expression. You peer at him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. Does he want children too? Is he okay with the idea of raising them?

“Anyways – that was just a thought – let’s talk about something else.” you quickly say.

The next day ── .✦

“Sylus!” You call out as you push open the door to Sylus’s apartment. You kick something by accident – a gold pacifier? You look down at it, beyond perplexed.

As you step into his apartment, you’re met with the sight of piles upon piles of various baby clothes and toys, stacked neatly across the living room and dining hall. You’re speechless.

Sylus walks out into the living room in nothing but his red silk pajamas. He mimics your aloof expression when he sees you.

“What? You said you wanted children.”

“Sylus – it was just an idea!”

You notice something : ever since you’ve casually mentioned wanting children (you don’t think Caleb would even notice), Caleb has been seeming really fatigued, sometimes even dozing off in the middle of the day just to wake up with a start.

You don’t question why and just go about your day as usual.

Until one night, you wake up from a bad dream. You sit up groggily, yawning and rubbing your eyes tiredly, just to find Caleb missing from bed.

Instead, a dim glow radiates from the study desk. Caleb sits at it, carefully jotting down notes on a notepad that you’ve never seen before. You sneak over, and tackle him by surprise. Caleb lets out a yelp of surprise as you jump onto his lap.

“Pips! What are you doing, being awake right now?” he asks hoarsely. You huff.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” You turn to look at his notes – and that's when you realise that they’re all about pregnancy and taking care of newborns. You giggle as you flick through his notes, and Caleb just looks at you with resignation.

“This is what you’ve been losing sleep over? You’re adorable.” you tell him, twisting over in his lap to squeeze him affectionately by his cheek. “10 health recipes for pregnancy? How to take care of newborns… side effects of pregnancy and how to manage them…damn, you’re thorough.”

“I need to come prepared, okay?” Caleb nips at your fingers. “I’ll make sure to take care of you when you’re bearing our child. I’ll make sure you have everything and anything you need. All for my wife.”

When you tell him that you want children, Zayne pauses for a second, looking at you carefully.

“Are you sure?” He looks at you with a gentle expression, reaching a hand out to hold yours. “I need you to be completely certain. This is a huge decision, after all.”

“Positive,” you reply eagerly. “Zayne, I’ve been thinking this over for months.”

“Okay. Give me a second.” Zayne pulls out his phone and clicks onto a contact, holding it to his ear.

“Greyson?” He pauses. “I’ll be taking a one week leave.”

Your jaw drops. Zayne? Taking a whole week off his job? That is unheard of. Zayne continues to dish out a couple of instructions to his assistant over call before he quickly hangs up. With his full attention back to you now, he leans forward and kisses you softly on the cheek.

“Zayne,” you say slowly. “What…why…”

“You want children, right?” A playful smile tugs at his lips. “We’ll have to work on that all week. That way, it can be guaranteed that you get what you want.”

Your face heats up at the implications of his words. Zayne leans forward once more, this time pressing his warm lips to yours.

“Let’s start now.”

“...so that’s why I want children.”

Rafayel gets flashbacks to those birth-giving videos he has the misfortune to chance upon.

“But, darling,” Rafayel says, sounding pained. “Giving birth looks excruciating. What a miserable process. I don’t want you to see you in pain, ever.”

You laugh at his words, squeezing his cheek. “Rafayel, it’s going to be OK.”

“Are you sure?” he frets. “I wish there was a way you don’t have to go through the suffering, ever. I wish I could be the one giving birth.”

When he kisses you, he is extra gentle in the way he holds and touches you. His hands snake down to your thighs as he pulls back to look at you with wide, adoring eyes.

──────────────────── .✦

#love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne #lnds #lads #lads boys #lads men #sylus x reader #xavier x mc #caleb x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne love and deepspace #fluff #lads fluff #pregnancy #writing

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kalims · 27 days ago

Text

⭒ㅤwhose (not) random kid

premise. crash landing from the future is apparently your kid, not that you know that anyway... in the form of a mixture between you, and your... supposed counterpart, clues are bound to pile up as to whose child this is.

parts. rosehearts, kingscholar, ashengrotto, al asim, schoenheit, shroud, draconia

cont. gender neutral reader, use of 'mada' which is just 'mama' and 'dada' cut in half for our resident shrimp (aka yuu), octavinelle's shady business deserved it's own tag, 7.0k words

note. hiii again! it took a whole month for this to come out hehe. my honest opinion, the kid here is the cutest I've had to write. I really love em' 🤎 most of the good parts of this fic is near the end where they start interacting with yuu!

azul

ashengrotto did not do things himself–it sounds bad, by extension. like he was incompetent but most of the student body of the school knew better than to assume so, much less say it out loud. associating with him came with consequences, but much larger rewards to sow if you were actually useful for him to keep close.

why should he exert much effort from the body when his mind had already done the work? he rewarded his employees well after all.

his grip was iron. figuratively, and literally. no slip through for an exit, if he let go then it was because he wanted to. he does things when he wants to and watches it all play with a critical eye. he let his actor take point center, relish the spotlight where in the end, he can bask under the light. what was rewards without hardships?

azul does things for you despite himself.

like now, he’s desperately trying to pluck out every thought of you like a needle stuck in hay from his mind because he was not at the local store for you, but for a business opportunity.

like before, when he would inevitably grace you with pointers for advanced lessons for better preparation. muttering something about him not nurturing employees that lack the essence of his dorm–intelligence, and wit.

like after, he’s not so sure if there is one now. who would take back what he said? him? ashengrotto?

everything is so within a script he plays that he tells himself that he let you storm off because he willed it.

“you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be special,” he shouldn’t have regretted the remarks that flew from his mouth as a defense mechanism that wrapped around himself and inevitably pushed you away. azul was special because he made himself to be (and you were special to him in a way that was irrevocably lost to him).

what did you do? how did you do it?

azul did not want to hold onto someone so sought after, he wouldn’t handle it well if you chose another warmth to run into, he only made investments that he was sure he would win.

he watched when you straightened abruptly from his words. like his voice struck you even when he made sure it was a sound that drew joy from you, you don’t look happy. you breezed past him like the wind, not unkindly but something fleeting that he can’t grasp at.

after all, no one can hold onto the wind.

a pair of eyes follow his frisky movements with amusement–since when did the perceptive, at ease azul struggle to focus picking off the most ripe ruby berries? he’d been staring at the fruit for so long that even floyd, whose attention was frayed by other aisles.

jade had only been interested in the mundane task of shopping when he spotted a tray of fungi on sale, his eyes sparkled. so azul compromised to purchase some free of charge if he was diligent in his work afterward. over time the interest faded, it was simply routine until he exited the aisle after a quick skim and found azul in the same spot.

then floyd got interested at whatever jade was standing by and idly observing.

now, they’re both looking at azul.

“he’s still sulking?” floyd scrunched up his nose as azul threw a perfectly decent ruby berry back into the basket, in his opinion anyway why was there a need to spend so much time finding perfect ones? azul was not as interesting to poke at considering he hadn’t blown up at floyd yet.

marine creatures are much more fun when they puff up. he had told his brother who agreed without any insight.

azul can only take much of floyd, and if he’s still keeping to himself by now it must have been serious.

and! more fun to see if pushed too hard. chuckled floyd in his head.

jade does not stray his eyes from azul. “it appears so.” he agreed with a light hum, he took the pack of eggs from floyd’s hands and set it in the basket before the latter got any ideas of breaking it–more so if it was related to throwing them at azul’s head specifically.

“but i would say it is brooding rather than sulking.” he added unhelpfully to azul’s case to which floyd merely shrugged in response.

“you do know i can still hear you both?” azul drawled from the stands. seemingly finding two more ruby berries adequate enough so he discards them at the basket hanging from his inner elbow. when he has forcefully moved his gaze from the fruits to the two, he is given the full extent of the amusement on their faces.

for floyd, lack thereof.

“indeed.” jade flashed him a smile.

floyd continued for him, shifting on his feet with one hand buried beneath his pocket. “that’s why we’re talking, azul.” cause you can hear us.

in response, azul merely crinkled the two of his brows. he briefly pondered to grace them with a response, but what would simply be adding more oil to the flame and he greatly disliked fire. the twins offered a brief respite from the hurricane of thoughts that was you, he supposed he could at least be grateful for that.

even if they clearly didn’t intend so and relished his disdain.

he pushes up the rim of his glasses. “all done?” azul interjected. there were far better thing to use with time rather than spend it all teasing him–or for thinking of good old you that didn’t fit into any equation he drew.

he still snuck you in.

thankfully none of the two had the ability to read minds, as it happens jade might be eerily good at reading but peering into his thoughts was out of his range. if they did, he would simply never hear the end of it, could have left them all alone just so he could have a hint of privacy.

jade nodded, azul hands him the list. “double check in case floyd,” he glared pointedly at said male. “forgets something like last time.”

the last time azul was negligent in checking twice, floyd hadn’t been able to grab a bottle of witch’s essence. mostly because of the presence of you, where floyd had found trailing after you far more interesting than browsing the aisles for what he was supposed to get.

he was supposed to be irritated, he was until he was simply just a bit grateful floyd was near to ward off a persisting customer of the shop who found your ‘less than interesting magic-less capabilities’ apparently interesting enough to poke fun at.

azul didn’t take you with them anymore. due to floyd’s distraction or the possibility you’d be bothered again he isn’t so sure.

of course, he tied off that loose end with jade.

“i don’t get why we couldn’t have done this at sam’s shop.” grumbled floyd, stopping in front of their paths and is then ushered by jade forwards once more. the voice shakes azul from his recollection, that unfortunately was once again related to you–who shall not be named.

jade momentarily eyed azul who stares ahead as if to shake off his piercing stare. “of course, azul would only stop at the best for the prefect.”

the remark burned him. you who shall not be named burned him, and azul sort of liked it. his cheeks flared with warmth and he cleared his throat, fearful that it would come out as a scrawny, weak, affected croak. “this is for our new exclusive offer.” azul retaliated.

“so the birthday bash offer was not for the prefect whose birthday is today?” jade retorted.

the excited it’s shrimpy’s birthday? from floyd was only entertained by his brother who nodded in confirmation. he looks away from azul who made it a point to drill him a stare on the side of his head.

“that makes sense.” floyd said, stopping to lean by the register where the other two transfer their item of goods from the basket to the counter. “everyone else doesn’t deserve anything but nothing except for shrimpy.”

besides the other students that you had ‘beast tamed’ that extended to the twins, jade took you in steadily when you proved to be a fascinating specimen while floyd took more convincing when you pointedly ignored his attempts at intimidation.

now the tweel won’t even leave you alone. azul is only ever grateful a few times for it.

when thought about once, you embedded deeper in the mind. it must be what floyd as doing because he spoke again. “i haven’t seen shrimpy in a looong time,” he pouted, the cashier had rung up half the items at that point. looking sleep deprived, and their chatter was merely background noise.

“it’s only been 7 days.” azul corrected, unwilling to voice the and 2 hours that lingered in response to floyd’s quip.

“you could just say a week.” teased jade. “have you been keeping tabs?”

floyd off-handedly took jade’s phone from his pocket, having forgotten his back at the dorm. the latter does not argue considering it was better to let floyd run amok when the things he desired was innocent.

“i simply like to be informed well.”

ignoring the other two was easy as trein’s class (which was easy because he slept through mot of it). floyd inputted the password of his other and peered as the screen flared to something other than an ominous screen of a forest fungus. he, for one was glad to be free of the sight.

his face does sour into a blach when he finds the last thing jade was on is an online cart full of plants he didn’t bother to remember, and a few he associated with the list of fungi crewel gave them with the book to study for an upcoming test.

floyd isn’t sure if jade was trying out hands on learning or doing something weird with those… things again, like cooking them up and force feeding it to him.

he shuddered.

“about yuu?”

azul glared, floyd spared a glance to quietly laugh at the expression before returning to the device.

way too bright, he sniffed, swiping down to lower the brightness that was obnoxiously raised to the maximum setting and stopped at the myriad of notifications of missed calls.

“you buddy-buddy with oyster?” queried floyd as he found the number seven next to the red ping of a missed call.

jade tilts his head.

“or yellowfin tuna,” he read. “or flounder, or mackerel..”

floyd listed out the names as he scrolled, only pausing when he found the end to be an answered call from you four days ago. azul turns his head after handing off the newly bagged items as they made their way to the exit.

likely, he recognized those to be the species of his employees.

“we are dorm mates.” jade answered, they weren’t friends, colleagues at most but most prominently dorm mates.

floyd held up his phone. “you got like ten million missed calls from everyone at the dorm at this point,” he snorted. “and message from tuna hours ago about the lounge being in chaos.”

“what?” azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i left flounder in charge, he’s capable.”

“clearly not capable enough, did azul make a lapse in judgement?”

“why you–”

“floyd.”

___

the dorm was in fact.

not in chaos?

the three stood befuddled at the surprising serene peace of the lounge. azul in particular crossed his arms and wondered when his employees got off making lies about the state of his lounge. if anything the atmosphere was better simply because everyone on the shift seemed to be in a good mood right now.

oyster passed along a bottle of coral sea refresher to a table of savanaclaw students with a smile which could be the sign of the impending doom of the world because all they knew how to do was brood, and brood, and brood about their state of finance as if azul isn’t their answer to that particular problem.

“did you teleport us to the wrong place?” floyd scratched his head.

“how dare you imply i could make a mistake.” azul snapped, reigning his temper in before he could fully grant floyd the satisfaction of seeing his patience fraying.

“you exerted your magic suddenly without pausing for mistakes.” jade chided. usually a teleportation spell could have moments to spare before the final incantation to polish beforehand to ensure the body is in one piece after the travel. a spontaneous one consumed larger magic due to lack of perfection.

if the reservoirs weren’t enough the spell would simply hurt the body instead.

azul sighed. “what can i do? the lounge cannot run well, or at least i was told.” his face twists into a cold stare of annoyance, eyes skimming the room, likely looking for flounder.

to his displeasure, he does not see them. only the startling smoothness that the lounge operates in at the moment. it was a sight that should have brought him satisfaction–just another variable in his equation to separate from his worries.

instead the sourness that had lingered for days now churned in his gut. no matter how much water he drank to flush it out, it stayed and that was strange because you did not.

floyd shrugged his shoulders. “eh, looks good enough to me. since it’s operating so well, we shouldn’t disturb them.” which was the less subtle form of i don’t want to work. azul could not read jade’s expression as usual, so he was unsure if he agreed with floyd or not.

he stared longer around. looking for a crack in the pristine management to put floyd as a temporary bandage

azul slumped his shoulders. “fine.” he relented, not without a heated glare at the side of floyd’s head.

then the eel was huffing, striding to the back where the dark halls extended to the inner dormitory of octavinelle. intimidating on purpose of course, to ward off just in case any stray, wandering customer came to close.

and of course, if they still looked past that. any octavinelle hungry enough for a fool was welcome to name it their prey.

he glanced sideways. “find flounder. we have much to discuss.” jade nodded, did not pry. a more favorable trait between the two brothers if you asked azul.

azul was just about to turn to the direction of his office, sort out his plans for the following week. ensure his current plans are not falling through, ponder about the state of you or maybe he can pick himself out of his towering, fragile pride that he’d let you tip over if you came back.

maybe.

you likely would not though, once he’s chased off someone they don’t come back. he does not give them a reason to, nothing in him to stay anyway. you had nothing but had something that briefly makes his heart stammer in a way that warms him even in the frigid cold of octavinelle.

he would need several hours to shrug off afterwards, lamenting over the time his thoughts scattered and he scampered around in his mind trying to pick off fragments. azul did not waste time, didn’t make the same mistake twice but still sought you out like a symbolic voice.

he’s never heard you sing, but he wants to hear it more than your stifling silence.

frazzled, azul grasps at the edge of his hat. tilting it down to hide even the slightest of skin over his distraught expression. forget about them! he protested against his mind, now his mind won’t even listen to him lately. stop thinking about them…

“azul,”

“not now jade.” he hissed, eyes shut.

“azul,” again.

“i told you to look for flounder just a second ago.”

“i suppose you don’t want to talk about the child skimming through your contracts?”

“whatever you do is none of my–”

blue eyes snap open to jade, tracing the line of sight.

a cold chill shriveled his spine. he had not fully registered the entirety of jade’s words, the word your contracts is what he zeroed in on with lazer focus as his legs jerked to move towards the bar. where he certainly did not keep his contracts and where a child was certainly skimming through quite a few diligently.

where did they find that? his eyes twitched, eyes unrelenting on the little thing. the better question was, who let it inside of mostro lounge! do any of them know he’s not allowed to bring any in here?

well, no one does.

still! a child? his contracts?

“excuse me,” he halted in front of their tiny frame, their legs barely even meeting the floor and hovering from the stool. if azul had to guess… they required some semblance of assistance to even reach it, begging the question who and why in the world when they are clutching onto his–! “i do believe you should not take what is not yours.”

azul could not help the frown that tugs at his face. he probably looks unfriendly, and frightening to a child now no matter how soft he forced his voice to be. he reaches out and grasps at the edge of the pristine parchment, tugging, smoothly rolling it to tuck into the inside of his coat without another word.

to make up for the sudden motion, he breaks into a smile. “you are not supposed to be here.” he states flatly, half aware of jade’s footsteps coming to a stop beside him.

the eel leans down slightly.

curiously. the child peers up without a sense of startle, just calm observation.

“mister jade.” they murmured.

said male’s brows quirked. “i would have remembered such a… small specimen.” he says, a subtle jab to their knowledge. a nicer way of prying he typically does not spare for problems, after all, it is a kid.

his eyes drift from the child to azul. not to share a look of confusion but to compare the eerie shade of blue that reflected back at him.

in a surprising act of sincerely, the child blinked and glanced at the hand that used to hold his contracts. “I'm sorry, papa.” they murmured, bowing their head in a show of what seems to be genuine atonement. their hand reaches out and clutches onto the coat of his dorm uniform, azul is feeling more surprised to the fact he hadn't recoiled away.

papa? he's not a papa! he blanched, forcing a wobbling smile.

at their point of eye contact only does he notice the striking similarity of his eyes. it reminded him of himself when he was young, that sort of innocence before it was tainted.

gravely. he shook it off.

though they seemed to have mistaken his silence for anger. their lips purse. “don't be mad.”

jade eyed the interaction with a glint of surprise. “you clearly shouldn't have a child in the future if you've made one so upset already.”

azul spares him a heady glare. “be quiet, jade.”

the child frowned lightly at that. “don't be mean to mister jade, papa.”

the eel in question grinned lightly. “that's right, papa. don't be so mean to the kind mister over here.”

azul is tempted to make his stare more harsh, and throw in the good old threat. it always worked for employees out of line, even if it was scarce to work on jade. so he had always pinned the punishment on floyd, who would then pester jade about being dragged about his mess.

that was how to keep jade in line.

halfway into it, he remembers the innocent child in front of him. holding onto him like he was their father. well, they certainly thought so. which was an extremely silly thought. still, azul bites his tongue before he can spew any semblance to ink on land.

once, jade had received the unfortunate end to his ink and wasn't too pleased.

safe to say he had never tried to dent his pot ever again.

azul clicked his tongue but for appearances sake, he manages another practiced smile at the kid. turning his head to hide a grimace as they tugged on his coat. “ahem… dear child, you are not supposed to be here.” he started. he wanted to back track, he did not want to sound like that crow! “how did you get here?”

“how about we inquire about this charming little one's name first?” jade cut smoothly.

the child perked up.

“i’m solon!”

azul's lips twitched–

“I haven't thought about a name yet.”

“don't tell me its another business thing? it's just to differentiate marine life!”

“hmph, I am not always so driven to success. I have time for other things, like pondering, and indulging your silly excuses for passing time like naming these creatures..”

“what would you name that little cutie there then?”

a shy little octopus in the corner? he paused. “a wise one named solon.” proudly said.

–downwards.

he wants to knock on his head this instant. how dare he betray himself again by drifting his thoughts to you? azul cleared his throat and feigned a cough. “is that so?” he croaked.

“and azul is your father, is that why you're here?”

the former shot him a look so incredulous that it was easy to read. you’re kidding. azul’s face read, both a non-verbal message to himself and jade. do i look like a father to you?

jade was almost tempted to give azul a nod out of spite, to see if his expression twist into deeper offense but then again the two had known each other for a while enough to read more clearly than others. they did not use the term friends to describe one another, more of a lasting companionship than anything else.

as long as he continued to be amusing, jade and floyd would stick by him. be occasional thorns on his side but nonetheless still there.

azul opened his mouth to reply before he could get prodded at further.

solon already answered for him with a nod. “yes, my papa.” to which azul’s eyes bulged through the fogging lens of his glasses. jade had never seen him so discombobulated that he could not help an amused, low chuckle under his breath,

always so interesting. he thought with a simpering smile. he’ll stay by for a while it seems. shouldn’t he call floyd to share the laugh?

it was not azul that pushed up the rim of his sliding glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his seeming younger counterpart. “papa’s establishment was failing so i saved it.” they added.

that solves the why is the lounge operating so good. so that means flounder was out of azul’s red zone. for now anyway!

“excuse you?” azul stammered. “mostro lounge is many things, but it is not a failing establishment!”

solon blinked. “oh, it's a mostro lounge? i thought it was an aquarium.”

“azul was always thinking of having something other than a restaurant for business.” jade mused in reply.

azul could not believe the audacity of this child. coincidentally looking the same as him or not… sharing the same name he shared only with you or not… mostro lounge could only be his only real child, something he raised from ground up with his own blood, sweat and tears yet here was this strange child…

he glanced up, watching the lounge around. azul will not deny that if solon really took care of mostro lounge in his absence, and flounder’s apparent incompetence…

his eyes glimmered. a business opportunity! his mind swooned. “would you like to work for me?” azul grinned lightly, voice tinged with sweetness.

again, jade unhelpfully cut in. “you’ll be arrested for child labor.”

oh, right that was a thing.

azul’s smile faded immediately as he sighed. if only chances came to him like this little one on a silver platter everyday, his business would simply be booming. he would even entertain jade’s idea of variety in his line.

it wouldn’t be too bad.

that way the names you bestowed upon those oblivious fish would be put to use.

ah! internally, he slapped himself.

on the other hand. jade was having the highlight of his day. he would say time of his life but that was only ever reserved for the time azul was scampering around to find a suitable gift for you for… well, no reason that he can remember at all.

after all, he had not been given the pleasure of seeing a pink octopus until then.

in hindsight. he noticed azul was quite down under the works, and even that description was too far off to describe the spiral of a mood that azul seemed to be going through. funny for a while but now quite boring. thankfully, this random child that spoke of odd things made azul interesting once more.

that interest transferred over to them in an instant as he surveyed their form. he had never met this one so he was not so sure how they knew of him, or even spoke so politely with respect for that matter. jade is used to seeing being held in high regard out of fear, not such positive emotion.

a grin breaks his lips apart as he spots the dangling shell initially hidden by their little sweater.

once upon a time he spied on azul giving you the exact same thing…

seems like my theory is correct.

wouldn’t it be hilarious to slap azul with that kind of truth?

“azuuuuul!”

the said male immediately groaned.

solon eyes brightened, letting go of azul’s coat instinctively as the latter quickly straightened his uniform. azul sighed deeply, bracing his remaining brain cells to stick together as he turned. “floyd, how many times do i have to tell you that yelling is unbecoming in the–”

he shuts his mouth at the sight of a blank faced you.

floyd, proudly it seemed, shook his arms in your direction as if you were a surprise. a surprise yes, but certainly not a pleasant one–! “tada!” cackled floyd, sliding an arm around your shoulders and tilting to the side. you wordlessly followed. “i got a tilting shrimpy with me!”

“kidnapped.” you corrected. not too pleased with the sight of azul either which only seemed to fuel floyd’s amusement.

oh. is that what it was? floyd was bored and in dire need of a drama to watch?

at first. you did not notice the little kid. neither did floyd considering he only ever paid attention to his area of ‘people’ which happened to be very few right now. so solon slipped from his radar, only paid attention to when he barrelled to your side.

startled. you hold a hand to their head in case they toppled over from the speed and force they ran over to you with.

floyd shamelessly pointed. “an fry shrimplet sticking to the shrimpy!”

all three of you send him incredulous glances.

“mada!” solon exclaimed with bright eyes, briefly glancing at floyd. “and mister floyd!”

the male in question tilts his head, looks at you, looks at solon, looks at azul then back at solon. “the fry talks!” he blinked.

“of course i talk. you’re always weird, mister floyd.” solon replied, not an ounce of intimidation on their chubby little face at floyd hovering until he leaned down to curiously peer at them. he pokes their chubby cheeks with a grin.

“you’re weird.” floyd retorted like it was obvious, another poke to their cheek has his teeth widening. “and round, hey, hey… you kinda look like az–”

“floyd!” azul snapped with rapidly warming cheeks.

when the male frantically waved floyd over–several times until the latter relented and swaggered forwards, you take the chance to adjust your grip on the child. feeling a sort of responsibility to treat youth with care came naturally as you settled one of your hands on the back of their head, letting them nuzzle all they liked on your stomach.

the other smoothed down the curve of their solider. you felt movement against your front, no doubt a delighted quirk of their lips. it brought a light smile of your own despite your initial wariness to be in the same presence as the intruder of your thoughts.

thoughts that came in either harsh hurricanes, memories less than pleasant swirling around in your head like a storm you can only brace yourself from or a gentle breeze, lighter memories that you couldn’t hold onto as they passed.

nor did you want to remember it again.

“hello there,” you greeted politely at the child who tightened their arms in response. when they looked up their lids were blown open, staring upwards at you with what you presume to be marvel. being the object of such a sentiment has you warming, absentmindedly patting their head. “i’m yuu.”

you also miss the look of offense flashing through azul’s face before he schools it into stubborn neutrality.

“i know!” bubbled the increasingly excited child who promptly bit the inside of their cheek lest they overflow. control what you show. solon thought to themselves but that was so incredibly hard when they could only focus on what they feel!

and what they felt was incredible admiration. even if you were unmistakably younger, more expressive due to the passage of time not caressing your soul long enough for you to be a cultivated version of yourself… this was still the same person that made your house a home alongside their father, who took a more prominent role in managing the smooth flow of the home.

you smiled wider, pinching their cheek. you could melt into a puddle with how the adorable fat stretches as you tugged lightly. would it be possible to shake this little one into oblivion out of cuteness? “i’m solon.” newly introduced solon adds, clearing their throat. “but mada, and papa calls me sol.”

mada? your smile doesn’t falter but you do blink slowly. papa?

you sniffed, glancing up the trio who appeared to be watching you with deep fascination. jade, more so, floyd, less so. azul… was staring pointedly at solon.

“is there a teen father at night raven or did you kidnap some child?” you snorted, tone laced with skepticism.

jade in particular side eyed azul and you followed his sight and could not help your train of thought as you peered back at solon, noting their similar features. huh.

“not at all.” the eel replied smoothly. “azul was just about to recruit a new hire though.”

you blanched. “that’s illegal!” or at least in your world it was… hopefully in this world it is? azul in question immediately straightened up at the feel of your disappointment rolling in waves and he could not help but sputter in defense of his already shattered reputation by you.

“i knew that!” he cried. too aggressive in the manner he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose to actually know that. “why wouldn’t i?”

“probably only seeing madol rather than the law.”

floyd snickers from his side–having grown bored of remaining idle, and instead striding towards you. he grasps at solon’s arm, about to pull them up and you frantically correct his manner of holding a child before letting him lift them up.

he holds him up under his arms and tilting his head. “you’re even smaller than shrimpy.”

floyd ignores you boldly smacking his side when he feigns dropping solon, who surprisingly does not even yelp in surprise. only blinking when they were temporarily suspended in air, and caught again. this time closer to your side as you tugged on floyd’s arm with a simmering glare.

“that’s a child, floyd!”

“eh? i just see a sticky fry.”

“you need to handle solon with more care. they’re not like me who you can throw around for a bit, i won’t stand for it.”

“shrimpy survived all the rough stuff and now, look. you’re tougher than all those other kids.”

the heat of your stare heightened until floyd pouted and deposited solon to your side. you shuffled several steps backwards. “that’s not how it works.” you pinched the bridge of your nose, refusing to open your eyes when floyd barked out an sure it is!

you also ignore floyd now attempting to rile you up once more–looking for entertainment, which is apparently you brawling with him.

“how did you even end up here?” you sighed defeatedly. at least you weren’t roped into reconciling with azul, which was what you initially thought when floyd popped out from the octavinelle’s mirror in the chamber. he had spotted you chatting with your heartslabyul companions and when they departed back to the space of their dorms he pounced on you.

no polite requests of letting you go loosened his grip as he hauled you to the lounge.

now you were, not talking to azul but instead holding a smaller version of him it seemed. well, good thing this one was cuter than that idiot.

you were spiralling back to azul and your face must have darkened because solon had paused to eye your microexpressions carefully. the squinting of your eyes, the displeased curl of your lips that only pulled down further the more you unconsciously glanced at azul…

he muttered something under his breath.

again, you sighed. “sorry–what was that?”

strangely enough, floyd stopped speaking.

… so did jade who joined floyd to pester solon with endless questions. do you only stick to shrimps? what do you do for your past time? why are you an algae? would you inform authorities if we took you under our wing?

you didn’t even want to question the last part.

when you look up floyd’s mouth was open in an intermittent yawn–one of his eyes was shut and there was moisture gathered on the corners. he was still staring quite interestedly at solon while jade seemed to just… stand still as a statue.

neither of them blinked.

feeling just like the day you found out magic was apparently real and people here could just levitate a remote back to them across a room, you snapped your gaze around. even the customers remained unmoving. you spotted a group of savanaclaw, one pointedly having hurled a glass towards a half dead server of octavinelle who had their back turned.

you contemplate walking over to save that guy from a possible injury before identifying said student to be one of your previous perpetrators–getting your stuff (especially when it was from professor crewel. back then you went to classes without much simply because you were too shameful to ask once more for a replacement) dumped in the fountain was indeed no fun.

goodluck with that. you mused in your head. call it your petty way of payback.

you glanced around for moments longer, lingering on kalim’s midst at some table.

“what in the world…”

apparently azul could move, like you. you’re not sure why and even dreading your predicament. in what world would time freeze and the only one unaffected is you, oh, yeah. your enemy that you self proclaimed in your head? twisted wonderland apparently…

besides your increasingly disgruntled face that you no longer try to mask in the presence of others considering azul is only ever the one you’d show such blatant dislike to now, he looks positively floored. while the turn of his head is slow as he stared around, his eyes are wide through his rims.

the arms encircled around your waist slid off, bringing your attention to solon who frowns lightly. their previous look of sparkling warmth was still present in their eyes, simply dwindled to highlight their look of seriousness. they crossed their arms.

“you’re my before mada,” solon pointed at you, then to azul. “you’re my before papa so now you have to go back to being lovey so i can go back to my mada and papa.”

both of your jaws drop.

“what?!”

“wait a second–this is going too fast.” you blurted, feeling a bit flustered. who would drop a big bomb like that so suddenly? this kid was saying you and azul have a kid in the far time ahead!

didn’t that mean you chose to stay here? or perhaps you never really did find a way back…

implications aside, it was certainly… an experience to hear it being said so outright. azul seems to think the same due to him gasping out an: “y-you mean…” he gaped, eyes darting to you and solon with reddening ears. “they’re my… we… have a…?”

gosh he was going to faint.

it was at least a pleasure to witness the eloquent azul struggling to conjure a coherent sentence. the more he glanced at you the more prominent his change of color was. it didn’t help that his attire helped it contrast from his complexion.

solon giggled, momentarily dropping their face of seriousness. “you said i’m the product of your love.”

azul squawked. “i said that?!” but, that was just so… embarrassing to say! why would his future self say that?!

you frowned. “is this a joke?” you asked seriously only deadpanning when solon nods.

“please make up,” they said sincerely. sensing both of your skeptism, they reached under the collar of their shirt pulling out a shell necklace that eerily seemed similar to–

your hand instinctively flew over your collarbone. panic giving way to unwanted relief. azul watched the motion.

he thought you threw it away since he did not see it.

“i want to go home.”

you simpered bitterly. you did too.

“mada please forgive my weird papa.” solon beamed, ignoring azul’s look of offense.

“if you do you’ll go home too.”

your throat twisted.

“you said me and papa is your home.”

before solon can spot the look of frozen shock from your face, they whirled around, smacking azul on the leg. the latter winces but didn’t look as reluctant as before. he’s even staring at you in the eye with something unreadable and heavy in his.

azul seemed to be weighing his pride the size of a mountain and the depth of his feelings for you that could probably only be measured by the neverending sea. it wasn’t infinite like some cheesy someone would proclaim, but it was calm at some parts, rough at the other but certainly deep.

something he can’t pinpoint a how but he knows.

he sighed deeply. “i apologize.” he said finally, voice low like he only wanted it to flow between the space of the three of you despite the time frozen. azul felt like that was how he spoke to his business transaction partners so he rephrased himself, there was a lot of them and only one of you. “i’m sorry.”

you squinted.

“my mind was clouded before.” he pursed his lips. “i… don’t want you to be special. that only meant you would be something others would be reaching for, i don’t want that. i’m selfish. you’re so special in a way that i can never take ahold of and keep to myself. i dislike it.”

“you’re terrible at communicating.” you pointed out gruffly. albeit less hostile than before, more inclined to hear him out. was being terrible with emotions an admission requirement here? is the concept of affection illegal?

azul chuckled at that. he did not smile–tried to but it fell. “with you it seems so.”

“yeah.”

“i don’t know how to atone.” he admitted and you only furrowed your brows.

“being mean to me isn’t a sin but it sure was unfair.”

you only heard a quiet agreement from him and pointed accusingly. “you’re going to listen to my demands until i say so, okay?”

iffed but carrying a plank to bridge the distance between two mountains, azul nods. “we should discuss it over a contract. i won’t change any terms.”

which was his sad version of an apology. you’ve come to learn that individuals here deviated from the normal and morally right way of doing things. the most you could do was to recognize that this was this world’s version of grovelling on the knees.

you only focused your attention on the brightening solon–literally bright like he was about to get sent to heaven or something. he was only smiling lighty, no teeth. something you’d see on azul’s face but solon did well in expressing something so little sincerely. his expression was brighter than the light he was encased in.

“you’re going home?” you sniffed, aware of azul quietly shuffling to the side where you were in your peripheral vision as if his small steps weren’t noticeable. you didn’t comment on it.

solon nodded enthusiastically. “mhm. thank you.”

they did not bother with a goodbye, it wasn’t a goodbye. they’d see you soon.

“bye, sol.”

you elbowed azul who had somehow managed to awkwardly stand by your left in the span of a few seconds.

he coughed, side eyeing you. “farewell, sol. keep that necklace safe. it is very precious.”

the child laughed. “don’t worry. papa has all the stuff he gave to mada in a box under your bed.”

azul’s eye twitched. “off you go.” it was more of to finally drag you off somewhere himself and a little bit of not letting any of his future secrets be jeopardized.

when the last proof of solon’s existence fades before your eyes, the world starts again.

“-our wing–?” jade finished, frowning when the spot where solon used to be, in front of you, was replaced by nothing.

he blinked. directing his gaze to azul, noticeably lighter who seemed to be quietly exchanging words with you.

“the heck?” guffawed floyd, rearing his head to squint at the two of you. “when did they make up!”

“go back to work.” azul snapped, grasping at your wrist and dragging you off to the direction of the back.

“are you two getting started on solon already?”

“jade!”

trivia

if you guessed, the time stop was solon’s unique magic: “a chilling stop” very boring name, i know. i kind of just spew the children’s UM names off the top of my head! like you have observed it is simply pausing time within a decimated space for a period of time. in this case, solon only paused time inside the lounge. everything outside remained in motion. the larger the range, the harder it is to keep up.

solon is written to be a ten year old cutie pie male! the necklace he was wearing is what past azul gave to past yuu, and future yuu will eventually give it to solon (yes, azul actually does have a box of trinkets he collected. some things from you, the other reminds him of you. it accumulated over the years and he couldn’t stop)

like the other kids who had specified conditions to return, in solon’s time, future yuu and future azul was in a fight, and he coincidentally (or intentionally?) got warped to a time where past yuu and past azul was also in a fight. their conditions to return home was to reconcile their before parents.

when they came back future parents also made up <3 (idk i am just yapping at this point)

yeah. azul was out here trying to recruit a kid just because they ended up doing pretty well with managing the lounge lol.

i accidentally deviated from my outline lol! originally azul was supposed to start interrogating the employees currently on shift as to why they’re letting a kid run the lounge. it was chaos before and solon made it run smoothly so they kind of just accepted it. better than azul coming back to chaos, right?

floyd’s nickname for solon “fry shrimplet” deviates from the babies of shrimps.

as you can see i didn’t see that particular line and i was writing the ending when i saw it!

the names of the employees are not their actual names lol but rather their species, just like what i did for leona’s part with the side characters.

🔖: @lostsomewhereinthegarden @staplertwst @rinis-reality @rhyzoma @iamprodigious @irzali-imagines @glitterandgoldfinds @luna-looniesblog @wokasiv @readrecieptoff @miyaswmire @dakissomewhere @yourfavouritecitizen @rei-vii @colombia-chan @ceramic-raven @leitor-sonolento @night-shadowblood-writes2 @ms-shroud @bju3c0re @usernamesarehardtomake @wonderlandcrown @los3rtown | @squishychongyun @brights-place @mochiclouds @sol3chu @runu-chan @random-fandoms7 @minkyungseokie

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comatosebunny09 · 7 months ago

Text

apt 302 | sylus q.

— summary: at first, your new neighbor was as mysterious as he was handsome. after taking some time to get to know him—or forcing your way into his quiet life—you realize looks can be deceiving. — cw: gn reader, neighbors au, neighbors to friends to lovers, profanity, innuendoes, jealousy, misunderstandings, stalker ex, alcohol use, guns mentioned, self-indulgent, allusions to reincarnation, angst, pet names, sylus being an insufferable gentleman, slice of life — dividers by: @omi-resources — notes: this grew way longer than i expected, soooooo you’re gonna hate me for what comes next. anyways, thank you so much for reading! — now playing: my favorite person now - she was pretty ost — tagging: @alfredosaws, @chuppiechanchan @hao-ming-8 @antonneva @sunsets-and-crows @leighsartworks216 @grabby-smitten @nebulorra @minniestarmj @elysiums-light @saiaise @queenofstresss @beewilko @aetherscribit @libriomancer @world-of-hearts @awkwardnurse @huachengnism

Information Technology isn’t as cushy of a field as you initially thought.

Sure, you have a desk job doing the most mundane of things—working the help desk, troubleshooting devices, re-imaging computers. But your job isn’t without its drawbacks.

Sometimes, the days are long and arduous. The constant customer interaction doesn’t help matters; you’re a bit of an introvert, requiring five business days to recover from just a few hours of socializing.

So, forgive you for seeking a little respite in the form of your favorite set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers as you ease into your apartment.

The weight of the world sloughs off your shoulders when the door leading inside clicks shut behind you. You sigh gratefully, the sound of your keys clattering against your entryway table, intermingling with that of your AC humming to life.

You hang your bag and sweater on the coat rack. Trade your uncomfortable shoes for house slippers, the soreness in your heels slowly retreating. The last vestiges of sunlight creep through the slits of your blinds to bathe your home in its ethereal glow before ducking behind the horizon.

Your apartment is humble. Has a natural, minimalistic vibe with bits of decor displaying your personality sprinkled throughout. You already pay the price of a kidney and two lungs to stay here. No use investing in posh furniture when your job sometimes requires you to pick up and go at the drop of a hat.

Your stomach growls whilst you draw your curtains shut and turn on some ambient lighting via your phone. You’ll eat soon, you promise. For now, you’re on a mission.

Quietly, you move through your home in search of your laundry area, thoroughly prepared to slip into your PJs following a shower to jumpstart your weekend.

Too bad a pile of sopping wet clothes awaits you when you open your dryer door.

“Goddammit,” said under your breath as you mash the power button. It won’t turn on. Figures. You kick the offending appliance. Stupid thing must be out again.

You had set your clothes to dry before you left for work. You were looking forward to snuggling up with wine and your favorite show, donned in comfy clothes. Seems your dryer had other plans.

You should’ve replaced it months ago when it first started acting up. You had hoped to salvage it a little longer; appliances don’t come cheap these days. Besides, you’ve had a darling neighbor to fix it each time. To extend its lifespan.

Speaking of which—

Chewing your lip, you pad over your cold, hardwood floor to snatch your phone from the coffee table. Fall onto your couch cushions with a devious smile twitching your lips. It’s getting late, so you don’t think to badger him into tinkering with your dryer tonight. However, perhaps he’ll let you utilize his. At least until you can use your day off tomorrow to shop for a replacement.

You hover your thumb over his contact, his name flanked by crow emojis. Contemplate calling him, but what if he’s busy? This is usually about the time he’s leaving. Instead, you settle for opening your messaging app, already conjuring an excuse.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): lol (Sylus): good morning to you too. (You): 😒😒😒 dude it’s like 6 (Sylus): 🤷‍♂️ (Sylus): im just now getting up. long day at the office. (Sylus): whats up? (You): are you busy tonight?? (Sylus): not really. 😏 what did you have in mind ? (You): pause. not like that (Sylus): 😢 (You): my dryer’s out again (Sylus): ah. want me to take a look? (You): nah you already do so much (You): is it cool if i use yours tho? 😬😬😬 (You): i’ll bring you booze (Sylus): lol (Sylus): its fine sweetie. doors unlocked. ill be in the shower. help yourself. (You): 🙏🙏🙏

You take your time gathering your saturated clothes into a basket. On your way out, you snag a bottle of Merlot from your fridge.

No matter how often you’ve been here, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how much more… put together Sylus’ place is compared to yours.

It suits him—the black and red furniture, the stylish accents littering his apartment. It smells delightful inside, a mixture of mahogany and amber enmeshed with remnants of food. Soulful jazz flows from a record player, fitting the sepia-toned glow of floor lamps and candles flickering on every other surface.

You toe the door shut behind you. Feel so small and out of place amid his decor. You’ve only recently started coming here, having spent much of your time together inside your apartment. Regardless, you navigate his space like it’s your second home, finding his washer and dryer set.

After starting your clothes in the dryer, you wander back to the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of your cardigan. You take some time to admire the atmosphere. Fingers skim over the various vinyls organized on a built-in bookcase on the wall.

You snort with a half-smile. You know so little about your neighbor, yet you know just enough to be this comfortable with him.

He’s a music buff; that much is for sure. He’s clearly made of money if the luxurious furniture and his car are anything to go by. You don’t press him about what he does for a living. Figure he values his privacy above all else, unlike you.

You’re an open book. The primary yapper in your acquaintanceship, prattling on about your life and aspirations. And he just sits there, wordlessly nodding with a polite smile behind the rim of his glass. Where you would otherwise be wary of being in someone’s home like this, you feel safe around him in a way that almost terrifies you.

“Admiring the decor,” teases a voice from behind.

You jolt, spinning around like you’ve been caught stealing. You’re met with a smirk beneath scarlet eyes, twinkling with mischief. Strands of white cling to Sylus’ forehead, damp from the warm spray of his shower. He towels his hair dry, maneuvering around the living set towards you.

“Hey, you,” you greet, trying to play it cool. Like your heart isn’t hammering and heat isn’t branching into your cheeks. You attempt to maintain eye contact. It’s increasingly difficult to do so with his physique peeking through his t-shirt and sweats like that.

“Hey, yourself.” There’s amusement in the deep gravel of his voice. A smile in his eyes as he studies you, draping his towel around his shoulders.

You swallow. Try to divert the subject, motioning to his record collection. “You got some new tunes, I see.”

A chuckle is dredged from the bowels of his chest. You feel it pull in your stomach. “Sure did. Got something you might like.”

God help you as he reaches around you, the fine hairs littering your body standing on end, your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Unconsciously, you step back, your spine softly thudding against the records display. Your heartbeat’s on a warpath, and you swallow against the dryness of your throat as the veiny, sinewy muscle in his forearm stains your periphery.

He gives you a bemused look before slowly peeling a record from the shelf behind you. Steps back to fish out the vinyl and settle it on the platter, replacing the record that was just playing.

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Good job playing it cool, dumbass.

“You alright?” Sylus quizzes with a raised brow. “You seem a little on edge tonight, sweetie.”

You sigh, schooling an unconvincing smile onto your face. Try to ignore how the term of endearment glides off his tongue so effortlessly. You wonder how many other people he addresses like that.

“Work was…rough today. Kicked my ass. I’m tired.”

A snarling sound invades the space between you, heard over the gentle croon of the new music. Your eyes fall to your stomach. You rub it placatingly. In all your haste to have some dry friggin’ clothes, you forgot to eat.

“And hungry, too,” you sheepishly add.

You glance up, and Sylus’ gaze tracks from your stomach to your face. He smirks knowingly, motioning with a nod toward his kitchen.

“Figured you didn’t eat yet. I made carbonara if you’d like some.”

You smile wryly at his back as he pads away, carrying the scent of cedarwood and bergamot with him. Where would you be without such a doting neighbor?

You track him to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold, you watch him procure a bottle of water from his fridge. It’s so very small, dwarfed by his massive hand.

“I suddenly got called for a Teams meeting five minutes ago.”

Your heart drops, the smile nearly falling from your face. And here you thought you’d have his company over dinner.

Suddenly, he taps your nose, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed when he got closer, swaddled in the static of your bodies being so close. “Where did you run off to,” he rasps, searching your gaze for something.

The proximity of your bodies grows stifling, his warm breath glazing over your skin, dizzying. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he steps back, leaving you shell-shocked and utterly confused.

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” he says, brushing past you with an air of finality.

You strain your ears for the noise of a distant door shutting before you make your move, rummaging through his cupboards and drawers for a plate and cutlery. After you’ve scooped a decent helping of food onto your plate, you settle onto one of his velvet couches, cross-legged and shoveling food into your maw.

The fluttering of wings piques your interest. You’ve hardly any time to acknowledge him before a tuft of black, iridescent feathers shines from Sylus’ coffee table. The crow studies you curiously, ingesting you with his beady eyes before he preens himself.

“Me-fith-toe!” you greet around a mouthful of food.

Said crow ducks away, dodging errant crumbs and spit flying from your mouth, cawing in protest. You give him a rueful look.

Sylus has a soft spot for animals. You noted it the first time you entered his apartment, greeted by his boisterous companion. Funny; he doesn’t look like the type to have such an eccentric pet.

But Sylus has found numerous ways of pleasantly surprising you, revealing parts of himself to you bit by agonizing bit.

“Chicken?” you say after finally swallowing, offering a forkful of pasta to the bird. Mephisto scrutinizes the food before resigning himself to pecking at it. You smile fondly, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Mephisto, you cannibal.”

Lulled by the occasional flap of Mephisto’s wings and Sylus’ even tone murmuring things of business somewhere far off in his home, you fall into a familiar rhythm, quietly waiting for your clothes to dry.

You spend the remainder of your evening in your neighbor’s company, drinking Merlot and judging each other’s music tastes, long after your pajamas have dried and settled in the dryer.

“So, have you boned yet?”

You choke on your waffle. Pound on your chest with the heel of your palm to dislodge it. You turn narrowed eyes on the source of the question. She merely shrugs from across the table, sipping her mimosa as if she’s asked the most innocent thing.

“Bitch.”

“What?” She appears nonplussed, setting her champagne flute down with a definitive clack. All serious when she returns your stare over crossed arms, and you know you’re in for it.

“You talk about the guy so much I figured you would’ve already, ya know…” The humping gesture she makes under the table is a bit much.

You blanch. “No, dumbass, I haven’t boned.” Your voice peters towards the end of your sentence. And you peer down at the napkin folded in your lap, heat prickling your face.

You won’t deny Sylus is good-looking. More like he could be someone modeling Prada on a catwalk. Can’t pretend you haven’t entertained the thought of being a little closer to him, too. More than just the late nights spent talking or him fixing something you broke.

You shake your head. Of all the times you’ve been tucked away in either of your apartments, he’s never made a move on you. Sure, he’s said some pretty suss things. Flirted with you outside of your usual banter.

And maybe he’s done things to confuse the ever-loving hell out of you—cooked you breakfast when you were drunk off your ass and hungover the next morning. Lended you one of his expensive record players. Shacked up at your place a few times under the guise of “coming to get Mephisto.” But—

Nah. He’s not like that. You’re just neighbors, right? Unofficial friends. Friends hang out all the time, right?

“He’s not like that,” you say brattishly, stuffing more food into your face. At least not with you.

You don’t miss your coworker’s fox-like grin spreading in your periphery. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, watching you like a smug sibling about to snitch.

“Sure, sure. If you say so. He’s still a man, though. He might not have tried you yet—”

“Hush,” you interject. The table shakes, cups rattling as you saw into your sausage with your fork and butter knife. You’re done with this conversation.

Try as you might, however, you can’t banish your thoughts revolving around him. Especially with your coworker watching you like that, silently egging you on.

He’s not that kind of guy.

He’s still a man, though.

You’ve repeated it like a mantra throughout your day, even as you mindlessly clacked away at your computer.

Work was a blur. An exhausting blur. Day gave way to the soothing exhale of night, and you were finally nestled in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, on your couch, entertaining yourself with a game of Uno. It wasn’t much fun playing alone, but you needed a distraction from the mess of your mind when your favorite show couldn’t help.

It’s a quarter past 9 when a shuffling sound in the breezeway outside your apartment catches your attention. It’s accompanied by the echoed rasp of a recognizable voice, chuckling and murmuring indiscernible things.

You peel yourself from your couch as if on autopilot, nose pressed against the cold metal of your door as you peer through the peephole.

It’s your nightly ritual—waiting like an overzealous puppy to greet or send off your neighbor. You don’t always get the luxury of saying goodnight in person. Sometimes, he’s gone for days—weeks—at a time. You don’t know the semantics of his job, but you make it your mission to help assuage whatever burdens he shoulders whenever you can.

He’s there to help you, after all. Whether with a glass of wine, a warm meal, or his company.

So, forgive you for wanting to be a decent neighbor. And you would be tonight if not for the scene that passes through the fisheye of your peephole.

It’s Sylus, clad in something flattering and expensive. There’s no mistaking his broad back and shoulders. The purl of his voice, the wispy dusting of alabaster hair on his collar. But the smaller frame with him, well—

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

She’s pretty from what you can glean from the limited view of your peephole. Donned in a dress that’s form-fitting, voice high and light. Giggling silly things, fastened to Sylus’ side, held there by a virile arm draped around her middle. She’s drunk if the sloppy lean of her body is anything to go by. Sylus angles himself near her ear to whisper something, ushering in a new set of giggles.

You watch with your breath corked in your esophagus until they slide into his apartment together, their enmeshed voices fading from the stilled walls of the hallway.

Huh. Well, so much for him not being that type of guy.

You grapple with this new revelation, a furrow between your brows, hands falling listlessly at your sides. Numb as you drag yourself back to your couch, bouncing comically on the cushions.

You don’t even know why you’re upset. He's a grown man with a…life. You think.

It’s the first time you’ve witnessed him bringing someone to his place other than you, but it’s only natural for a guy like him to have options. He’s far from hideous. Has the gift of gab, for God’s sake. He’s charming and the very definition of masculine.

It just stings a little, knowing that it’s not…you that he’s touching like that.

So, you are definitely not flinging Uno cards onto the coffee table. Muttering things to yourself, gripping the stack in your hands so tightly, the plastic squeaks. What’s even got your undies in a bunch? The man’s not yours. You’ve never screwed around. Never really showed signs of wanting to, so it makes sense he would seek pleasures of the flesh elsewhere. His world doesn’t solely revolve around you as much as you would like for it to.

You’re halfway through a third round of angry card-flinging before a soft rap at your door nearly sends you some 30 feet into the air.

Stomping to your entrance, you peek through the peephole, and your heart works overtime when you catch sight of a wash of black and scarlet.

Internally, you scold yourself for how gullible you are. You throw the door open like you weren’t just cursing him and his stupid existence moments ago. Try to act nonplussed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe with a haughty look.

Of course, he would smell good. Look good, propped against the threshold like that, an amused cant to his lips, his physique devastating beneath the tight cling of his turtleneck.

“Hey,” he greets, the sound breathy and easy like warmed honey.

“Hey, yourself.”

He studies you for a bit. Eyes flicker over your face, and you tamp down the sparkling rush of warmth that wades over your skin at the attention. Even when you’re mad at him, your attraction still finds an annoying way of creeping through the seams.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange, and feel free to tell me to piss off, but…do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

You stand up straight. Blink owlishly, mouth opening and closing. “Huh?” is all you’re able to muster.

He chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this side of bashful. “Yeah. It’s a…bit of a long story, sweetie.”

“O-Okay,” you say, rigidly moving aside.

“Thanks.” The charm is back on, turned up to max capacity. He brushes past you into your apartment, falling onto your couch with a huff. Quirks a brow at the mishap on your table, the carnage having spilled onto the floor.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but were you playing Uno by yourself?”

You ignore him, plopping cross-legged on a floor cushion adjacent to him. Bypassing the tick in your brow, you look off to the side, fighting the embarrassment threatening to take hold of your visage. Shouldn’t he be across the hall, entertaining his company?

“Shut up and grab some cards,” you grumble to dispel the green-eyed thoughts stewing in your mind.

“Bossy.” But he doesn’t contest you, gathering the abused cards to shuffle them.

The remainder of your evening slides by with comfortable quips. With booze and a break to catch up on Love Is Blind—somehow, he’d roped you into watching it.

You had no idea he was such a sap. Nearly forgotten how miffed you were mere hours ago.

He assuaged your worries with an explanation as the sun crept over the city.

The girl in his apartment was an old colleague who’d gotten drunk and convinced herself that she was anything but.

Being a good samaritan, Sylus brought her to his place to sober up since the apartment complex wasn’t too far from the main strip of bars. He didn’t want any issues when she inevitably woke up. Messing with drunk people wasn’t his thing.

So that’s how he ended up here, inhabiting your couch like he’d always been a part of the decor.

He didn’t owe you an explanation. You were just friends. Still, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that twitched your lips after he cleared the air.

At some point in the morning, you both fell asleep. He looked all serene, too big for your sofa, but comfortable. You watched his lashes flutter from your place on the floor, his lips parting with soundless exhales. Even in sleep, he maintained that guarded aura, his arms folded across his chest.

You were bleary-eyed, gathering yourself from the hardwood to fetch a blanket to drape over him. He shifted, and he was so pretty with the sun bathing him in an angelic glow like that, his hair bright like a halo.

You were about to retreat to your bedroom when an abrupt knock tore you from your reverie. You glanced at your guest, ensuring he went undisturbed. He needed the rest. He was a night owl, and something about the sun vexed him, so he typically spent his days sleeping when you weren’t impeding on his time.

You moved to the door, foregoing the peephole to open it. Big mistake.

On the other side stood Little Miss Pretty from the night prior, impatiently tapping her foot. Her hair was flattened on one side, and her dress was askew. By the looks of it, sleep hadn’t been kind to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she sighed, schooling her expression into fake politeness. She straightened herself as best she could, but the white patch of dried slob staining her chin did little to help her plight. You bit back a snicker.

“I’m looking for a friend. He lives across from you. His name’s Skye.”

You quirked a brow at that. Skye? Oh, honey…

You wondered how many other people Sylus had fed a fake alias to. Or if Sylus was even his real name.

“Haven’t seen him,” you chirped over crossed arms. Pulled the door slightly closed behind you, barring the woman from getting a peek at him, nuzzled up so cozily on your couch.

She sighed with slumped shoulders. A childish pout warped her lips. Her voice shifted into something more bratty. “You sure? Tall guy, white hair, red eyes? You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Not ringing a bell, hun. Sorry.”

It was taking all of you to keep up this ruse. You were fighting so hard to tamp down your amusement. This woman reminded you of an antagonist in a Korean drama, the way she was kicking and huffing about.

“Where the hell did he go,” she groused. You watched her draw her phone from the pocket of her fur coat, your throat growing dry.

Your blood turned to ice when a familiar ringtone chimed in your apartment behind you. You stiffened comically; mouth hinged open with shock.

The woman’s expression morphed into one of suspicion. She tried to look inside your home, the upbeat ring of Sylus’ phone still flooding the uncomfortable silence.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to assert her way inside. “What the fu—”

“Hey, girlie. Back the hell off before I call the police,” you warned with a hand pushed to her sternum. She insisted on being unruly, so you snatched your taser from the entryway table, the telltale blue sparks and sharp whip of static causing the woman to jolt back with alarm.

“You’re both insane!” she shouted from the hallway, the stomp of her heels reverberating off the walls as she made her way to the stairwell.

With a relieved sigh deflating your chest, you eased the door shut. Leaned against it, glancing at the man of the hour. He was still fast asleep, his leg dangling off the edge of your sofa. You smirked knowingly, shaking your head as you disappeared into your bedroom.

You’d let him sleep for as long as he needed. And you’d give him shit when he awoke about his taste in acquaintances.

(Sylus): hungry? (You): a little. was gonna make some ramen if you want (Sylus): 🤢 (Sylus): that stuffs terrible for your digestion sweetie. (Sylus): how about i make you dinner instead ? (Sylus): at the supermarket. need anything? (You): 😲😲😲 (You): you keep spoiling me and i might think you like me (Sylus): 😏 (You): nvm. no don’t need anything. lemme know when you’re back (You): i can help with groceries (Sylus): now who likes who? (You): fkdkos (Sylus): ? (You): sorry fat fingers

You have a nasty habit of not using your peephole as of late.

Your apartment came with one for a reason. Sure, your neighborhood’s been pretty tame since you’ve moved here. But that doesn’t mean the occasional weirdo doesn’t slip past security, roaming the halls and startling the other tenants.

You’ve found yourself forgoing the use of it a lot lately, given the only person who typically knocks on your door is the guy across the hall. And he usually calls or texts before he bugs you, but that doesn’t stop him from being spontaneous. You suppose today is one of those such cases after he manipulated you with dinner.

Maybe his hands are full, you muse, unlocking your door. Though you’re doubtful he can’t handle a few bags. You’ve seen him in action at the community gym, thick cords of muscle rippling beneath a tan stretch of skin.

You draw the door open with a smile, expecting to see a customary thatch of white. What confronts you instead sends a tide of dread washing over your innards.

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” breathes a voice you haven’t heard in months. A voice that still makes your body stiffen, and your blood run cold.

When your senses return, you step back into your apartment, thoroughly intending to slam the door in your ex’s face. They’re quicker, however, wedging themselves in the gap before you can shut it. Grabbing for you, a crazed look warping their features.

“Baby, please! Talk to me! I miss you!”

You bat at their hand, trying vainly to crush them, to scare them off. It’s to no avail, and you wonder if they’re coked up, giving you a run for your money as they try to bully their way into your home.

There’s a softball bat propped on the wall, and your fingers brush the base of it in your attempt to grab it. Something to defend yourself since your taser’s out of reach, tucked somewhere in your bag.

The sounds of your struggle intermingle, your voice strained and panting, please please please, and your ex’s caught between sobs of your name.

Just a little further. Just—

Suddenly, there’s no more resistance in your door. You stumble against it, a wild look in your eyes. And then, there is the noise of a brief scuffle. Of a back being shoved against a wall, of rusting plastic bags, of “Who the fuck are you?!”

Amid your panicked frenzy, you glance up to see a back to you. Barring you from the view beyond your threshold, and your body’s awash with relief as you register your savior’s form.

“You would do well to piss off,” seethes Sylus, and there’s an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. You feel it furling in your stomach, burning your lungs. And in this moment, you don’t know who to be more afraid of.

Your ex makes a sound of protest, but you imagine the cut of Sylus’ eyes deterring them.

There is the scuffling of shoes across the concrete flooring of the breezeway, and you listen with bated breath until the cacophony fades at the foot of the stairs, willing your heart to ease down.

Scarlet eyes shift to you, brows knit with concern. “Who was that?” Sylus asks, tone cautious as if he doesn’t want to startle you more than you’ve already been.

You right yourself, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes. Finally grab your bat, waving it intimidatingly as you step aside to let your neighbor in.

“My stupid ex. Just know you saved their life. ‘cause I was gonna—” You make swinging gestures, the metal bat swooping in the air. The corners of Sylus’ eyes crinkle.

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.” He kneels to retrieve the bags he’d tossed down in his haste to intervene. You scurry over to help, gathering up spilled food.

Once you’re both inside, the bags placed haphazardly on the counter, you’re seated on your sofa, nursing the rush of adrenaline still spuming through you like the hot rush of a geyser.

“You need to get a restraining order,” says Sylus. He emerges from your kitchen with a tense set to his jaws, two bottles of Angry Orchard clasped between his fingers.

Plopping down beside you, an arm draped over the headrest, he shoves a bottle into your hand, side-eyeing you as he throws his head back for a swig.

You babysit the cider, the crisp condensation of it serving to ground you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m not asking, sweetie.”

You bristle under the weight of his tone, feeling much like a scolded child. You know this. Should’ve done it long ago the first time your ex took it upon themselves to do surprise pop-ups at your place—at your job.

“And an alarm system.”

“I know, I know.”

“I can take you right now to look for one—”

“I got it, Sy! Fuck, I-I got it.” You release a weighted sigh, warring with yourself.

Not only do you feel silly for being so lackadaisical with your life. But now, you feel even worse for the seemingly impenetrable silence that settles between you. You didn’t mean to yell, frustration and adrenaline having burbled to the surface. He was just worried. No need to take your emotions out on him.

Sylus exhales slowly, an unreadable expression descending onto his face whilst staring at the wall.

“Sorry,” you murmur, unconsciously patting his quad. You don’t miss how he stiffens; don’t miss the tight coiling of tendons in his neck. You retract your hand, instead drumming your fingers along the bottom of your bottle.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time this has happened,” queries Sylus in an attempt to dispel the tense atmosphere.

You shake your head, shrinking into yourself. Stare at your lap, pulling at some frayed threads in your bottoms.

“How did they even manage to get up here?”

You shrug. The security guards at the gates aren’t always the most attentive. Besides, sometimes, the pin pad leading into the lobby malfunctions, making it easier for anyone to just slip into your complex.

Unprompted, you begin to bare yourself, explaining the possibilities of why your ex showed up.

Sylus listens attentively. Doesn’t interrupt you, watching the subtle shifts of your expressions as you speak.

You tell him that things weren’t bad in the beginning about two years ago. How your ex said and did all the right things, and they were wonderful. But they wanted something you weren’t ready for. You had some growing up to do, so you broke things off. Moved to another city, started a new job.

You didn’t bank on them following you.

The visits were random at first. Occasional run-ins at the park, the bar. Things soon blossomed into something more concerning when your ex found your new address after you relocated to another part of the city to ease the stress of the commute.

This was their second time making an appearance at your door. You knew you should’ve done something to protect yourself sooner, but you didn’t think much of it then. Figured they would live and let be. Today proved otherwise.

“You’re grossly naive, sweetie.”

You snort before gulping down the remnants of your cider. “Way to make me feel better.”

He chuckles, and it’s comforting, your thighs pressing together amid your dinky couch. “It’s what I’m here for. But I could understand how you could drive someone to such extremes.”

You glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…”

Before you know what’s about, he’s panning in, flooding your vision with the scarlet shine of his eyes. With the wispy dance of his lashes until his breath fans over your molten cheeks. Limber fingers sneak beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

Warmth wades over you. Your breath swells in your chest. Lips purse as a mysterious shade of burgundy leaks over his irises. His voice drops a few octaves, husky, the sound of it pinching in your stomach.

“It means that you’re someone worth fighting for.”

You scoff, shaking yourself away from his hold. Ignore the bashfulness creeping into your face in favor of being a cheeky little shit.

“All right, Li Shang. Getting a little too serious over there.”

He huffs a laugh in response, popping up to grab another round of ciders from your fridge.

Ingredients sat untouched on the countertop as your evening eased by. You’d settled on a pizza, catching up on shows and talking, long after the moon had pinned itself to the center of the sky.

Sylus promised to teach you how to use a gun. He had plenty and would carve out time in his schedule to take you to a range. He didn’t press much after, instead letting the weight of your evening melt from your shoulders.

He was reluctant to leave you, even after sunbeams spilled through your blinds and you snoozed so quietly, cheek propped against his shoulder.

His hand never left your thigh. Possessive in its touch as he mirrored your affections from before.

It’s strange.

Today is your birthday. You’re enjoying yourself, filled with enough alcohol to tranquilize a small goat.

Your co-workers had dragged you out. Surprised you with dinner, a cake. Took you to the strip of bars lining the streets adjacent to your apartment complex. You were all smiles until your cheeks ached, and you’d nearly thrown up from laughing so much.

Still, you feel…empty. Like something is missing. Or someone.

You look at your phone for the umpteenth time. Scroll through your messages, reliving the moment in your head.

Sylus was the first to wish you a happy birthday. It made you swell with overwhelming happiness, knowing he’d woken up so early to be the first to say it. You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder when he sent a voice message of him singing “Happy Birthday.”

God, for everything he was good at, poor baby couldn’t hold a note to dig himself out of a hole. Still, you cherished the gesture, lying in bed for the first hour you’d been awake, replaying said message and rolling around your bed like an enamored teen.

Even now, you replay the voice note, holding the speaker to your ear. It’s hard to hear it amid the live band playing and the merriment around you at the bar. Try as you might to enjoy what remains of your night, you can’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to a certain smug figure clad in black.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): hows it going birthday babe? (You): 😭😭😭 (You): u shuld be her e (Sylus) im sorry sweetie. i had some work to catch up on. (Sylus): you must be having a good time. 😏 (You): fuk wrk 🖕🖕🖕 (You): am not drink ur dronk (Sylus): lol. you sound plastered. (Sylus): do i need to come rescue you? (You): hum (Sylus): ? (You): hone (You): home (Sylus): 🫤 (Sylus): we need to have a serious talk about you enabling autocorrect. (You): r u (You): home (Sylus): about to be. why ?? (Sylus): sweetie?

Somehow, you find yourself staring at the glossy, black numbers embossed on the top center of his door. 302. It’s ingrained in your memory. You’d probably find your way to his apartment with your eyes closed, driven to it by the familiar smell and homeliness it exudes.

You’re still a little tipsy. Took some time to sober up as best you could before ditching your friends and catching an Uber back to your complex. You had enough sense to gather everything you’d shown up with. Didn’t hitch a ride with any strangers regardless of how many of them tried to pull you into their arms as you stumbled out of the bar.

You had a one-track mind. Only wanted to spend the rest of your birthday with him.

With a goofy smile plastered on your face, you knock on his door. You’re singing that infectious song you can’t get out of your head when it swings open.

“Apateu-pateu, apateu-pateu,” you chant, shaking your hips from side to side.

He greets you with an omniscient smirk, eyes softening whilst leaning against the doorframe. “Well, hello, birthday babe.”

“Sup!” you return a little too enthusiastically, pitching forward until Sylus steadies you with his hands. You giggle like a drunken fool, peering at him. Hadn’t realized how good his hands felt, searing through the fabric of your top.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed many things about him before. His lips are a pretty shade of pink. Skin textured, nose sharp, cheeks high. Little flecks of amber dwell between the scarlet rinse of his eyes. His hair falls into his face, damp from the shower he probably had before answering the door.

“I take it you had a good night,” he says, gaze painting a steady triangle between your eyes and mouth.

“Almost,” you whisper back, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You lose yourself in the idle stir of his eyes. In the fragility of his smile, and you feel so safe in his hands like this.

You don’t know what compels you to do it. To conquer the space of hot, dizzying breaths between you. But, you sort of…well…

Your inhibitions hit the floor. With your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, you angle yourself closer to kiss him. You almost pull away when he stiffens. But he seemingly relaxes, and his lips cautiously move against yours as he unconsciously guides you closer.

You cling to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He encircles your waist in his powerful arms, fastening you to the hard press of his body. He kisses you like he’s waited lifetimes to do it, one hand molding around the apple of your cheek.

When your tongue sloppily prods the barrier of his teeth, he bristles. Draws away from you with a resounding smack, blinking wildly. You’re confused. Your heart sinks. You try again to draw him back in, but he gently pushes you away, shaking his head to dispel the bleariness. To chase away the spell that’s fallen over you.

“Baby, wait. No. Not…not like this,” he rasps through kiss-swollen lips, holding you by your hips. You’re wounded. A hot flush of embarrassment washes over you, and your brows knit together like those of a confused puppy.

“Wha-what’s wrong? Did I—am I—”

“No, no, you’re…you're perfect,” he soothes with a chuckle, a thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Beautiful, even. I just…I don’t think now is a good time to do this.”

“Oh.” You deflate, a scorching film of tears clouding your vision. “Oh, okay. Um, I’ll just—yeah, I’ll go. I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

You slide out of his arms, too mortified to look back as you fumble with your keys. After he murmurs a hoarse, “good night.” Did you misread him before? Misinterpret his actions, his words?

You’re numb as you sink into your couch. Sobriety slowly creeps in. Stray tears blister your cheeks, but you don’t full-on sob. Can’t bring yourself to, instead laughing hysterically with your face buried in your hands, swallowed by the bleak loneliness of your apartment.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #neighbor au #neighbors to friends #friends to lovers #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #qin che #sylus fluff #sylus romance #lnds x reader #love and deepspace fic #gn reader #apt 302/304 series

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dearlenore · 3 months ago

Note

hiiiii

Tim Bradford x reader where she's pregnant. and nesting. Tim would be all over that I feel.

This has gotta be my favorite thing ever I’m obsesseddd🥹💋 this one might be the fluffiest I’ve written too❤️

HELLO BABY • T.BRADFORD

SUMMARY: Tim comes home to an unexpectedly motivated reader, cleaning, building and painting the nursery for their little girl

PAIRING: SAHM!reader x Tim Bradford

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears ‘feminine’ clothes, mentions of pregnancy , nesting mentions, Tim is very confused

a/n: first time writing Tim so be nice to me please…

w/c: 1.1K

Tim Bradford was exhausted. Thirteen hours on shift, three foot pursuits, and one particularly annoying rookie later, all he wanted was to come home, take a shower, and collapse into bed with you. He’d been looking forward to it all day—the feeling of your body curled against his, the scent of your shampoo, the sound of your voice reminding him he was more than just a cop with a badge.

But the second he stepped into the house, he knew something was off.

The scent of fresh paint hit him first, sharp and unmistakable. Then came the sound—faint music Sabrina Carpenter from your phone, the occasional shuffle of movement, and the distinct thunk of something being assembled. Tim frowned, toeing off his boots as he followed the noise down the hall.

And there you were.

Eight months pregnant in overalls, standing on your tiptoes, rolling paint onto the nursery wall. A half-assembled crib lay in pieces beside you along with your nightgown, instructions crumpled but ignored. A screwdriver sat on top of a pile of screws that definitely should have been in the furniture instead of scattered across the floor.

Tim stared. Blinked. Rubbed a hand down his face before speaking.

“What. The hell. Are you doing?”

You startled at his voice, turning to look at him over your shoulder. A streak of light pink paint ran across your cheek, your hair was a mess, and yet you had the nerve to smile at him like you hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Preparations.”

Tim exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can see that. But you’re supposed to be resting, not turning the nursery into a DIY disaster zone.”

You huffed, placing the paint roller down. “I was waiting for you to get home, but you were working late, and I had all this energy, so I figured I might as well—”

“No.” Tim stepped forward, hands settling on your waist as he guided you away from the paint tray. “Babe, you’re carrying our kid, not a whole-ass toolbox. You should be lying down, not climbing on step stools and putting together cribs.”

“I wasn’t climbing,” you defended, avoiding his knowing stare.

Tim arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

You pursed your lips. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You need to slow down or you’ll be the death of us both.”

You grinned. “But you love me.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice soft. “Which is exactly why you need to let me handle this stuff, okay?”

Your hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers tracing absent patterns over his vest. “I just wanted everything to be perfect before she gets here.”

Tim’s expression softened. He knew how much this meant to you. He’d seen the baby books on your nightstand, the way you planned every little detail down to the crib sheets and wall decals. But you didn’t have to do this alone—not when he was here.

“She’s already got the most perfect mom in the world,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours. “So how about you let me take over, and you sit down before I have to arrest you for reckless endangerment of my pregnant wife?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but relenting. “Fine. But I’m supervising.”

Tim chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As he helped you settle onto the nursery rocking chair, he grabbed the screwdriver and eyed the crib parts with determination. He might’ve spent the last thirteen hours chasing bad guys, but apparently, his real challenge was about to be assembling baby furniture with no instructions.

Tim had faced shootouts, car chases, and criminals twice his size without breaking a sweat. But as he sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, staring down at the disassembled crib like it was an active crime scene, he was starting to think this might be his toughest challenge yet.

You, comfortably perched in the nursery’s new rocking chair with a glass of water in hand, were thoroughly enjoying the show.

“You know,” you mused, watching as he flipped the instruction manual upside down, “I did start putting it together already.”

Tim shot you a look, then gestured to the mess of screws and wooden panels scattered around him. “Yeah, and I’m trying to undo whatever chaos you unleashed before I got home.”

You smirked, shifting to get more comfortable. “I was making progress.”

“You put two of the legs on backward.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair before glancing back at you. “You really should be in bed.”

“I was in bed. Then I got bored.” You sipped your water, giving him your most innocent look. “Besides, if I went to sleep, I would’ve missed this.”

“This?”

“The rare sight of Tim Bradford struggling.”

He pointed a screwdriver at you. “Careful. I could make you finish this yourself.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and despite the exhaustion still clinging to him from his shift, Tim felt the tension in his body ease. It didn’t matter how tired he was—being here with you, working on something for her, made everything else fade into the background.

A comfortable silence settled between you as he focused on assembling the crib. Every so often, you’d make an observation (“Are you sure that piece goes there?”), and he’d remind you, gently, that he knew what he was doing. (He didn’t.)

Eventually, after some cursing under his breath, an unnecessary amount of re-reading the instructions, and one incident where the crib almost collapsed on itself, he finally tightened the last screw and sat back with a victorious sigh.

“There,” he declared, brushing his hands off. “One fully operational crib, courtesy of your incredibly capable husband.”

You grinned. “I don’t know, I think she’ll have to test it herself before I give you full credit.”

Tim rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to his feet before walking over to where you sat. He rested a hand on your belly, feeling the soft movement of your breath beneath his palm.

“She’s gonna love it,” he murmured, voice softer now. “And she’s gonna love you even more.”

Your eyes glistened, and you covered his hand with yours. “We built a crib today, Tim.”

He smirked. “Correction. I built a crib today. You provided comedic relief at best.”

You swatted his arm, but your smile stayed. “First of all, my comedic relief is amazing and helpful. Second of all I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Tim leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before dropping another one to your belly. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice full of something so deep and unshakable it made your heart squeeze. “Me neither.”

#the rookie #the rookie fluff #pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant!reader #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #x reader #fluff #nesting

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lumiambrose · 8 months ago

Text

✰ reflections of desire

kinktober 24 - day fifteen

featuring: michael kaiser x f!bartender!reader

summary: the infamous bunny night attracts many new customers to the eclipse, including the famed bastard münchen. serving the team seemed to fall on your hands for the night, attracting the attention of michael kaiser.

tags: smut, mirror sex, bunny suits, praise, p in v, breeding, kaiser is a slutty man, petnames (bunny), @/o-sachi cameo <3, kaiser is referred to as 'mihya'

wc: 2.6k

it’s the infamous bunny night at the eclipse royale. entertainers and staff alike are clad in bunny accessories and outfits, the estate is revamped to match.

“darling, can you serve table 20?” your colleague, chimi, calls out to you from across the bar, her tray piled high with empty glasses.

“give me a sec,” you answer, adjusting your headpiece and glancing over your shoulder at booth 20. it’s the busiest table of the night—bastard münchen’s under-20 team. the vibe around them is intoxicating—a mix of arrogance, power, and adrenaline. definitely celebrating a win.

you make your way over, weaving through drunken patrons as you approach the table with a smile. to be honest, you’re not even sure how to catch their attention over the noise, but luckily for you, a smooth voice cuts through the banter. a blonde man, lounging casually among his teammates, clears his throat. instantly, the chatter quiets down.

his presence is magnetic. he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his gaze is tugging at your confidence. amusement dances in his expression as his eyes do a one-over on you, eyes sharp and calculating as he takes in your appearance.

“you’re here to take our order?” he asks, his voice dripping with arrogance that has his teammates chuckling.

“yeah,” you respond, trying your best to hold your own. “what’ll it be?”

instead of answering straight away, his eyes linger on your name tag as he leans forward, as if he couldn’t make it more obvious, a smirk playing on his lips. you attempt to divert your attention to his teammates, who are currently ordering. you scribble down their drinks, doing your best to ignore the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks. while the young athletes are all rowdy and loud, it’s the blonde who commands the space, every word laced with something more that you can’t quite put your finger on. although you’re sure that his focus never seems to leave you, even as you return to the bar.

but that’s not the last you’ll see of him tonight.

hours go by, and the night, which once started busy, has now thinned out. most guests either leaving the building or crashing for the night in their respective hotel rooms. you’re wiping down the bar when you hear chimi again, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “room service is calling. a bottle of champagne, and they’re specifically requesting you to bring it.” she slides the bottle across the bar surface towards you. “room 702, wonder who the lucky man is.” she gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“get your mind out of the gutter, chimi.” you laugh, grabbing the bottle and preparing it in an ice bucket to take up. despite it being a common service for your job, you can’t help but feel a little excitement knowing somebody specifically asked you to serve them.

curiosity gets the better of you, and before you know it, you’re in front of room 702, bucket in hand, taking one more deep breath as you knock on the door. your pulse is anything but calm. before you could even process the sound of your knock, the door swings open, revealing the infamous blonde man from earlier.

he’s ditched the blazer and slacks he was once wearing, now replaced by the hotel's bathrobe that somehow manages to look expensive on him. his hair is slightly messy, but it only adds to his charm. his eyes flicker over you, from the bunny ears resting on your head to the bucket in your hands, his smirk returning in full force.

“room service,” you say. trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

“come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass. there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his invitation is for more than just delivering a bottle of champagne.

you enter the room, taking in its luxury. it’s donned with velvety curtains, a lavish sofa, and mirrors adorning the walls and ceiling. despite working at the eclipse for a while now, your work has never expanded to inside the hotel. as much as you would like to enjoy the lavish suite and gorgeous view, you set the bucket down on the sleek coffee table, eager to finish up, and head back downstairs.

“champagne for one,” you quip, trying to ease the atmosphere. “strange, most people don’t drink alone after a win.”

“who said i’m drinking?” the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable as you suck in a breath.

you blink, confused. “you’re not drinking?”

he shakes his head, that devilish grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “i ordered it for you.” his words hang in the air.

you laugh nervously, shaking your head. “oh no, I can’t, i’m still working. can’t exactly be drinking on the job.” you try to sound professional, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to keep your composure.

he steps closer, now just a few feet from you. the space between you feeling charged, the air thick with something you just can’t quite put your finger on. “i don’t care,” he says, his tone playful yet firm. “i just wanted to see my favourite bunny again.”

your breath catches in your throat. again? your suspicions now confirmed. he’s been watching you all night.

“come on, bunny,” he continues, grabbing the champagne from the bucket, his fingers brushing against yours as he leans over. “we have to celebrate, no? one drink. for me.”

you open your mouth to protest, but the words fall short when he pops the cork open with ease, pouring the sparkling liquid into a glass before handing it to you. his eyes never leaving yours, not at the casino, not at the door, and certainly not now.

you take a small sip, though to your misfortune, the cool champagne does nothing to calm the heat in your cheeks. he watches you profusely, his eyes darkening slightly as you lower the glass.

“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

your heart races as you set the glass down, trying to regain yourself, but he’s already closing the distance between you. before you can react, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling around your hip, and he’s guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed.

“i— i don’t even know your name,” you stammer, your voice shaky. you should be gone by now, out the door and back to the bar, but the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his eyes, keeps you in place.

“mihya, bunny,” he whispers. “call me mihya,” his other hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

to your surprise, his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the hunger is his eyes. “you’ve been working hard all night, haven’t you? let me take care of you tonight.”

your trembling, no doubt about it. but whether it’s from nerves or something else entirely is a mystery to you. mihya leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and before you know it, he’s pressing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“you’re quite cute like this,” he teases. “so nervous, and i’ve barely even touched you,” his lips inches from yours.

“i’m not—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as his mouth unexpectedly meets yours, forcing it open to deepen the kiss while his hand slips under your waist, grazing the fabric of your bunny suit.

“don’t worry, bunny,” he pulls back, his voice sending a thrill through you. “i’ll be gentle.”

he leans back in, capturing your mouth once again. his free hand tangling gently in your hair while your hands dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks in place of your fingers. the champagne you sipped earlier now seemingly coursing through your veins, giving you the confidence you need to carry on. you let out a soft moan, body arching into his as you continue to sloppily make out. your newfound boldness makes you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer.

mihya broke the kiss, his voice hitching in between a low chuckle. “feisty bunny,” he coos, lips trailing down your neck, leaving wet kisses and sloppy hickeys that make you quiver. “how cute.”

the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the air quickly thickens with lust. the hand which was once laced with your hair, made its way to the bottom of your suit, brushing against your crotch before hooking his fingers through, teasing the area underneath.

“no panties? my my, what a naughty little bunny, walking around with nothing underneath, i bet you planned this from the start.” he teases, his breath inches away from your chest.

“don’t be afraid, bunny,” he whispered, sensing your hesitation. “i’ll take such good care of you. tonight, you’re mine.” with that, you felt something sharp graze your chest. his teeth biting into the hem of your suit, pulling it down to reveal your bear chest to him.

he starts to suck and bite on the exposed skin like a starved man, playing with your nipples and eliciting angelic moans from you while the hand that was once grazing your core lightly is now playing with your folds.

you can only hold out for so long before the pleasure gets to you, moans getting louder as you grind yourself on his fingers. your hands trailing down his back, only to dig scratch the bare skin when he hits that one spot that feels like pure bliss.

that made something click in him, immediately tearing the thin fabric of your bunny suit before untying his robe, leaving you both naked before one another. he picks you up and sits you down on the massive bed, facing one of the many floor-length mirrors decorated throughout the suite.

"don't look away," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing you to face your reflection. mihya sits behind you, his body enveloping yours, granting him full access. "i want you to see how beautiful you look with my fingers deep inside you."

his eyes roam over your body, entranced by the way you look, caged in front of him. he pulls you closer, feeling his erection press against your back as he traces his fingers down your neck. they ultimately land on your breasts, giving your nipples a gentle pinch. his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

he continues to play with your breasts with one hand while the other slides down to tease your entrance, his fingers once again slick with arousal. “you’re so wet for me, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

he slides first one finger, then two inside you, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. you gasp, eyes rolling back as pleasure courses through your body. his fingers moving in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

he leans in, whispering, “look at yourself, bunny. watch as I pleasure you.” you hesitate, unsure at first, but the way his voice rolls off his tongue is enough to turn your head.

watching yourself in the mirror feels almost surreal. eyes half closed, mouth slightly parted, and your chest heaving with each breath while the cocky man pleasures you. his fingers continue their work, and you eventually feel your body tightening—the rush of an orgasm building.

he senses it too, as his fingers speed up, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit while his fingers piston in and out of you rapidly. the room full of your moans and the slapping of skin on skin as he works your body.

“yes, bunny,” he encourages, “come for me.”

that was all it took to send you over the edge. you grind back into him as your orgasm crashes over you. you cry out in pleasure as your vision blurs, the pleasure hitting your entire body. mihya doesn’t stop though. he continues to work you, his relentless fingers milking every last drop of your release.

once you come down from your high, mihya helps you up and almost forcefully pushes you against the mirror, holding your body still with your arms locked behind your back. you yelp at his sudden movements, the cold glass hitting your bare chest like ice, making you shiver.

his free hand holds onto your hips, giving you a firm squeeze before guiding his cock to your entrance.

“look at me, bunny,” he commands. you can barely see him from the angle you’re locked in, but you can sense the intensity in his gaze.

you meet his gaze and he pushes into you harshly, stretching you out completely with his girth. he sighs as he finally bottoms out inside of you, pausing for a short moment, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“do you feel me, bunny?” he asks, “i’m so deep inside of you,” his tone low and seductive.

“ah~ i do,” you manage to get out along with a whiny moan, your voice breathy and shaky.

he begins to move, thrusting deep inside of you at a slow pace, getting used to your cunt sucking him dry. you feel every inch of him inside of you, as you do your best to accommodate his size. he slowly speeds up, still gripping your hips and keeping you locked under his body. his eyes never leaving yours through the reflection of the mirror.

the mirror reflects your entwined forms, your bodies slick with sweat as he fills you. every movement is powerful. each thrust driving you further into the glassy wall. your moans grow louder, your body arching to meet his every thrust.

“fuck bunny, you’re so tight. you going to let me breed this pretty cunt of yours?” he growls between thrusts, his hot breath lingering over your ears.

you nod, your breath catching in your throat as you struggle to respond. every thrust hits you deeper and deeper. he’s taking you to new heights, your body responding in kind.

“you close, bunny? can feel you milking me dry, gonna fill you up so well.” his grip on you tightens, and you cry out in agreement, on the verge of your orgasm. mihya’s thrusts grow more urgent and powerful, pounding into you with a hunger matching yours. the sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror only egging you on. the mirror in front of you shaking with each forceful thrust.

“fuck—yes, bunny” mihya groans. “cum for me.”

your orgasm hits you fast and hard. your body convulses as waves of pleasure wash over you, blurring your vision as you cry out mihya’s name. mihya continues to abuse your cunt through your orgasm, his own nearing as he gets more desperate, one of his hands snaking up to your neck, gripping the delicate skin.

“going to breed you so well, bunny. this tight cunt is mine, mine only.” he growls, rutting into you roughly before reaching his own climax, releasing his seed deep inside you.

waves of hot cum fill you up, marking and claiming you as his. as he slows down, the room is much quieter, only the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the room.

mihya pulls out and lifts you towards the bed, letting you recover from the intense orgasm. as you lie down, you look up, spotting another large mirror covering the ceiling above you. reflected in the mirror is your fucked-out state, hair dishevelled, and eyes watery.

you’re so distracted by your state that you don’t notice the blonde man creeping up towards the end of the bed, stopping at your now-spread legs.

“you see this, bunny?” he begins, teasing his already hard cock against your entrance. “i’m going to breed you again and again like a bitch in heat, and you’re going to watch every second of it from that mirror, understood?”

before you can reply, he enters you once again. filling you up for the second time of many to come tonight.

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @strawchocoberry

#✰ ─ the devils month #ambrose.fics #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kaiser smut #michael kaiser smut #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser x reader smut #blue lock smut

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rika-mmendmethings · 3 months ago

Text

Interdimensional Epiphany l Rafayel

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

Summary: A fortnight of compensated leave from your company was supposed to be a rejuvenating experience. Things take an unexpected turn when Rafayel, your choice of ML, starts becoming self-aware. His love knows no bounds, not even interdimensional ones.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For the prologue, currently none. Though story has major character deaths, subdued manipulation, heavy angst with a happy(?) ending, slight yandere themes, fluff, did I mention angst?

Word count: 1.9k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: This series is something I wrote after being inspired by Error 404 by @ittybittyfanblog. It circles around the idea of a self-aware Rafayel and the worlds he'd cross to be with the reader. This series is my spin on what could've happened with the deleted Reddit user and their self-aware Rafayel from chapter four of Error 404. However, keep in mind the plotline is entirely different. Lmk if y'all want me to add you in the tag list for this.

The multiple keys in your keychain jingled as you hurried to unlock the door to your apartment. Once inside, with the door securely shut behind you, you let out a triumphant whoop and began dancing in celebration. A wide grin spread across your face as you kicked off your heels, nearly tripping over your own feet as you made your way to your couch. When your back hit the soft plush you exhaled a euphoric sigh, feeling an overwhelming rush of dopamine fill your senses.

The reason for your happiness? A whole sum of two weeks granted as compensatory leave to your department. You and your colleagues had been working your butts off the entire march. With the financial year coming to an end, your procrastination was also forced to come to an end as you stayed up for hours preparing yearly, monthly, quarterly, and god knows how many more reports. But alas, your efforts paid off and the higher-ups were impressed by your teamwork and immaculate results and awarded your entire department a two-week reprieve.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to worry about the work that would inevitably pile up upon your return. All you knew was that in the present moment, you were practically given a corporate boon and god forbid if you don’t live it up to the fullest. You squealed again, kicking your legs like an ecstatic newborn. You stood up, stretching your arms above your head before skipping to the kitchen.

As you poured yourself a glass of juice and grabbed some leftover takeout, your mind wandered to how your life might begin to mend itself again. Not that it had ever been truly broken, but the past month had been hard enough to make you feel as though you were constantly on the edge. You loosened your tie and sank back onto the couch, blissfully relaxed, your legs casually draped over the table in front of you.

March, you concluded, had been the most unlucky month of your life. The first week had started with a quarrel with your parents when they demanded you book an immediate flight and come to your hometown immediately. You understood their feelings — they hadn’t seen their only daughter in five years — but you couldn’t just abandon everything and disappear. You had responsibilities, and no matter how much you missed your mom’s homemade pickles or your dad’s clueless grocery runs, you couldn’t drop everything for a visit. That’s what you told them, but it only led to their anger.

The second week of March brought more frustration when you were handed the work of an employee who had left the company abruptly. Internally cursing him and taking an oath to meet him in hell, you ended up shouldering his share of projects as well.

In the third week, an issue with your Sodexo meal card arose, and while you reported it to your manager, you knew it wasn’t going to be a priority for him, considering the mountain of tasks he already had to juggle at year-end.

But the final week of March truly tested your patience. In addition to the looming deadlines, your boyfriend of two years, Tyler, was giving you a migraine. He knew how packed your schedule was and had seen how much the month had already drained you, yet he still managed to pick fights over matters you thought had been long settled.

Love and Deepspace.

When you and Tyler had first committed to each other, you had sat him down and clearly explained how your love for otome games wouldn’t interfere with your relationship. What you sought in fiction was vastly different from what you needed in real life. As a self-identified "men-are-disgusting" type, you had always trusted your parents to help you understand the difference between right and wrong, and to guide you toward the right kind of person. When Tyler came into your life, he seemed to check all the boxes: good-looking, smart, organized, and a great companion. So you took a chance on love.

But over the past few months, things had taken a turn for the worse. You began to notice how inconsiderate Tyler could be toward your feelings, and how little effort he seemed to put into the relationship. On top of that, he began to criticize you for being a “merch-collecting freak” and for not knowing how to invest your money. The irony wasn’t lost on you, especially since the only "merch" you collected were plushies and a few rare 4-star banner posters — things you bought with your hard-earned money, and that you had every right to spend as you pleased. You dismissed his behavior for a while, but it all came to a head one day when you came home to find him tearing up your posters in a fit of spite.

You confronted him, demanding to know why he had destroyed your things, and his response —“You don’t need otome games when you have me”— was the breaking point. In that moment, you realized that you couldn’t even keep your own interests around him without facing ridicule. That day, you made a wise decision. You slapped him across the face and, with the help of some neighbors, you kicked him out of your apartment, officially ending the relationship once and for all.

You didn’t regret your decision one bit. Aside from the moments with him that were genuinely worth feeling sad about, you surprisingly didn’t miss him much either. It seemed that, subconsciously, you had been prepared to leave him the moment his behavior began to shift. Setting your empty utensils aside, you sprawled out on your stomach, unlocked your phone, and opened the app that had, in many ways, saved you from what could have developed into a toxic relationship.

“Some long for longevity… before fading to dust. Some long for eternal sleep…” you belted out the theme song, singing at the top of your lungs as you pressed enter. You recited aloud the random information on the white loading display: “Lemuria is an ancient, marine civilization recorded in legends. Its unique, advanced technologies are difficult to use.” You paused mid-sentence, tilting your head slightly as a thought struck you. “Does that mean Lemuria’s technologies would be far more advanced than ours if it actually existed? I’ll have to ask Reddit later.”

The game opens with a silver-haired man rubbing his chin in thought, donning a brown sweater and black slacks. It seems Sylus has decided to greet you today. He’s recently become your main choice after Rafayel in the game, but the others hold a special place in your heart as well, so you always ensure to include them when selecting who you want to meet at Destiny Café. You quickly navigate to the agenda to claim your night-login stamina before it expires. However, when you return, you’re met with a ‘failed to connect. Retry or return to login’ pop-up. You press ‘retry,’ glancing over your shoulder to check if your router’s LED lights are blinking as they should.

This time, when the game reboots and you log back in, you’re greeted by the purple-haired man who somehow manages to climb his way onto the first place among your lead choices even after new releases. You are one of those players who had been in the fandom just some time after the game released officially and Rafayel has been your choice of ML ever since, though you do get bias-wrecked by Sylus every so often. You smile, not at all bothered by the shift in characters, and admire his ‘asymmetrical romance’ outfit, paired with a big, vibrant red bow. Rafayel suddenly closes the distance between you and the screen, leaning down so that his eyes meet yours although it feels far from mere programming.

His mystical eyes are wide, holding a strange clarity, as though he’s uncovered something. His soft features are lit up with eyebrows arched and full lips drawn in a small part. He tilts his head, seeming momentarily stunned. You wait patiently, suspecting the devs may have added a new update for how characters interact with you. You would have missed it had you not been paying close attention, but you distinctly hear him whisper "beautiful," clear as day.

A soft pink blooms on your cheeks, and you flinch slightly, caught off guard by the timbre of his voice and the unexpected compliment. You wonder why the word didn’t appear in the captions but brush it off as a possible glitch. Unable to resist, you flick some stray hair away from your face and respond cheekily, “I know, right?”

You could have sworn you saw the faintest quirk of his lips as he stepped back, but then again, your brain is frazzled from overwork, and you wouldn’t trust it for opinions at this moment. You still have a daily task remaining, so you select "Quality Time" and set the timer for 30 minutes to work with him. You position your phone upright, supported by a cushion, and gather the utensils to take them to the dishwasher.

After putting your overcoat, bag, and other items in their proper places, you shake your shirt off your shoulders, deciding to freshen up for the evening. Had you been more observant, you might have noticed an unusually flustered Rafayel, his eyes fixed on you as you walked past the living room and toward your bedroom in just your bralette and pencil skirt.

When you slip out of his sight, he sets down his fountain pen and leans toward the screen once more. His iridescent irises, the color of dusk, shift around your living room, watching with a kind of unrestrained curiosity. They take in the unfamiliar world with the weight of a thousand unspoken questions, their intensity hidden behind lips that are pressed in quiet contemplation. Long, pale fingers, hesitant yet deliberate, tap softly against the unyielding glass that separates him from whatever lies beyond it.

He listens, the faint sound of your footsteps growing nearer, and in an instant, he straightens up. With a swift motion, he grabs his pen, resuming his drawing as though he had never strayed from his post. Later, he tells himself. Later, when you aren’t around, he will unravel the mystery of what this all means.

You emerge from the bathroom, hair damp from your shower, and sink into the sofa, still wearing your pajamas, a packet of chips resting on the table in front of you. His gaze drifts to you every now and then, some sort of fascination blooming in the quiet chambers of his heart for how your existence goes against everything he knows. You sometimes catch his gaze and before you start to ponder about it, he unwillingly utters words that feel like metal on his tongue — words that you’d consider entirely normal — words that would show in the captions. He clicks his tongue in distaste, not liking being pressed into speaking phrases that don’t truly belong to him — just empty lines, part of some programmed response. Yet, despite this reluctance, it doesn't stop him from continuing to steal glances at you, as if something distinct about you holds his attention despite himself.

And for the first time in months, he lets his phone beside him ring, despite the familiar caller ID—his miss bodyguard’s. The world around him — around you — seems to fade into the background, and for a fleeting moment, he is wholly, silently present in this strange, ordinary space that feels anything but ordinary.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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romanofftherealest · 1 month ago

Text

Gratitude

Summary: You have a very special way of showing your gratitude.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x MILF Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Tags | Warnings: +18 AMAB!Natasha, MILF!reader, blowjob (N receiving), dating app, Natasha calls r mama, r has a son, implied cheating & physical abuse (from past rs)

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

You had always envisioned yourself pursuing law school after graduation, but life had other plans. You unexpectedly became pregnant right after graduating, when you told your boyfriend of three years that you were pregnant, he was ecstatic to become a father. However, once your son was born, his true colors showed—he began to lash out at both you and your son and it became a living hell for you.

He was the main provider when you were pregnant and for the first couple of years after your son's birth, he continued to support you. However, when your son turned two, he provided less and less for you and your son, and that's when you started looking for a job again.

You quickly pivoted to finding a job that would allow you to support yourself and your son. Luckily, you found a job as an advertising specialist, which provided you with a stable income that was enough to meet your needs and even help contribute to the household. When you had to work long hours, you would leave your son with your lovely neighbor, who was a grandmother and loved taking care of him like her own grandchild. She would always try to talk to you about leaving your boyfriend every chance she gets, she even tried to set you up with her amiga's son. Of course you knew she meant well, but you would just offer a forced smile and a coffee she told you was her favorite to try and change the subject everytime she talks to you about it.

Over time, your relationship with your boyfriend continued to deteriorate. He stopped helping you around the house and you would come home to find dirty dishes piling up in the sink and no food in the fridge. If there was food, it seemed like he only prepared it for himself. It felt like he was becoming more and more selfish and unthoughtful, leaving you to take care of everything on your own while he prioritized his own needs.

Still, he hasn't asked your hand for marriage.

He showed little to no interest in caring for your son too, often expecting you to handle all the parenting, household…everything! If your son cried, he wouldn't bother trying to comfort him and would just give him his phone while he watches TV. You didn't even know if he listened to you when you tried to talk to him about keeping your son away from gadgets.

If there was a mess to clean up, he always expected you to take care of it. He even went as far as shouting at you like a maid to do everything, showing a complete lack of empathy or willingness to share the responsibilities of raising your son.

As if it was only you who made your son? He literally put him inside you?

The breaking point in your relationship came when your boyfriend laid a hand on you. He was drunk when he got home, you asked him where he'd been and he told you, he went into a bar, out with friends—after that he told you not to ask any further questions. But the sickening perfume clinging on his shirt didn't stop you from asking if he was cheating on you and out of nowhere he came up to you and slapped you across the face. You knew at that moment that you had to leave him to protect your child from further harm. Yes, it was you who got hurt by him and if he could do it to you, he would do the same to your son. So you gathered your things and left that very night, never looking back. You also decided to leave the job you were working at, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as possible. Surprisingly, your ex-boyfriend never made any attempt to contact you or even ask about your son, as if he was relieved to be rid of you both.

Now, meeting Natasha felt like a breath of fresh air after the toxic relationships you had experienced. She is kind, empathetic, and genuinely interested in your well-being. Not to mention that she ia almost a decade younger than you and is a beefy woman that has godly arms that made you literally swipe right on sight. And behind that godly body she has a geeky side—she wore glasses, framing her intelligent green orbs, sparkling as she literally rambled about Greek mythology during your first date.

You were having a great time with her and you think you both clicked and you know that eventually that night during your date you have to tell her about your son which you were hesitant about, fearing judgement or rejection.

What if after you told her she will excuse herself to the bathroom and never come back and leave you with the bills? Or what if she will suddenly tell you that her dog is sick even though she doesn't even have a dog? Well, you don't want to assume already but these are the things you had experienced in the past when you started dating again—a lot of stupid excuses that led you to expect rejection or disappointment when you mentioned you had a son.

However, as you gathered the courage to reveal this information, Natasha's reaction took you by surprise.

"You have a son? That's wonderful. I hope to meet him soon."

And you knew from there that you would let her take you to bed…not just to sleep though.

And speaking of bed you are now stretching yourself around your own bed, the memories of the night before came flooding back to you. You could still feel her lips on yours, her hands skimming over your body, her inside you. But then, the sheets where she had been laying are now cold, she is no longer beside you. You tried to look around your room but she's nowhere to be found.

You immediately get dressed, your mind shifting to a familiar routine—cleaning the house. Having come from an abusive relationship, you have become accustomed to cleaning as your ex-boyfriend had placed the burden of household chores on you, demanding that you clean the house, iron his clothes, and prepare his breakfast before he left for work and it has been an ingrained habit on you.

Though you were saddened by the thought of Natasha actually leaving, your instinct to still do the things you usually do every morning is a priority, and after that, you are planning to call Darcy to pick your son up and cry to her that you feared yet another date failed.

Maybe she was just embarrassed to say it in front of your face, that she's not into single mothers and she was just being kind and she thought that you seemed like you haven't been laid for like what? Two years now? So she just slept with you and immediately flew off afterwards. Maybe you have to start putting a single mother warning on the dating app you have been using or maybe stop using it at all.

As you descended the staircase, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, causing your stomach to rumble. You strained your nose, trying to identify the source of the mouthwatering scent. Was it a rich pasta sauce or perhaps a delectable baked mac and cheese that was cooking in the kitchen? The mystery deepened your hunger, making your stomach growl even more insistently.

Wait, who was cooking in your sacred kitchen?!

Entering the kitchen, your gaze fell upon a delicious delightful sight —Natasha, clad in your strawberry-patterned apron, her beefy arms flexed as she skillfully stirred a pot on the stove, her strength and cuteness on full display. Sensing your presence, Natasha turned around, her smile widening as she laid eyes on you.

"Good morning." Natasha greeted you with her deep and velvety voice.

"H-hi…"

"I hope you don't mind me being here in your kitchen."

Well, you literally let this woman take you in your own bed and be inside you the very same night you met…where else couldn't she be in?

You looked around, taking in the immaculate state of your house. It was as if a cleaning fairy had come in the night and transformed the place. The floors were spotless, dishes were washed and put away, the couch cushions were fluffed and there were beautiful freshly cut roses arranged in a vase on the countertop. Your gaze fixed on the vibrant petals as you admired its simple beauty.

Natasha, noticing your gaze, commented shyly, "I brought some...for you, a while ago. I'm sorry for getting out of bed, I wanna prepare something for you before you wake up." She smiled sheepishly, her fingers playing with the straps of the apron as she removed it out of her godly body.

Your eyes now darted to the vacuum, neatly tucked away in its usual spot and a frown creased your forehead. "D-Did you vacuum?" Natasha with her glasses slightly fogged up, nodded affirmatively, her hands busily wiping away the condensation.

"You know you don't have to do all this, right?"

"Yeah but I want to."

"I'm sorry if my house is really that messy that you have to clean it yourself."

"That's not what it is, mama."

You bit your lip trying not to moan right then and there with the nickname she gave you as you slowly walked up to her, thinking of some ways on how to thank her.

It's not just the nickname but what she did in your house heightened your arousal.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You reached out and cupped her cheek to get all her attention. You gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, your fingers brushing against her cheek.

"Baby…it's nothing, alright?" she giggled.

"Let me thank you for doing all this."

"Well, you're welcome." She kissed your forehead but when she was about to turn and go back to plate the pasta your hands gripped her tighter and you pushed her gently against the kitchen counter, pinning her in place.

"I thought you would let me thank you for doing all this for me?" you frowned, looking at her with the best puppy eyes you could give.

"Y-yeah…and I said you're welcome didn't I?" Natasha's cheeks flushed with a rosy tint, her breath hitching in her throat unaware of what you've been meaning to say or do.

Her eyes widened in shock as she watched you slowly kneel down in front of her, your hands reaching for the waistband of her joggers, not even wearing boxers. She didn't fight, her body seemingly frozen in place as you pulled them down, revealing her erect cock springing free.

You smiled up at her, your gaze fixed on her cock and she felt a heat spread across her cheeks. You wrapped your hand around the base of her shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for doing all this, baby," you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of her cock.

"Thank you for tidying up the house."

Another kiss.

"Thank you for cooking for me."

Another kiss.

"Thank you for accepting me."

Another kiss.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

Another kiss.

"Now, let me show you how grateful I really am."

Without a second, you wrapped your lips around her thickness, taking her into your warm, wet mouth. Natasha's head fell back against the cabinets, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you as you bobbed your head.

You continued to suck on her cock with fervor, your mouth stretching to accommodate her girth. Natasha's hips bucked slightly, pushing her dick deeper into your throat. You gagged softly, but didn't pull back, determined to show her just how grateful you were.

You looked up at her, your eyes meeting hers as you continued to suck on her hard length. Her glasses were fogged up, her eyes hidden behind the blurred lenses. But you could feel her gaze, intense and unblinking, as she watched you pleasure her.

"Fuckfuckfuck baby, sh—shit!"

As you continued to suck on her dick, saliva dripped from the side of your mouth, a small smile attempting to form on your lips despite the awkward position. You tried to grin up at her, hoping to catch her eye again through the fogged lenses.

Natasha's breathing grew ragged, "B-baby I-I fu—!" she panted, trying to pull you off. But you tighten your grip on her thighs, keeping her in place as you continue to bob your head. "Babybabybaby I'm going to…" she warned, her voice strained.

You hummed in response, the vibration pushing her over the edge. She came with a low moan, her hips bucking forward as she spilled into your mouth. You swallowed every last drop, your eyes watering slightly from the intense sensation. You slowly pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Natasha sagged against the cabinets, her legs shaking as she tried to catch her breath. You slowly stood and she sighed, leaning against you for support, trying to steady her nerves.

"If there should be someone who needs to be thankful, that's me," she buried her face in your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. "Fuck, is-is there something I could still do around the house?" her voice coming out a little bit raspier and low.

You took a hold of her face and giggled, "Someone wants to be rewarded huh?"

"Mhm," she nodded with puppy dog eyes, her lips pouting at you.

You bit your lips at her being so cute and placed a kiss on her plump lips, "You have to stop before I let you fuck me to every corner you've cleaned around here."

The red head then blush at your blunt words, "That's what I want," she whined as she put her face back at your shoulder, embarrassingly admitting the reason why she wanted to help you around the house. And you just can't help but giggle and place comforting kisses on the side of her face.

"Pasta's getting cold, let's eat?" She offered weakly as she pulled back after clinging from you for support after the lingering aftershocks of the orgasm you gave her.

"I don't think I'm hungry for food anymore, I just had my breakfast," you said with a smirk written on your face. You wiped the remaining evidence of her from the side of your mouth, sucking your thumb clean with a satisfied expression.

Natasha's gaze intensified, her eyes locked onto yours, in a swift second you yelped as she effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter.

"Well, I haven't had mine, mama."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader

568 notes · View notes

coolwyous · 18 days ago

Text

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 .

⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan knows her confession came at a terrible, horrible time. megan knows she had a million chances before now to say something. megan knows it's probably selfish, could ruin the band, and is overall extremely unfair. but megan also knows she needs to set the record straight— it was messy, and it was imperfect, sure, but megan loved you, that much she knows for certain.

ˎˊ˗ ☀️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ ➴ pairing: idol!megan skiendiel x f!reader.

➴ genre + wc: 7k, childhood friends, unrequited love, heavy pining, angst, megan is so down bad it hurts, also sorry manon for what u are about to go through, reader is oblivious, megan is lowkey a shit-head punk in this but idc i found it fun!!

➴ you might want to tune in...: misses - dominic fike. ♫

┈─★ a/n: i wanted some megan pining + megan angst so guess what i did <33

the fact that your friendship survived her time on dream academy is a miracle in and of itself.

megan is sitting criss-crossed on your bed, trying to stack your squishmallows. squishmallows she herself has bought you, she herself insisted you keep, she herself would pretend to cry every time you even considered getting rid of them.

“can i post this?” she asks, holding up a photo on her phone you two had taken that morning at the beach.

she had flown back home to hawaii for a few days, to spend time with her family before the katseye tour started, but insisted on spending as much of her vacation with you.

“crop me out please,” you tell her, as if she doesn’t already know your rule.

but megan is stubborn, and insists on trying anyways.

“why can’t i tag you?” she groans, throwing herself back on the bed.

“people would ask about me,” you remind her.

when she had first gone on dream academy, you knew it was going to change everything for her. of course it would, after all, she’s megan— charming, hardworking, and so, so talented. it was a matter of time before the world discovered her, and you were well prepared, but that didn’t mean you necessarily wanted the same. while megan dreamed of reaching every corner of the world, you wanted to keep your head low, focus on getting through each day, making the most of the life you have in front of you instead of chasing anything too big or too flashy.

it’s what made you two so good together— megan, the dreamer with her head in the clouds, and you, the earth beneath her feet.

“so what?” she questions, brows furrowing. “we just don’t hang out any more? you’re my best friend.”

“meiyok, you do this every week,” you laugh, playfully rubbing her forehead to try and smooth out her eyebrows. “i have to hide, since you want to go off and blow up and shit.”

“not my fault i’m so talented,” megan grins.

“it is your fault that you attract attention so easily,” you tease. “miss future superstar.”

megan’s fingers hover over your photos: you laughing in the water, her on an electric scooter, the two of you chasing after seagulls on the beach.

“are you sure?”

you nod. “i don’t want the world to know about me.”

“how are people supposed to know that i’m your friend?” she asks, and you see her lips curl up into a pout.

“you know, and i know,” you give her a gentle caress of the arm to try and soothe her. “that’s who matters, right? us.”

“right.” megan nods, blinking. “us. right.”

she deletes the photos that have any trace of you, posting herself instead, deleting the way she tagged you for photo credits, simply captioning it the sunshine feels good. you thank her and go back to hunting through your closet for clothes you don’t wear any more to make room for the new.

you don’t notice that megan spots an old hoodie she had gifted you in the “giveaway” pile. you don’t see her wince, her face tensing in realization. you don’t see her pick up the hoodie, bring it to her cheek to smell your familiar scent, and fold up politely, before tucking it into her tote bag. she figures if you were getting rid of it, you probably won’t notice. she’s right. you don’t.

—

touring takes off, and every day, you see megan’s follower count on instagram skyrocket further and further. you see her everywhere— on your tik tok, on your socials, you hear their songs on the radio, you even see megan’s face on posters out on buildings. people in your small town are beyond proud of her, posting about how they’ve known her since she was a kid or how she used to come buy shaved ice from their stand on the beach. but you never do, this is about megan, not about you, and you’re happy just knowing what you do about your best friend. your bond is nobody’s business but your own, and you intend to keep it that way.

she’s been insanely busy since the tour started, but when you get a facetime call one morning from your goofy meiyok, knowing they just touched down in hawaii for a performance, you pick up ASAP as to not leave her waiting.

(you already know what she’s going to ask.)

“will you come to our show?” she asks breathlessly, no greeting, no check in if you’re busy, no letting you know when and where. it’s how megan operates: messy, a little recklessly, but so full of good intentions, leading herself through the world heart-first and using her head later.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you smile. “already asked for tonight off from work.

“will you sit backstage?” she asks eagerly, and your stomach twists at the idea. you never wanted to get special treatment, to mooch off megan’s success in any way. you had already bought your own ticket, never wanting megan to feel like she had to give any kind of hand-out to you or like you were using her for the perks. this girl had been your best friend since childhood, and you knew she’d insist on being generous, but that was your job. to shut her down, to tell her no, and to keep living your normal life even when megan wanted to bring you into her lavish lifestyle. your job was to not get caught up in the glamor of it all, and make sure she still feels human at the end of the day.

“i don’t know, mei…” you say hesitantly.

“let me upgrade you to VIP at least and i’ll find you after. or something.” her voice is eager, and even though the camera is moving around to the point it makes you dizzy, you can still see her pleading puppy dog eyes through the facetime screen. “please please please, y/n!”

“don’t crash out,” you laugh, figuring the compromise is fair enough. “i’ll be there.”

“see you tonight,” she beams, nearly glowing through the screen, and you wave before hanging up.

the concert is every bit as fun as you anticipated it would be. megan, true to her word, gets your ticket upgraded to VIP, but you’re much more comfortable with seeming like another casual fan than sitting backstage. you can see her better like this anyways, more authentically herself. you think back to every dance competition you had come to cheer her on for, every audition you waited in the car with, even the way you had helped her pick a song for her dream academy audition.

and now here she is, performing to a sold-out crowd in your hometown, her smile never leaving her face as she sings and effortlessly completes her choreography. she seems so, so happy doing this, and you love seeing her in her element. shining, exactly as you knew she was meant for.

the concert comes to an end, and she calls you nearly as soon as you see her step off stage. she has security guide you through towards the backstage area, as hidden as you can be, and you finally get a chance to meet the girls that you had seen in the background of your facetime calls.

they had all tried to follow you on instagram after the final katseye lineup had been announced, and you figured megan had done more than her fair share of mentioning you during her dream academy time, but you had made it a point to not follow them back. sure, they were megan’s friends, but they were her coworkers first and foremost, and you knew that being on their following list as international popstars would make you an easy target for internet investigators. the last thing you wanted was any weird fan digging you up, so you kept to yourself.

but now, with them in the flesh, you figure you can warm up to them now that they’re real girls in front of your eyes and not just voices and photos behind a screen.

“y/n, we finally meet!” sophia laughs, reaching out to swoop you into a hug as if you guys already knew each other. she’s first to come out from the green room, followed one by one by the rest of them.

“i’m gonna be so honest,” daniela admits sheepishly, wiping down her face with a towel, “i thought you were made up.”

“no forreal, like imaginary friend status,” lara grins, and the four of you laugh. “or like an ai that meggy was always on the phone with.”

“what’s so funny?” megan asks, finally emerging from the room with yoonchae right behind her, furrowing her eyebrows as she reaches over to give you a crushing hug.

“nothing,” you reassure her, hugging her back, not minding the sweat. “just teasing you.”

“oh, so the usual bullshit,” she groans, but the smile on her face tells you it’s all in good fun. yoonchae offers you a quick nod, and you all make small talk as the girls refuel with snacks and rehydrate.

you’re caught off guard when the dressing room door opens a final time, their final and missing member stepping out into the hallway with you guys. your eyes meet, and you instantly feel a tingle in your spine with the way her eyes light up.

“oh, who is you?” she says in a mock-surprised voice, causing the rest of the girls to crack up. you can tell manon is the influential one, the way she radiates confidence, and you’ve never been one to get starstruck, but maybe there’s a first for everything.

the girls all scream and echo it, imitating her: “oh who is you?” over and over again, back and forth, cracking themselves up as it gets funnier and funnier each time they say it, all of them laughing.

well… all of them except for one.

“you know who this is,” megan rolls her eyes, and you’re thrown off by how your usually goofy best friend is for some reason not into the whole bit.

“well where are your manners, megan? introduce me,” manon tells her, crossing her arms over her chest nonchalantly, not letting megan’s disposition throw her off.

that’s the thing about megan that you’ve always known— megan has a big heart, but she’s ruled by her emotions, and whatever she’s feeling right now is written across her face. you want to investigate further, to ask her what her deal is, but before you can get a chance, megan is already complying. you sense that she’s not quite ready to go against manon, and rolls her eyes as she points between the two of you.

“manon, y/n,” she says, gritting her teeth. “y/n, manon.”

“same name on instagram? or…” manon’s eyes flicker up playfully at you as she pulls out her phone.

“y/n doesn’t want us following her on socials,” megan says quickly, her eyes wide, realizing what manon is suggesting.

“this one’s fine,” you grin, waving her off, feeling your cheeks warm up. manon smiles back at you and hands you her phone.

“oh, special treatment much?” lara boos playfully. “quit rizzing up the quiet ones, manon.”

you all laugh, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling. manon won’t stop looking at you, smiling back.

what you don’t catch is megan’s forced smile. she’s smiling, but it doesn’t make it to her eyes.

—

the girls are all supposed to fly to LA later that night, but megan opts to stay in hawaii one day longer, getting a later flight so she can spend more time with her loved ones. you worry that she’ll be sleep deprived from the messed up schedule but she insists she’ll be fine, promising you there’s no need to worry. she stays at her parent’s house that night instead of a hotel, and she barely gets a chance to ask before you’re reassuring her that you’ll spend the night.

she tells you all about the grueling dance practices, the people she’s met on tour, the secret new album they’re working on recording in between tour dates. the two of you lay side by side in her bed, in the same room she’s had since you were first friends, and spend the whole night laughing at tik toks and reminiscing about the mess that was your group junior prom, ending in megan ripping her dress down her ass from dancing too wildly on the dance floor.

you can hear her breathing even out as she quiets down, clearly drifting off after such a long night. but you have a pressing question, one that makes you a little nervous, and you realize asking megan now is better than waiting for a chance that might never come again.

“hey,” you tap her on the nose, gently, with your finger.

she grumbles and turns over in her sleep, her nose wrinkling but she doesn’t open her eyes. “you’re waking me up for what?”

“to ask you a question,” you tell her.

“it can’t wait?” she asks, letting out a sigh.

“it’s serious,” you finally admit, biting your lip. “i don’t want to lose you.”

she turns over instantly, her eyes wide as they look up at you. she seems panicked, and you worry that maybe this wasn’t a good idea in the first place.

“maybe i should say something first,” megan mumbles quietly, and you feel your chest thud.

“i mean, you can, if you want,” you offer.

“no actually, you first,” she shakes her head, eyes screwing shut for a brief moment. you can feel her nervous breaths on the tip of your nose, the closeness between the two of you. she opens her eyes once more and nods, blinking. “okay, i’m ready.”

“i know i haven’t exactly wanted to be in the spotlight with you,” you start, your voice quiet. you know it’s unfair— all megan has ever been is kind, and patient, and understanding, and you realize maybe, that kind of patience was all you needed to take a leap like this.

“do you think i could have manon’s number?” you finally blurt, biting down on your bottom lip anxiously as the words leave your mouth. “might be easier than dm’s.”

megan looks at you, blinking back, as if in shock. her body is still for a few moments, but she quickly shakes her head, as if she’s waking back up. her brows furrow across her forehead, and you worry for a second that you’ve offended her by seeking out a way to get closer to her coworker after all you’ve said and done to avoid being involved with all this, but megan is megan, and you realize it was silly to worry. she’s always going to have your back.

“yeah,” she nods slowly, swallowing down. “yeah, um, i don’t think she’ll mind.”

you smile and press your foreheads together, grateful to whatever is out there that gave you the angel that is megan skiendiel. “what were you going to say earlier, mei?”

she closes her eyes as your foreheads touch, her breath gentle against your face. “uh… just if you’re busy tomorrow. if we could surf or something. i’ve missed you.”

“i can fit you in the schedule,” you grin, before feeling your eyelids getting heavy. you leave your head there, comforted by the sound of megan’s breaths so close to you, feeling your heart race still from your question. “my eyes are closing. good night, mei.”

you fall asleep, and don’t notice the way megan’s eyes flutter back open and linger on your lips for much, much longer than needed.

—

a few weeks later, you have a break in your work schedule, and megan insists on flying you out to LA with her and the kats to spend some time together before their tour picks back up.

you and megan spend the day touring the city, hitting the beach, laughing your heads off. she brings you to a park, unpacking a tote bag to reveal the makings of a picnic as you two sit in the grass and admire the sunset. the watermelon is sticky against your chin, and she laughs taking photos of you against the california sky.

“would you help me with something?” you ask, watching as she struggles to neatly cut a piece of cheese with her stupid little charcuterie knife, making a mess on the blanket. you laugh, and she grins up at you.

“anything,” she answers easily.

“manon finally asked me on a date,” you admit. the two of you had been texting non-stop since their show in hawaii, and even though she was in new york right now doing publicity for a makeup brand, she had offered to take you out as soon as she’s back in LA as long as you’re still there.

“no yeah, duh,” she blinks, as if she wasn’t expecting it. “of course.”

you grimace. megan hadn’t asked how things were going between the two of you, and you hadn’t made it a point to ask. megan had never been open about dating during your friendship, and you were always too picky to be serious about any crushes, so the two of you had never really gotten to the point of talking about your romantic interests. plus, with megan, your heart was full enough— some days, you wondered why people were so obsessed with the idea of a partner when you had such an incredible best friend to fill your days with.

“she gets back tomorrow. i need help picking an outfit,” you tell her, staring down at the charcuterie platter and fruits in front of you. “and maybe what to say.”

“just be you,” she says simply, looking down again at the cheese and crackers. she doesn’t eat them, just fidgets with them, as she’s always done, a busy body at heart.

“what does she like?” you ask, feeling your throat uncomfortably dry at the thought of your impending date.

megan shakes her head. “don’t worry about that. just be you.”

“i am worrying. i want her to like me,” you admit.

“she will,” megan reassures you, her voice quiet.

“i’m worried if things go poorly i’ll lose you,” you confess, tilting your head at her. “make things weird.”

“it won’t. i’ve got your back,” megan nods, reaching out to pat you gently on the shoulder.

“thanks,” you breathe.

she wrinkles her nose, and you can see she’s debating something inside herself, but within moments, she’s blurting out her question, no filter.

“how come you didn’t want to be seen with me but you’re down to go see manon?”

“it’s not like that,” you shake your head, realizing it may seem unfair in your best friend’s eyes. “it’s easier to hide one date than our whole ass friendship.”

“what if she falls in love with you?” megan presses on, her eyes wide and pleading. “what then?”

“well, that’s not my problem,” you laugh, wondering where this sudden stress is coming on from. “i’m just trying to get through that damn date.”

“you’re right, you’re right,” megan shakes her head. “sorry. you know how i get.”

you reach over to stroke her back reassuringly, before adding a quiet confession, your lips curling into an eager smile.

“i’m excited for the first time in a long time,” you admit. “she seems like a really good one.”

you don’t notice megan’s head fall ever so slightly. she never tells you about how long she had planned this picnic, making sure to choose all your favorite things, the blanket in your favorite color.

—

a few weeks later, your uber is dropping you off at an unfamiliar door, as you try to knock as quietly as possible to not seem suspicious in this unfamiliar neighborhood.

the door swings open, and you see her— clearly having just woken up, hair a mess, but so, so familiar. you can’t stop yourself from smiling at the sight of her.

“y/n,” megan beams excitedly, her eyes going wide as she realizes you’re in front of her, in the flesh. “you’re here?”

“i flew in this morning,” you grin. “surprise.”

she grabs your bag and pulls you into the house, wrapping you up in a hug so tight, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. she’s smiling so brightly, her teeth on full display, it’s almost like you just told her she’s won the lottery. her words come out a million miles a minute, the girl rambling all on what seems like a single breath as she looks you over.

“how do you feel? are you jet lagged? what are you doing today? if you give me like 5 minutes, i can get ready super duper fast and we can hang out— do you want to go get a coffee?”

you can’t help but smile, even if you are absolutely exhausted from your red-eye. megan just has that cheering effect on people. “i was craving a coffee so bad, actually. where has a good drive-thru?”

“i was thinking i could show you this new place downtown—” megan starts, smiling sheepishly, but you’re both quickly interrupted by a third voice and the sound of steps coming from upstairs.

“no way, is that my woman?” manon beams, coming down the stairs. “you look so fine, what the hell.”

“flew in to surprise you,” you smile, your cheeks burning at the sight of her.

“you shouldn’t have,” manon grins, reaching over to grab your hand and kiss you. you’ve always been shy about pda, but ever since becoming official last week, you haven’t minded squeezing it in any chance you get.

“coffee date with megan?” you offer, motioning to the tallest of the three of you.

but megan’s smile has turned into a tight line of her lips pressing together, looking down at the way manon has her arm wrapped around your waist.

“nah, you guys go, i just remembered i have a thing,” megan waves you off, rubbing the back of her neck. “i’ll send you the spot. bring me back something?”

you open your mouth to ask something, but manon is faster.

“i need a driver,” manon grins sheepishly. “still getting that american license, remember?”

“y/n can drive my car. you’ll be careful, right?” she looks over at you, handing you her keys, something in her eyes that makes you want to ask.

but you don’t, instead smiling back at manon and putting the keys in your pocket. “of course, i’ll be careful.”

“see ya,” she waves you two off, watching as manon follows you out the door, the two of you covering your faces with sunglasses and masks.

you don’t see the way megan looks down at her hands. you never realize that you forget to bring her back a drink.

—

the girls only get more busy, and you only have so many hours in a day. manon calls you on routine, every morning before you go to work, but that means you have less time for megan’s calls. but she still makes it a point to send you postcards from every new city, sending you pictures over text even if you take forever to reply, reminding you that she’s there even if you guys aren’t talking as often as you had at one point.

but after a particularly grueling fight over the phone with manon, you find yourself seeking her out. you know they’re in korea right now, and manon was nearly falling asleep halfway through your fight, but your call only rings once before megan is picking up, her groggy voice soothing you instantly.

“y/n,” she breathes, quiet but excited. “it’s been forever.”

“hey mei,” you smile, but you realize your voice is shaky. “sorry, i know you might be sleeping.”

“what’s wrong?” she asks instantly. years together make it easy for her to read you, too easy.

“i just need you to tell me i’m being irrational,” you breathe, feeling mildly guilty that your first real conversation in weeks is for you to complain about her friend. but megan stays quiet, and listens, letting you rant about the fight you just had, getting it all off your chest. she listen, without judgement, without cutting you off, and you feel yourself instantly comforted. megan always manages to know exactly what to do.

you reach the end of your rant, and she’s quiet for a beat longer.

“are you okay?” she asks simply, no judgement, no anger. just concern.

“she’s just too calm sometimes,” you sigh. “like too relaxed.”

“manon’s probably an avoidant attachment,” megan offers, contemplatively. “maybe she thinks you guys are going to hurt each other so she’d rather not talk about the hard stuff.”

you bite your lip, staring up at your ceiling. “has she said anything about me?”

“manon’s super private,” megan sighs. “doesn’t even talk about you to me any more. not since you became official.”

“i know she is,” you mumble back. the thing you had appreciated so much about manon was slowly starting to become an issue in and of itself.

there’s another pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in megan’s head.

“is she being good to you?” she asks, her voice gentle, tender even. “treating you well?”

“i know we have our ups and downs, but i’m really happy,” you reiterate.

“do you think we would have been happy?” she asks, quickly, as if she’s scared that the line will cut at any given moment. “if we stayed close.”

“maybe,” you smile, though it hurts. all your years, and you never pictured that you and megan could possibly grow apart. but time and distance will do that to you, you figure. “do you ever miss me?”

“maybe,” megan smiles, her voice lighter. “do you miss me?”

“a little,” you admit. being worlds apart with no time to spend together has taken its toll, but your joy in seeing her live out her dreams outweighs it all. “but it’s easier to be proud of you. i feel like i’m distracting you less.”

“no way!” megan nearly shouts, making you smile. “you were never a distraction. honestly i wish you’d live with us at this point.”

“you guys would get sick of me,” you laugh.

“maybe everyone else would,” she teases. “‘cause you’re annoying or whatever. but i wouldn’t.”

“manon would be sooo tired of me,” you laugh again. megan laughs with you, and it’s enough to comfort you. you guys say goodnight, and you hang up soon after to get ready for a family dinner.

you don’t hear megan’s chest tighten after you hang up, the way she lets out a quiet breath. you don’t see megan fall back into her hotel room bed, head thudding into the pillow, her chest aching, whispering quietly to herself in the silence of the night.

“i’d never get tired of you.”

—

another few months go by, and katseye is at the peak of their popularity after gnarly drops. people are eager for their new upcoming EP, and the girls are riding the wave, taking every opportunity to generate talk about their music.

you finally get around to watching their weverse live, partially because you love seeing your two favorite people interact, and partially because their busy schedule has made long phone calls impossible and you miss the sound of manon’s voice.

you and megan have talked even less than before, but you won’t overthink it. you know she’s off living her best life, and the thought makes your heart warm.

you watch the live from your seat in an airplane— hoping to surprise your girlfriend with a visit for the weekend while she’s back in LA.

manon sits in front of the camera, seated next to megan, with yoonchae floating somewhere behind them, just happy to be included.

“manon, spill love life tea?” yoonchae reads out loud, before smiling and shaking her head. “wrong person to ask, guys.”

“guess what i’m definitely not talking about?” manon laughs, rolling her eyes.

“pussy,” megan teases under her breath, much to their surprise, and yoonchae throws her head back in laugher. you smile, grateful megan ended up in a group that lets her be her colorful, goofy self.

“me?” manon presses a hand to her own chest in disbelief, but it’s all playful between the trio. “watch it, ‘cause i can throw a math problem your way real quick, kid.”

megan grins and is next to read a comment. “drop some lore.”

manon shakes her head. “yoonchae?”

“i have nothing,” the maknae says plainly, before reading the next comment. “unnie line, rizz us up.”

“no rizz tonight folks, freshly out,” manon jokes, before squinting into the camera in a goofy pose. you know someone is bound to make a tik tok edit out of the pose by the end of the night.

“and i’m just a lovergirl, that’s my rizz,” megan shrugs, throwing her hands up. you laugh. this dork.

“someone said how can megan be a lovergirl if she’s never loved a girl, poser af,” yoonchae cracks up laughing, and manon follows suit.

megan laughs along, but you notice her eyes squinting at something, almost as if she’s thinking. or rather, over-thinking.

she’s quiet for a few moments longer, the other two scrolling through the chat to hunt for more comments to interact with, but then megan pushes manon by the shoulder, getting her attention. she points to the camera, smiling, but there’s something extra in her eyes, a twinkle of determination. you wonder what the hell she’s possibly up to.

“tell them,” she says simply to manon, pointing again to the camera.

“tell them what?” manon asks, genuinely lost, looking between the younger girl and the camera where they’re livestreaming.

“i am a certified lovergirl,” megan reaffirms, nodding confidently, before dropping a bombshell on the live.

“tell them about how i helped you bag your chick.”

you feel the world pause. yoonchae freezes, manon’s eyes go wide, and your heart drops into your stomach.

“megan,” manon says quickly, like a warning.

your chest tightens. maybe they could have played it off, but your girlfriend’s impulse reaction is obvious enough to show that she’s unnerved by megan’s reveal, and they are definitely not doing a bit any more. you look at the comments, which are now blowing up a mile a minute.

CHICK?!?!? manon has a gf? 😔❤️ MANON WLW CONFIRMED 🏳️‍🌈 did megan wingman for manon?? how did megan know manon’s gf wtfff 👀

“the all-rounder is just being silly, don’t listen to her dumb ass,” manon teases, but the warning glare she shoots the girl doesn’t go missed by you.

“no, tell them. that was my best friend, in the whole world,” megan doubles down. she’s still smiling, a self-satisfied grin, and you feel sick at the way she’s not letting up. “and now she’s your boo.”

manon simply stares at megan in disbelief.

“what?” megan asks back, challengingly.

was? WAS? 🌝🌝 is there beef omfg so grateful to have a weverse subscription on this fine day 🧎🏻‍♀️

“next topic,” yoonchae smiles diplomatically, realizing the two are in a stand-off.

“anyways,” manon says quickly, but the damage is done. you know your girlfriend. you can see her jaw hardening.

and you know megan, unfortunately. the way she stares challengingly at manon, like a dare. they try to switch to a new topic, yoonchae’s most recent viral dance, but the damage is done. the comments are racing, and you can see the three mentally preparing for their managers to call them up, as you’re sure they will as soon as they catch wind of this. the chat is relentless.

manon looks pissed lmao pr training is chasing megan but megan is faster 😭 imma give reddit 12 hrs before we know who this QUEEN is that homie hopped 2/6 katseye members omg

you hear the pilot announce takeoff, and realize you’ll have to put your phone away. you swear under your breath and mentally prepare yourself for the flight, and everything that waits for you once you land.

you don’t see the screaming match that manon and megan get into immediately after the live. you miss the three phone calls that megan sends your way, and you don’t see the message that she sends, only to unsend an hour later, never to be read by your eyes:

sorry, y/n. i couldn’t keep lying. i think we should talk.

—

you land, and instead of seeing megan’s message, you see only her phone calls. manon has called you too, sending texts of screenshots of their furious PR team and their manager blowing up her phone. it’s late by the time you land in LA, and you know she’s probably asleep, so you send a quick text of reassurance to your girlfriend, and focus now on chewing out your best friend at the center of this mess.

what the fuck did you do

megan's reply comes back immediately. what is she doing up this late?

sorry sorry??? megan are you fucking joking sorry no not fucking sorry, be so fucking serious what was the point of that do you know the shitstorm you just stirred? just saw your location are you in LA? i was supposed to surprise manon but she may need a lot of support right now let me get you from the airport ? fine

she picks you up in her car and the two of you drive in silence, neither of you ready to confront the mess she’s put you in. you see your first instagram notification, a random katseye account requesting to follow you, and you suck in a deep breath as you realize the internet detectives are probably about to start digging you up.

you swear under your breath and put your instagram app on silent. megan hears you and exhales shakily.

“y/n,” she breathes, as if the world didn’t exist in turmoil around you.

“megan, what were you thinking?” you ask in disbelief, unable to even face her. what could her endgame possibly have been? what could she possibly have gotten out of that?

“i just think it’s stupid that she pretends you don’t exist,” she shrugs, slumping back into the driver’s seat.

“that’s our agreement,” you remind her, feeling your skin get increasingly hot the more frustrated you grow. “it’s better like that.”

“she doesn’t even act like she wants you sometimes.” megan shakes her head, eyes fixed on the road as she pulls in front of the katseye house. neither of you move to get out of the car, instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean to push closer into megan’s bubble, trying to emphasize your frustration with her as it doesn’t seem to be getting through to her.

“megan, you have no idea what our relationship looks like from the inside,” you point out angrily.

you and megan, in all your years of friendship, had never had a single fight. a disagreement here and there, sure, but you always were in sync enough to land on the same page for most of your opinions. what was the point of ever bickering if one of you was always willing to compromise? it was the foundation of your friendship, being able to keep the peace, and part of what made you guys so close. having your first real fight feels like a punch to the gut, but you had a feeling it was inevitable. your paths are so different now. your first fight feels something like the beginning of the end.

“does she even love you?” megan presses on, her face tensing, her grip on the steering wheel tightening even though the car has been off for a few minutes at this point. “she’s always hiding you.”

“she does love me, and she hides me because i’m the one who fucking wants to be hidden,” you tell her, angry to be defending yourself against her at this point when she’s too stubborn to hear anything you’re saying.

you two are equally amped up at this point, both of you leaning over the center console to get in the other’s face. your voices are both raising, and you see the way megan’s neck vein tenses as she scowls at your words. your faces are only a foot or so apart, and you can feel the breath from each of her words, punctuating her frustration.

“i loved you, and i didn’t want to hide you,” she argues, but you shake your head and scoff.

“that’s different, and you know it is, megan.”

“not for me, it wasn’t.” megan says, her voice dropping, and it clicks for you. you realize what she means, your eyes meeting, something heavy in her gaze. you feel your chest tighten at the implication, but it’s too much to open that box right now.

“stop it, i don’t want to hear that,” you shake your head, feeling your face get even redder. you’re angry, you’re confused, and your heart is aching— why is she doing this to you, now of all times? “you’ve made a mess out of everything, megan. do you know how stressed out manon is?”

“no, i did love you,” she insists, if she didn’t hear anything else you just said. she leans in closer, and you pull back, nearly wincing.

“megan,” you breathe in disbelief, feeling it all come over you like a nightmare. “not fucking funny.”

“i would have been proud to be yours,” megan musters up the courage to admit, her face hard but determined, her eyes watery, her voice shaking. “i’m sorry i wasn’t good enough.”

you feel the back of your throat burn, your mouth going dry. not once did you possibly dream of a day where megan would confess something like this, would ever cross this line with you. she had always just been megan, your best friend, always there, as she had been from the start. you never let yourself consider anything more.

“megan,” you warn her, your voice low, clenching your jaw so tightly, your bones hurt. “what the hell am i supposed to do with that?”

“that’s not my problem,” megan echoes, her voice cold and harsh, and you realize she’s referring to her question all those months ago, on your picnic, when she had first expressed fear about manon falling in love with you and it ruining everything. not once in a million years did you think it could be megan that fell in love with you, and even less, not once did you ever think it could be megan to ruin your friendship.

“this is why we didn’t end up together,” you blurt, feeling your eyes prick with hot tears that you try desperately to fight back. your stomach is in knots and at this point, you’ll say anything to escape this discomfort— even if it means hurting megan in the process. “you’re immature, selfish, you don’t think. impulsive.”

“i loved you,” megan says back firmly, grimacing at your words, but steady in her resolve to get it out. she repeats it like she’s trying to scrape the last of it out of her lungs, like she’s coughing up water and trying to clear it out.

“there’s no world where you and i end up together,” you bite back, “get that through your head.”

“there doesn’t have to be,” megan pushes back, her lip quivering. “but i’m not gonna let you lie about everything. i tried.”

“this was selfish,” you hiss, but your heart thuds at the sight of her. you try to keep your rage at the forefront to protect your own tender heart from the confusion of feelings swirling up in your chest. “that’s why we stopped being friends.”

“i loved you,” she repeats, even if it’s only to say it out loud, for the sky, for the moon to bear witness, sounding defeated and triumphant all at once. “and i’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“you did ruin everything,” you blink, realizing there’s no reality where you guys can recover from this. there’s no reality where manon forgives megan entirely, there’s no reality where you can just forget megan’s confession, there’s no reality where you can take back all the cruel things escaping from your lips.

megan’s eyes meet yours, and it’s as if she’s realizing it at the exact same time. things will never be the same.

“can i kiss you?” she blurts out, reaching out a hand towards your face.

“megan,” you say sharply in complete disbelief, swatting her hand away.

“you know why you and manon are even dating?” she snaps, without missing a beat, as if she were prepared for the rejection. “because the night before your first date, i stayed up all night telling manon every single thing you like, exactly how you are, exactly how you get, exactly what she should do.”

you stare at her in complete and utter shock. that first date had been one of your most cherished memories, and you felt like you were walking on clouds the whole time. dates afterwards had never quite compared to that first one, but you figured it was just how relationships go. you could have never considered the fact that someone had put that much effort into making sure it went that perfectly, intentionally, and it makes your throat burn to think that it was actually megan behind it all, not manon. not the girl you’re currently dating.

“no way,” you shake your head, your tears making your vision blurry. “she—”

“did everything right that night because i coached her every step of the way,” megan cuts you off, her voice low and sharp. “you only love her now, ‘cause i loved you first.”

your jaw drops in disbelief, but megan isn’t done. the words spill out of her.

“and maybe i’m a little angry, ‘cause you could have loved me,” she says, her voice shaky, but something in her seems lighter, like each time she says it, she can breathe easier. “but i loved you, y/n, and that was real, even if i’m grieving you now. i loved you, y/n.”

you’ve heard enough, more than enough. you grab your bag and hurriedly race out of the car. you’re not sure you can handle much more. “get out of my face, megan.”

and she lets you. you race to the door and pray manon is awake to let you in. megan drives off, disappearing into the night. you feel yourself hold in what’s left of your tears, bidding goodbye to the friendship that had once meant the world to you.

what you don’t see is the deep breath she lets out. the weight is finally off her shoulders.

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