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rongloa · 2 months ago

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please make the most gut wrenching fanfic ever. i want mark to be like a crappy bf or like a messy breakup PLEASEEEE i need to cry or something

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 — m.grayson drabble

pt. 1 — pt. 2

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). mark grayson x gn!reader

𝐰𝐜. 1.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. break up, swearing, mark being a fucking dick (slightly ooc), mentions of depression, mark hurts you, heavy arguments, use of the word ‘hate’ (you can see where this is going)

𝐚/𝐧. frick you anon (ily don’t stop), why’d you send this ask in? :(

You remember the first time he looked at you like you were something soft. Like the world hadn’t chewed him up yet. Like he hadn’t already seen its insides, bleeding and brutal. His eyes were wide and brown and impossibly open, like a door you didn’t realize you were walking through until it closed behind you.

It was late—he was late, always—but you had waited anyway, curled up on the concrete steps outside his house in your oversized hoodie and mittens, tapping your foot to some song in your head to distract from the cold. He said he was at a group project meeting. It sounded fake, but you trusted him. You always trusted him.

He jogged up, breath fogging in the air, cheeks flushed from the night wind. He looked surprised to see you. “You waited for me?” he asked, like he hadn’t been the one to promise, “Just an hour, tops.”

And you laughed—so stupidly, stupidly in love. “Obviously,” you said, as if the answer could’ve been anything else.

As if your body didn’t already know what it meant to belong to him.

Before he became a ghost in your inbox, before the silence grew claws and wrapped around your throat, Mark had been good to you. Not perfect—never perfect—but good in the way that mattered, in the way you could build a life around.

He held your hand even when no one was looking. Tucked your hair behind your ear like it was instinct. You remember the way he’d fumble over his words when he was excited, how his cheeks flushed when he saw you across a room like he still couldn’t believe you were his. How he used to walk you home, even if it meant doubling back two neighborhoods. Just to make sure you got there safe. Just to have those last few minutes of quiet with you.

There were Sunday mornings when the world felt small enough to hold in your palm—his voice soft from sleep, your legs tangled beneath thin blankets, the smell of coffee you never drank but he always made, just in case you changed your mind. He’d sit on the couch in his old t-shirt, hair messy, face buried in some comic book you couldn’t name, and you’d watch him like you were afraid to blink.

He made you mixtapes, real ones—burned CDs with tracklists scrawled in sharpie and titles like “For the Coolest Person I Know (Don’t Roll Your Eyes).” Songs he thought you’d like. Songs that reminded him of you. Sometimes he’d get the lyrics wrong, but he’d sing them anyway, horribly off-key, like it didn’t matter if he sounded dumb as long as it made you laugh.

And he listened. Really listened. Back then, you could tell him about the weird dream you had or how your coworker was annoying you and he’d actually care. You’d talk for hours, about nothing and everything, until the sun dipped low and your voices were hoarse from too many words. He remembered little things. Your favorite brand of cereal. The way you hated the sound of styrofoam. How you always got cold after you cried, even if it wasn’t winter.

He used to kiss you like he thought it might save him. Like if he just held you close enough, long enough, he could outrun whatever waited on the other side of the sky.

But then the world crept in. Bit by bit, like water under a locked door. You didn’t notice it at first.

You excused the first time he forgot your birthday—he was fighting a villain halfway across the country. You got it. Really, you did. You said it was fine and meant it, even if you cried in the bathroom at work.

Then came the days he didn’t check in after disappearing mid-dinner. The lies got easier for him to tell. Easier for you to swallow. He wasn’t just a person anymore. He was someone. Someone the world needed more than you did. Or so you started to believe.

You told yourself you were lucky. Blessed, even. To love someone who mattered. To matter to someone who could move mountains and outrun lightning. But somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing you as part of his world, and more like a pit stop. A soft place to land when the mantle got heavy.

You used to be his secret. Then his comfort. Then his burden.

You remember the last time he touched you like he wanted to. It was almost accidental—his fingers brushing your wrist as he took the mug from your hand. There was no heat. No ache. No softness. Just contact. You looked at him, trying to find that old spark—the boy who used to look at you like you hung the damn stars—and all you saw was someone who’d already left.

It didn’t fall apart all at once. It never does. It was a thousand tiny breaks. A slow erosion of everything you thought you had. A fading. A flicker. A final, quiet extinguishing.

You used to think love was something you could hold together if you just tried hard enough.

But some people hand you broken things and blame you when they don’t work.

Of course you didn’t know he was Invincible.

No one did. He looked like a kid still trying to grow into his body. He winced when he laughed too hard and couldn’t cook for shit. There was no part of you that thought he was saving the world between algebra quizzes and late-night cartoons.

But he told you. Right before he left.

The first thing you notice is that he doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He opens the door like he was already waiting for this. For you. For the end.

Mark’s hair is unkempt. There’s a bruise healing on his jaw and a dried line of blood near his ear. He smells like the cold night air and smoke, you can smell it from the threshold of his room. You don’t ask what happened. You don’t care. Or maybe you do, but not in the same way you used to.

You step inside. Quiet. Slow.

His room is dark, save for the small desk lamp. Everything is half-unpacked, like he never really came back. Like his body is here, but the rest of him never made it down from orbit.

“I thought you were dead,” you say softly.

Mark flinches.

“You were just gone. For months, Mark. No messages. No explanation. Not even a goddamn voicemail.”

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor like it might split open and swallow him.

“I checked the news every day. I asked Eve, I asked your mom. Nobody knew where you went. Nobody knew if you were even coming back.”

You’re already crying and you didn’t notice until your voice cracks, until your chest hitches. You wipe your face roughly, like you’re angry for feeling this much.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” you go on, choking it out. “I thought maybe—maybe you’d call, or come home, or—or say something. Anything. But you didn’t.”

Mark’s breathing is shallow. His fists are clenched. His voice is low when he finally says, “I didn’t know how.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He looks up.

“That’s bullshit, baby,” you say again, louder now, louder than you mean to. “You always know what to say to everyone else. To save everyone else. But when it’s me, suddenly you go silent?”

“I was trying to protect you,” he snaps, like it’s a reflex. A shield he throws up before the words can cut too deep.

You let out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh. “No. No, you don’t get to say that anymore. You don’t get to act like I’m some fragile thing you had to put on a shelf and forget about.”

Mark’s eyes are glassy now, too. Red-rimmed. Shining in the low light.

“I love you,” you say, the words breaking apart in your mouth. “I love you so fucking much, and you left me to grieve you like you died. You made me grieve you while you were still alive.”

He crosses the room in two strides, arms reaching, but you step back before he can touch you. Fingers grazing the wool of the your sweater— the one he gave you with its blue and yellow stripes.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Please just don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, shaking. “I thought—God, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought—”

“You didn’t think about me.”

There it is. The truth. And it lands like a thunderclap between you.

Mark stares at you like he’s watching something beautiful collapse.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore,” you whisper. “You used to be kind. You used to show up. Now you disappear and expect me to just keep… waiting.”

“I never stopped loving you.”

You close your eyes. The tears won’t stop coming. “Then why didn’t you come back for me?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

And maybe that’s the worst part. Because you wanted to hear something. Anything. A reason big enough to make this hurt mean something. But there’s just silence.

You move towards the door, out of the his room. The one you’d spend hours in just to be with him.

Mark’s voice breaks behind you. “Please don’t go.”

Those same big brown eyes you’d fallen in love with in home economics, staring right back.

You move toward the door with tears streaking down your cheeks, fingers trembling as you reach for the handle. You can barely see straight. The lump in your throat is thick enough to choke you.

“I don’t think I can stay anymore,” Your voice cracks on the last word, “not when I’m the only one who was still trying.”

You open the door.

But before you can take a single step, you feel his hand close around your arm.

Fast. Too fast.

Mark yanks you back—not roughly, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His grip is iron. Not human. And it makes you feel even smaller than you already do.

You whip around, tears flying. “Let go of me!”

He’s breathing hard. Face flushed. Eyes frantic. “No. No, we can’t—we can’t end it like this.”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

You try to pull free, but his fingers won’t budge. It’s like being caught in a bear trap. You shove him, slap at his chest with your free hand, tears falling hot and fast.

His grip tightens to the point you follow the hand that holds you, pinned. “Let go.”

“I still love you!” he shouts, voice shaking. “Please just—just talk to me, please—”

You hit him again, fighting against him. Weak punches to his chest. You don’t care if it hurts him. You want it to. Even though you know it won’t.

“You don’t get to do this!” you cry. “You don’t get to leave me, disappear for months, break me down to pieces—and then decide you love me when it’s too late!”

Mark’s face crumples. He tries to reach for your face, but you pull back as hard as you can from the unyielding grip and push it out through pursed lips, “Don’t touch me!”

“Please do–“

“You’re HORRIBLE,” you sob, voice cracking apart as you watch your wrist twist at an angle you know it shouldn’t. “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I loved you. I trusted you. I waited and I waited and I WAITED, and you never come back!”

“I was trying to protect you—!” Crack. It burns, and it hurts in a different kind of way to what you feel in your chest. And you can’t help the wail that burns its way out of your mouth.

He drops your hand like it burned him, like he’s finally realising that maybe he’s the bad one. He hurt you, he was hurting you and he didn’t even realise it. And it fills a rage in you that burns wild. It fucking hurts, hurts so bad and you can’t express it in just one meeting of your eyes.

“No, you were protecting yourself! You were a coward, Mark! You were a COWARD, and I hate you for it!”

The words echo.

He looks like you shot him—he had the gun loaded and cocked all by himself. It’s like something inside him breaks right there. His arms fall to his sides, limp. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he looks as what he’s done for fucking once.

And finally, finally, you’re free.

You back away, shaking. Hand dangling at your side with fingers twisted unnaturally.

“I don’t want an apology,” you whisper. “I don’t want your love. I don’t even want you to look at me ever-fucking again.”

You pull open the door and this time—this time he doesn’t stop you.

You walk away. Sobbing. Trembling. Sick with the kind of grief that only comes when someone you love turns out to be the reason you’ll never be the same again.

Behind you, you can hear his knees hit the floor.

But you don’t turn around. Don’t even look back because if you met those big brown eyes you’d fallen for in home economics, you’d run back. You’d comfort him because that’s all you ever wanted to do.

You don’t save him.

Not this time.

The hallway of the house feels louder than it should.

And Mark kneels there alone, in the dark, finally crying by himself.

#invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #invincible mark grayson #invincible #invincible x you #invincible x reader #mark grayson angst

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letsbangts · 7 months ago

Text

tell me what to do || jjk

⤷ summary: when the familiar becomes unfamiliar what do you do

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 3.4k

⟶ genre: angst, established relationship au, breakup au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, big argument, talking about breaking up, the blame game, basically misunderstanding due to miscommunication

⟶ warnings: explicit language

↬ a/n: once again, this a very old piece I polished up. okay so this was my second piece of work so read with caution. I was absolutely obsessed with the song so I used the lyrics as a guideline for writing, I incorporated the lyrics into the story. let me know what you think i really appreciate feedback & recommend a song if you’d like and i’ll write a scenario with it like i did with this song :) angel xoxo

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ tell me what to do shinee 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

these days, i don’t know, i don’t know you you look like you gave up on a lot of things but i hear your silent scream

You sit at the dining table drinking tea in your home, your home together, but lately nothing seems like yours anymore. It feels like there never was a you and him, never two people as one. You don’t even need to sense it; you can see it. It’s as though you don’t know him anymore. He looks like he gave up on a lot of things, and like he gave up on the two of you. You can almost hear him silently screaming for an end, your end.

lovers without extreme development is this the losing hand that time has placed? we haven’t ended it but it’s already over

Jungkook walks through the doorframe fully dressed, ready for his day, while sporting his slightly messy bedhead that he somehow manages to make look angelic. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed; you still see his beauty, and that’s something you don’t think could ever change. Because that is what he is, a beauty inside and out, that can’t simply disappear.

He greets you with a gentle kiss on the forehead, a soft “good morning” and a soft smile. You’ve been like this for a while now, stuck in this particular level of interaction, almost a routine. Like lovers without any extreme development, no more growth in your relationship, if you can still call it that.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask a bit apprehensively.

Jungkook picks up the coffeepot, while avoiding any slight piece of eye contact and pours himself a cup with the coffee you made for him, just another part of your routine. You’ve always hated coffee, its dull blackness, the bitter taste, the way it leaves a stain, how the smell lingers, and how it keeps you awake. But after Jungkook that view changed for you, its dull blackness suddenly started reminding you of Jungkook’s dark dreamy eyes, the bitter taste of it reminded you of his lips as that was your only intake of it, those stains it left was warmth around your heart, the smell was like being engulfed in his arms, and it allowed you and him to be up spending more hours together. In a way, coffee was like a representation of your love.

However, that love has turned black and bitter just like the coffee in his mug. The sweet smiles you both always shared and the bright laughs you used to hear between you vanished. He vanished, pulled away, and it was too late to try to pull him back.

“Mhm,” he replies, nodding while taking a sip, and like your love, it disappears as he swallows it down.

You nod with him and look down at your hands wrapped around your mug. Is this the losing hand that time has placed? Were the two of you just doomed to keep repeating the same routine with each other in denial, in silence, similar to the one you are currently sitting in a few metres apart, while you are living in different worlds away from one another? Neither of you has ended it but it’s already over. The two of you were already over.

He refuses to have conversations with you when before no one could ever shut the two of you up. He always seems to be a safe distance away from you instead of constantly messing around with each other to get a smile from the other.

there’s a knot that can’t be untied in front of us

As the bottoms of both your cups get revealed, so is your obvious stunt to prevent a conversation from starting. Jungkook places his mug in the sink and approaches you, and with just those movements, your heart races.

“Well, I’m going to head off okay?” he stares at you with an expression you struggle to read…it’s almost…apologetic.

“Yeah, I need to start getting ready anyway,” you say.

“Okay then, I guess I’ll see you later…” he says like it’s a question while picking up his keys and approaching the front door. It’s as if he is unsure you will return to each other, as if you are not one another’s home.

You hum in agreement, just as his hand is about to touch the doorknob, you realize he forgot. One of the things that you assumed had turned into second nature for both of you has slipped out of his head. Now, you’re fearing that you could be the next thing to slip out of his head, or even worse, out of his life.

“Jungkook?” you call out.

He turns almost too quickly, like having been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

“Yeah?” he turns with wide eyes.

You give him a look that speaks words only he could understand.

“Ah,” he sighs, approaching you.

Jungkook cups your face with two hands, hands that are all too familiar but feel like they belong to a stranger at the same time.

He gives you the kiss you had reminded him of. It isn’t necessarily part of your routine, but something you have always done. It was always your sign of love to the other before you headed out into the world, a reminder of your love.

A reminder that you think is much needed for you both.

He pulls away, still holding your face.

“Sorry,” he says and this time the apologetic look in his eyes is all too clear, matching his voice.

But as you hear his words, his ‘sorry’ seems to be for a different reason than forgetting to kiss you before leaving the house. But without thinking more, you just let it go.

“It’s okay. Get going now or you’ll be late,” you laugh softly.

And with one last kiss, he’s out the door.

There’s a knot that can’t be untied in front of you, both knowing that you should let go, kiss goodbye one last time, and walk out of that door and go your separate ways for good. But that is easier said than done.

Jungkook and you are both well aware of the fall in your relationship, but are also conscious of the love that will forever remain between you. The history between you is far too much for you both to walk away from. To take five years of memories and experiences with a person you’ve grown with so much that they have become an attachment to your life, to you as a person, is an unimaginable pain that you would both rather avoid.

It is also scary, Jungkook is the one thing you remember having through everything, he is essentially a part of you. The thought of becoming one person again is something you never pictured having to do again. In all your plans for yourself and the future, Jungkook is there beside you. You have become accustomed to considering things for two people; you couldn’t imagine just worrying about yourself, one person.

But as you consider what is right for both of you, all that comes to mind is that maybe you and he were better off as two separate people.

you don’t tell me but you want me to know you think that you only gave the words you threw at me because you’re too used to me

As the day comes to a close, you hear the door open and footsteps follow. The sound you used to anticipate now makes you tense. Nevertheless, once the owner of those steps and so much more turns the corner, your lips can’t help but leap into a smile that’s both relieved and nervous.

Jungkook takes off his shoes and sits beside you, with a space between you that visualizes everything you both have been feeling.

“Hey,” he breathes out as he settles into the couch.

You slightly hesitate, “Hey.”

You sit in silence but hear everything that needs to be said. An invisible weight piles up on both your shoulders, an awkwardness that has become usual between you. So you finally break it and say it. The moment you never believed would come and tried to avoid has finally arrived.

“L-Look, Jungkook,” you take a deep breath and continue, “We both know what has happened between us—“

“Ye—Wait, what?” he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed.

“No, it’s time we finally faced it, we’ve run our course. I suppose our time together was only supposed to be this long.”

“What are you talking about? I—“

This time it is you who interrupts.

“It’s just hard for me to let go of you, you just mean so much to me, but I can’t control how you feel.”

“Huh? How do I feel? What do you mean? What are you even talking about right now?” he rushes out.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to keep silent like you’re keeping some secret from me, I know. You’ve lost feelings for me.”

“No, you’re not listening to me—”

“Kookie, it’s okay, I’m a big girl. I’ve broken up with a guy before.”

“Break up?” his voice panicked, “Woah, just listen to me for one second, will you? Holy shit!”

Once again, you both sit in silence, except this time you can’t hear the silent words waiting to be said.

Jungkook shakes his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you know, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, not even close.”

“I-I thought—“ you stutter out, eyes widened.

“Yeah, exactly, you thought. Or is that what you want? Do you want to break up?” he asks, staring you directly in your eyes, his voice much softer with apprehension.

“I want to make things easier for you,” you reply in a whisper, head lowered as you fiddle with your hands on your lap.

He gives you a look as if you have just said something impossible to comprehend, as if you were both unaware of what has been happening between you for months. It’s like he has become so used to the act you both put on to ignore your downfall that he forgot it was an act.

“Easier? ” he scoffs, then laughs with zero humour, “Is breaking up something easy for you?” he argues back.

The fact that he was gonna sit there and continue to play this game even after you called it out sparked many emotions inside you, and the one that decided to emerge was anger.

“Oh, come on, Jungkook! We both know you checked out on us a long time ago.”

His eyes widen, and then he also snaps.

“Me? I checked out, are you being fucking serious right now? I know I have pulled away a little, but you didn’t give me any sign to do otherwise!”

“Are you seriously turning this on me right now?” you snapped back with a newfound boldness to defend myself instead of your initial plan to make this an easy conversation for him. For both of you.

“Well, I’m not going to blame myself, even though that’s what you’re trying to do. Just because you know me, you think that means you know all my inner fucking feelings. When it’s clear you don’t know mine or your own!” Jungkook says in a stern and loud tone that you have heard him use in the past, but never to you.

indifferent and painful words left deep scars on that day words that made me realize that i’m still a fool

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for me to read your feelings if it wasn’t so blatantly obvious on your face and the way you act differently around me now!”

“And you think I started acting the way I did simply because I suddenly just lost all my feelings for you? You can’t be that clueless!”

The words thrown between you were indifferent and painful, which had already left their mark on both of you and only made you more frustrated. At this point, the distance between you seems bigger than the couch itself, and your heart feels heavier than when you thought you two were about to break up.

“No, you can’t stoop this low to make it seem like it’s all on me! And not knowing my feelings, how does that even make sense?” you blurt out.

“Seriously, I know when we first started having problems, we both started acting slightly different towards each other, but it was never this bad…” Jungkook’s voice is much calmer and less tense than it was a few seconds ago as he continued.

“But after my birthday, you know, after what happened, you just changed how you acted toward me, with me completely,” his tone turned the air serious, almost still. You felt it slap you right across your face, run right into your chest, knocking the air out of you.

“I-I did?” you make your way full circle back to stuttering.

The following words that come out of his mouth make you realize what a fool you are. At this realization, you can only tear up. Choked up, this time, your eyes are the ones that turn apologetic, while his gaze fixes on the floor before both of you.

He nods.

“You did. At first, it was just little things like not asking me to pick you up on my way home or not asking for my shirt to wear to bed. But then it turned into so much more.”

You look down, filled with a bit of shame. Until you hear a sound from him you didn’t expect, a chuckle.

“Just like that. It’s like you don’t want to look at me anymore, at the table, in the car; you even turn your back to me when we’re in bed. I used to catch you staring at me even when I wasn’t looking at you,” he smiles fondly at the memory, and it’s his turn to glance down at his hands.

Jungkook plays with his bracelet, one you got for him two years ago for his birthday. He shakes his head, ”It’s as if my presence makes you completely uncomfortable now,” his voice cracks.

And it is right then when you do too.

if only i can erase it if only i can

At that moment, you wished you could go back and do what he told you that you always did—look at him. Because once you look up at him, what you see breaks you. His eyes filled with tears, he is trying to hold back, a few escaping, but he is quick to wipe them away. It is the worst thing you could see besides witnessing you driving him away. It is you hurting him. If you could erase everything you did to make him think that you didn’t love being around him, you would, and now you could.

i took you for granted but just thinking of you not being there i don’t want to go through that my world would crumble

Although you may not be able to erase everything, you can change everything from here on to prove to him he has the wrong view of what he is to you. Jungkook is the furthest thing from just an uncomfortable presence. He is your best friend, your roommate, your chauffeur, your family, your lover and your home. Your everything. Even the thought of him not being in your life… your whole world would fall apart.

am i the one for you at some point, you were keeping me in check i said you changed a lot but i changed the most the one for me, i didn’t know but that promise keeps suffocating us time keeps lingering but our time keeps getting destroyed

The tears running down Jungkook’s face make you think he feels the same way you do; that he doesn’t want the two of you to end like this. Assuring you of your relationship, that he is the one for you, and you are the one for him.

“I’m sorry,” as you speak, he looks at you, and for the first time in a while, you both look into each other’s eyes with hopefulness.

“I said you changed a lot, but I was the one who changed the most. And I kept acting that way because I had made myself think that was what you wanted. I didn’t want to let you go, so I thought by doing that I would hold onto you longer, but that very thing is what suffocated us. It’s what wrecked our relationship and sent it down even further. We had so much time to fix it, but it just kept getting destroyed,” you say with two streams running one under each eye.

Jungkook finally speaks after what feels like a whole lifetime.

“It’s okay, I mean, it’s both our faults, though,” he sniffs, “We should have had this conversation a long time ago,” he goes back to fiddling with his bracelet this time, him being the one to break eye contact.

He laughs, again catching you off guard with the unexpected reaction.

“It’s funny, the one thing we did the most, even when we didn’t need to or weren’t even supposed to do, is what we failed to do when we needed to the most…talk.”

You couldn’t help but also laugh at the irony.

“I guess we took all those times we told each other to shut up when watching movies to heart,” you chuckle, and he laughs at your response.

that smile came to me, more brightly the cold hands became more warm�� two lonely souls met not lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely i’ll look into you again, i’ll place your breathing in my ears even if everything but us changes

Jungkook’s smile seems brighter now, more than ever. At that moment, the room seemed to be glowing.

You reach out and grab his hands,

“I love you. I have always and will always. I don’t want to give up on us, I never have. We’ve been together for too long to go back to being lonely, and I’d be an idiot to pick loneliness over you.”

You look at him the whole time, watching his expression with every word. You look through the tears in your eyes at him, and when you feel him squeeze your hands in his, your tears spill all over again.

“You are the only girl who has had my heart for years. I’ve never debated giving it to anyone else. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll get us back to the good place where we were before. Even if something has to change, I don’t care as long as we are the only thing that doesn’t,” Jungkook’s words were exactly what you wanted and needed to hear, enabling your tears to keep falling down your face, but now out of pure happiness, the pure bliss of the two of you finally back to one another. You were finally back to being one.

You pull him towards you by the nape of his neck, foreheads resting against each other. With your lips brushing,

“I love you,” you whisper to him.

He lovingly smiles back.

“I have always loved you, too.”

And those were the only words you ever needed to hear from him.

i hope you’ll tell me first don’t cry no more if your heart can see me don’t cry no more

Jungkook pulls you onto his lap, legs dangling over his. You bury your head in his chest, arms wrapping around his strong torso. His arms pull you into a tight embrace that signifies neither of you is about to go anywhere.

“Now stop crying, baby,” he teases you, and the only evidence of his tears is the red in his eyes.

“I can’t, they won’t stop now,” you giggle out past your sobs.

“It’s okay now, we know our feelings are on the same page.”

i’ll go to you first at the end of a different road i’ll wipe your cheeks that are wet with tears and ask you

“Now we just need to figure out where to start where do we go from here,” he continues as he holds your face again as he did hours ago but now the gesture felt completely different as he used his thumbs to wipe your cheeks that were wet with tears, you look into those dreamy coffee coloured eyes of his as you listen to the following words that came out of his bitter coffee flavoured lips that you can already taste,

“Tell me what to do”

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promise-of-soup · 2 months ago

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┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ Picking Favourites°︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

☆Synopsis: (Off-screen) The Ghouls have grown frustrated attempting to figure out who your favourite is among them. You have been repeating the same thing: "I don't pick favourites", but do you actually?

AKA: Jiro Kirisaki, your closest friend among the Ghouls, has been acting a bit strange lately, despite this, he has remained the only Ghoul not to ask you who your favourite is, does he know?

☆Tags? Jiro Kirisaki x Reader, lots of pining, MC refered to as 'girl' and 'she', no physical descriptions but MC is shorter than Jiro, Kaito is hella jealous (I always imagine that he's extra jealous if MC likes Jiro), Lucas is there too, physical affection, fluff, suggestive but not directly, you and Jiro share a bed, Haru mention, Ed mention, Rui mention, this kinda builds on my Jiro affection headcanons post, a bit unedited because yes, potential for part two :)

☆Notes: this might be a part one if I feel like writing more of this, I am also not opposed to making smut within this same scenario if you'd like me to, this is a bit all over the place ngl, atm since my blog is new I am doing non-smut stuff first... CAN YOU GUYS TELL I LIKE JIRO????

Part 2 here:

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Pale morning light gently touches your eyelids, having entered your currently messy dorm room through the beautiful window overhead. You blink awake the day. Everything is warm. It had been a long week, this feels nice, relaxing.

The scent of wood faintly radiates off the floor planks, having been warmed by the very sunlight that had woken you up. Your blanket has been warmed by the comfort of a much needed night's sleep; the likes of which you have not felt for a long time. Your body itself is encompassed with another kind of warmth: it is heavy upon your limbs. Your eyes go wide at once when you realize how such warmth came to surround you: a pair of large arms hold you in place from behind, one is drapped over your own arm, and the other holds your waist with a loose grip that proves to be enough to keep you from wiggling away. The figure's long legs are adjacent to yours, and its head is buried into the crook of your neck, leaving a warm spot where quiet breathes slowly feather air onto your skin. At what point of the night has he gotten this close?

When Jiro first suggested he sleeps over before Anomalous Combat class he had pitched the idea as a non-intrusive way to "increase effeciency", this makes sense, of course, because the class happens to be relatively early in the morning, in a location that is quite close to your dorm room, and he was already walking you to it every week with no exceptions. So clearly if he slept over in your dorm the night before, he wouldn't need to wake up so early to make it in time, and could just go straight to class with you. Right?

What he failed to mention is that this would entail holding you against him so tightly, he specifically said he sleeps very still and would keep to his designated side of the bed, after all, you insisted he slept on the bed. You're unsure if you should push his arms away and fall to the floor coughing in shock, or if you should enjoy the fleeting time you have been blessed with to be this close to him. He's so warm, and his hands are so soft against you... it would be really difficult to push him away too, he's so strong, you wouldn't want to wake him up so suddenly, he barely gets to sleep for this long. So you just take it all in: the way his soft hair presses against your bare skin through a small gap in your pajama shirt, the way his fingers flutter ever-so-gently against you, how his chest rises and falls against your back; you're so aware of every slight movement he makes, and can tell that he is about to wake up and take it all away from you, but nothing prepares you for the manner at which he wakes.

"G'morning..." the edges of Jiro's lips brush against your neck when he speaks, his voice rough and deeper than usual, causing your entire body to shiver at once as your hands clasp around nothing and your face heats up.

He can tell, he always can, so he giggles, making sure to press even further into you when he does, so that his lips are directly against your skin and the sound echoes through your entire system and leaves a mark in your heart.

"G-Good morning" you respond, as best as you can.

Jiro doesn't falter, nor does he take his hands away from you. In fact, he tightens his hold, directly inhaling your scent in a manner that is both sharp and obvious as he shifts so that his torso and your torso are folded together, digs his fingers into your waist, and chuckles into your neck again. Your mind reassures you that he's simply moving around in a sleepy state, he's just woken up, he can't tell what he's doing, nor can he tell that he is pressing against you. You flinch, shocked. You're just friends, this is a natural thing men go through, he's not doing it on purpose. But he's not moving away, has he not noticed?

He shifts again, ever so slightly, and you feel his length through the thick layers of fabric that seperate you. It is echoing through your core and you cough, using all the strength you can master to open his hands up like a door and to step through it, away from the bed, muttering about how you're going to be late for class if you don't make haste to get ready or whatever and stuff.

The fucker has the audacity to smile up at you, telling you to go get ready first and turning around to lay on his back like he owns the place.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You lock yourself in the bathroom, splashing your face with cold water, but it remains ever as hot, and no amount of cold water cools it down, it seems.

You week has been so difficult. You have been dragged to here and there, told to do this and that, and all under the guise of the same motive: so that those who had requested your "help" could batter you with the same question, over and over and over again.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━

"I'm so your favourite." Haru elbowed your side as you arose from picking a stray cup off the ground. He had requested your assistance with feeding the anomolous animals that day, and at that point you had spent what had to be at least three hours running around Jabberwock with various bags of dry food.

"I don't pick favourites." you told Haru the same thing you have been telling everyone, and watched his bright smile dwindle down into a forced frown.

"C'mon," He urged, grabbing your sides and shaking you ever so slightly, "There has to be someone?" his tone was questioning, but it was definetly a statement.

"I love you all equally." you insisted.

The same exact situation, perhaps with different levels of intensity, kept repeating itself, buried under layers of forced labour and endless tasks.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Of course you have a favourite, and it's obvious too. You've slept in the same room as some of the other Ghouls while on a mission before, but you can't imagine letting anyone other than Jiro sleep in your actual dorm, let alone in the same bed as you. He makes you feel safe, more so than anyone else you've come to know, and he's always there for you, no matter what you need him for.

Hell, even the fact that he's here now, in the other room, is proof of how he is there for you: he's been kind enough to walk with you to class every week with no fail, and suggested to sleep over just to make it easier to do that, it's not his fault he's so tired all the time, you wouldn't want to make him walk over here so early in the morning, and Yuri barely lets him sleep. This is a nice thing for him, you went and made it weird with your heated face and suggestive thoughts.

You feel the ache in your muscles, and the dread you've felt all week begins to climb up your body again: yet another day of being asked to pick favourites. You wish they just let it go already. It's worse now, too because even worse than the ache in your muscles is the ache in your chest, your face is still hot, seemingly having spread to the rest of your body with an unstopable force of awareness from what had transpired earlier.

Nothing happened.

You reassure yourself, but in all honestly, you are kind of mad at yourself that nothing happened. You shouldn't be.

So you just sigh and do your best to brush your hair into a ponytail, accidently touching along the spot on your neck where his lips linger. Taking off your pajama to replace it with a tracksuit is making you imagine his hands running over your skin, and even brushing your teeth is difficult, because you can't help but think of something else that could have been in your mouth if you were stupid enough to stay. This is not normal, he's your friend, you should be ashamed of yourself... so you cover your face with your hands and let out a, very quiet, groan of annoyance.

When you leave the bathroom, you are greeted with the sight of your friend Jiro sitting on the edge of your bed, shirtless. Searching his duffle bag for the upper components of his tracksuit. He sits up when he hears you approach, leaning into his arms and nonchalantly displaying his toned body, talking casually.

"This is the best sleep I've had in a while," he confesses, "Maybe you affect my sleep like you do my eating and drinking," he nods, "curious."

"Maybe." You respond, averting your gaze. Well, if you help his sleep-deprived self sleep better, then it justifies everything, right? Allowing him to sleep over again would be a good thing, you're literally just helping your friend, "Glad I could be of help..."

He chuckles again, and continues searching for the missing part of his tracksuit, "I apologize if I got a bit handsy in my sleep."

Oh, so he does know, you still can't look at him, but you do your best to mummble a "no, no it's alright," finished with an uncomfortable laugh.

Eventually, after Jiro gets fully dressed, and you pack all your needed equipment for the day, both of you grab your respective bags and make way towards class.

You sure did sleep kind of late today; you might be frustrated but at least you're refreshed, and if anyone asks you annoying questions, you would at least have more energy to deflect them.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Kaito and Luca have already started stretching in the enclosed field, even before Professor Moby showed up, and they are quick to greet Jiro and you. The two of you drop your bags on the corner of a bench they had already claimed, making it a neat pile of four bags. You bury your hands in your pockets and huddle into yourself from the chilled wind that rams itself into you, and when you are close enough to Kaito and Luca, and are just about to ask them how they're doing and carry on as usual, Jiro suddenly blurts a "I think I left my water bottle in your dorm."

You turn rigid, turning around like a plank of wood to face him, as Luca smiles in confusion and Kaito's face turns a shade of red you've only ever seen on tomatoes before.

"He- He? What?!" Kaito screechs, "Wh-Why would he leave something at your place?" he sweats with every word, unsure if he's afraid, jealous, or purely confused.

Before you can form any part of a sentence, Jiro answers with his signiture unbothered monotone, but his words no-doubt carefully selected, "We slept together."

"You what?!" Kaito's voice comes out higher than a dog-whistle at this point.

Your face is hot again, but you do your best to calm the situation, "What he means to say is that he slept over."

"Yeah, sorry." Jiro agrees, scratching the back of his neck.

"St-still! He's a guy! Why would you let a guy sleep over in your dorm? You're a girl! Why him and not me?" Kaito mummbles incoherently, you can barely make out what he's saying, but honestly, you can't be bothered to try.

Truth be told, even if Jiro meant to say it in a way that would come across as suggestive, you don't like the idea of Kaito implying you're incapable of making decisions like these purely because you're a girl. "He's my friend, Kaito, I know what I'm doing."

Jiro hums.

"But still! he- the - hm? you? What if the-" Kaito tries to prove a point, you have no idea what that point is.

Regardless, Mobi shows up and class promptly begins.

You join in on as much as you can: doing the never-ending warm up, dodging projectiles Mobi hurls at you, and even a small part of the standard practice; cheering Luca on as he takes fiercly battles a scary piece of cardboard.

When you can't go on, not because you can't, but because there's nothing you can do, you take a sit on the bench and watch your three friends struggle against an ongrowing array of moving targets. Jiro looks so handsome slashing through things with his massive chainsaw, it's such a cool weapon in your opinion and the way that he manouvers it just serves to highlight how strong he is, you bet he could pick you up just as easily and-

Friend.

You clear your throat and continue to watch, trying to focus on Kaito instead, but it is very difficult to not look at Jiro, they're standing close together so you can always pretend to be looking elsewhere, and you are not checking out his sweaty form and how good his muscles look under the warm sun, or how his pale skin almost glistens, he looks so focused with his sharp red eyes staring ahead and his movements following such clear pathways to perfectly attack anything coming his way. Urgh.

Your phone pings, "Grandpa Ed💜", good, a distraction.

----

"Dear MC😃, I hear👂that Rui and company👬are trying to figure out who your 💖favourite💖 Ghoul🧟 is?💭 Is it me?💭"

----

Seems you can't escape even when you're not physically there... You respond back to Ed with the same old answer, and he responds with a sad emoji. At least this did distract you enough for class to end.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You all make your way to the changing room, yes, changing room singular. Darkwick's lack of diversity in Ghouls has led to the men's changing room being the only opperational one, but you had grown accustomed to changing into your uniform in a shower booth and waiting for your friends to finish getting dressed before you step out. It's just your friends, so it isn't that big of a deal.

You are quick to change into your uniform and just as quick to exit back into the main room: Kaito searches for something in his bag, Luca is drinking water in the corner, and Jiro is slumped over a bench with his back to the lockers, head drooping to the side, his uniform shirt unbuttoned, and his expression sickly.

"Jiro-Kun?" you ask, rushing over, "Are you alright?" You sit beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turns to look at you, and so does Kaito, and weakly responds "Could you please help me get dressed?"

You nod with a concerned smile, "of course."

With a careful hand you begin to button up his shirt from the bottom to the top, it takes a bit of a struggle given the awkward to manouver position he is sitting in, and also the general proximity between you two, but you do your best because your friend needs your help.

He groans in pain at nothing, and you silently coo at him, forgetting the fact that you're not alone in the room. As you reach the top button of his shirt, he grabs your wrist suddenly, keeping you there. his hand shakes slightly with a weakness and you smile gently at him, keeping your hand where he holds it and reaching out with your other hand to your open bag, grabbing your water bottle and lifting it up to him like a wounded animal. You help him tilt the bottle, now with both hands, and he takes a few slow sips from it, careful to not attempt too much at once, some of it drips down his chin and onto his neck: you wipe it off with the corner of your blazer and smile at him.

You ask, "Do you need me to take you back to Mortkranken?"

"I think I'll be alright," he reassures you, placing his hand on top of yours again and carefully smoothing his finger along your knuckles, "Thanks for helping me."

"What are you doing?" Kaito jolts, "You- You're, I-"

Oh you, there are other people in the room.

Luca cuts in, trying to make use of his brilliant social awareness, "Is Jiro your favourite Ghoul?"

"What? Of course he isn't! It's a- I- the-" Kaito answers for you, once again red and sweating.

You look at Jiro, hoping to finally judge his reaction on the matter. After all, he has remained the sole Ghoul to not ask you that question even once. His face remains blank and hard to read, nice.

"I don't pick favourites." You respond, smiling up at Luca and Kaito, your hand is very much still being held by Jiro.

"But if you had to choose?" Kaito questions you with a cocked eyebrow, fists clenched and knuckles spasaming.

Jiro stares at you, expression still a mystery, and you clear your throat with diplomacy, "I love you all equally."

You do your best here, because not doing your best here might accidently start a sequel to the infamous clash, and you do not want to be caught in the middle of that. Similar to how all Ghouls have reacted to the same line you had been reciting all week, two of the three Ghouls in the changing room give you a slight pout and a disappointed sigh, the third, though, is smiling very faintly; the kind of faint smile he does where only someone who has stared at his face for as long as you have could tell apart from his usual expression. This is preplaxing you, because why would he be smiling at this?

"I changed my mind," he coughs suddenly, "I think I need you to take me to Mortkranken."

You give Jiro's head a slight pat, help him up until he is standing straight and towering over you, and greet your two friends goodbye as you make your way out of the room, leaving them confused and cringed out of their heads.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

The two of you walk side by side in comfortable silence. This silence always falls between you, and you enjoy it, because it's a rare occurance for you nowadays to get any kind of silence, let alone a comfortable one that is accompanied by a friendly, cozy, aura.

"So," he breaks it, observing you from the corner of his red eyes.

You fidget slightly, but turn your head to look at him nonetheless, he carries the same smile from earlier, looking ever as bright and not at all sick.

"Why is everyone so keen on figuring out who your favourite Ghoul is?" Jiro's tone is coy, unsure, and still somehow knowing in a way you can't place yet.

"I wish I knew," you respond candidly, "I don't know why it matters that much."

He nods, "Do you even have a favourite to begin with?"

Your face heats up for the nth time today, and you fumble to formulate a response that doesn't give it away, ending on a really unfortunate, "No?" which sounds unconfident and forced.

He laughs at you. Really laughs, like he always does when you witness something scary; screaming and huddling to his side. He laughs and places a hand on your hair, ruffling it, mimicing the way you always do the same to him, and then his eyes close from the force of his laughter, and he confirms, "I knew it."

"Knew what?" You ask, letting him slide his hand from your hair down to your shoulders, you know what he had figured out, but you don't want to say it just to retain the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm your favourite." he chuckles.

With a sigh, you nuzzle into his side as the two of you continue to walk, "Yeah."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A/N: YEEEE HAWW lemme know if you want a part two bbgirls, sorry for the lack of editing I have to work my adult job of editing lmao

#it's like why would i edit my own stuff after editing for so long today?????????????????#can y'tell i love Jiro #also don't mind the inconsistent British-Canadian spellings #I am canadian but have lived in the uk for a long time so i use spellings inconsistently because yay z/s differences and 'u' being in place #tokyo debunker #tkdb #tokyo debunker fanfiction #tkdb fanfiction #tokyo debunker fanfic #tokyo debunker x reader #Jiro kirisaki x reader #jiro kirisaki fanfiction #jiro kirisaki fanfic #jiro kirisaki x mc #mentions of edward hart #mentions of haru sagara #lololol

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actuallysaiyan · 4 months ago

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Morning After(Hizashi Yamada x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, mentions of alcohol, lewd themes, nipple/breast play, dirty talk word count: 1.1k pairings: Hizashi Yamada x Fem!Reader summary: after a wild night out on the town, you and Hizashi have lots of fun in his apartment. the next morning, he still wants to have even more fun with you. a/n: for @kentocalls thank you for inspiring me to write this! dividers by @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi. @cherryblossombankai, @sunflowers-heart, @erebus-et-eigengrau @pixelcafe-network

Last night was wild. It was vibrant and fun. The way the wine tasted on your lips had made him so hard. Hizashi stares at you as you sleep in his messy bed. You’re still naked and there’s some cum dried on your tits that makes him smirk. He figured you would have been a little more shy and quiet, but you really loosened up.

You liked to dance, which made him excited. He showed you the prowess of his moves on the dancefloor. The two of you bumped and grinded against one another as you got more buzzed throughout the night. When he invited you out to his apartment, you eagerly followed. Once inside his room, you ended up on his bed quickly.

Hizashi Yamada had indeed rocked your world. He fucked you like it was your last night on earth, really. The way he knew your body better than you did, it left you breathless and almost a little confused. His lips felt good on every body part he pressed them to. His tongue was devilish in its own right; it knew how to pull orgasm after orgasm from you. It had been pure heaven between the two of you.

And when he fucked you, it was perfect. You’ve never cum so hard during penetrative sex before. His voice had been so low and husky, whispering the filthiest things in your ear as he rearranged your guts. Hizashi had completely changed your mind on sex and he exhausted you. He painted your skin with his cum, making you look so lewd.

You two slept quite a bit late into the morning, and now it was almost afternoon. Hizashi didn’t have the heart to wake you up just yet. He wanted to lay here with you beside him and admire your beauty. You’d probably say something about this is mildly creepy if you knew he was watching you, but deep inside you’d be so flattered.

You stir softly, reaching out for him in your sleepy state. He laughs and brings your hands to his lips, kissing them both. You slowly open your eyes and see the sexy man lying next to you. He smirks at you, his fingers now trailing down your body and then back up. He gently circles your nipples, drawing attention to the cum on your body.

“We had fun last night,” he says softly.

You nod. “That was amazing, ‘zashi. I never had fun like that before.”

This makes pride swell in his chest. Of course, he knows he’s a good lover, but you are the object of his desire. And you have been for a long time. It’s just that he didn’t think you were interested in someone like him. Hizashi is loud and intense. It’s a miracle that even Shouta puts up with him.

“I’m glad you had fun,” he pulls on your nipple then kisses you. “We could…continue.”

You moan as his hand parts your thighs. You’re still a little sticky from the sex last night. He rubs your folds slowly, spreading your slick all over. Then he begins to rub your clit, teasing some pleasure from you. You look good like this; you’re still a bit sleepy and tired. He loves that you’re so wanton when you just woke up. It’s the energy he needs from a lover.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “You’re still so wet. Were you dreaming about last night?”

His words make you blush. How could someone be so good at this kind of thing? He’s perceptive. He notices every little thing. And he knows how to touch you to get your motor running. You try to hide in the crook of his neck, but his other hand coaxes you out to look at him. He wants to see you come undone on his fingers. Especially with your messy hair and your sleepy eyes. It’s the perfect way to start the day, if he was being honest.

“Pretty girl, still sleepy?”

You nod, trying to pay attention to everything going on. He lets one of his fingers slip into you and you gasp. He loves the way your walls begin to flutter around just the digit. It’s enough to have him rock hard and leaking now.

For a few moments, Hizashi kisses you and fingers you. You’re dripping all over his hand. You reach over to begin stroking him, making him buck into your soft touch.

“Looking for round two huh?” He asks, his tone slightly sarcastic. This was probably round five since last night.

He rolls you over, spreading your thighs with his knee. Hizashi kisses you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He didn’t care about morning breath at this moment. In his opinion, you still tasted a little like the wine you were drinking last night. His hands are on your tits now, kneading and tugging on your nipples.

With you spread open, he teases you with the head of his cock. Hizashi watches as you become more slick with your juices. Then he pushes into you, loving the way your eyes flutter open in surprise. You’re clinging to him, trying to ground yourself.

“Ah, ah, ah…” he teases. “So cute when you’re needy for me like this.”

You can’t think straight anymore. Hizashi was just such a big tease and a major flirt. The way he kept saying things like this was making your head spin. The way his cock was hitting your sweet spot now had you shaking. You still hadn’t completely recovered from last night’s sessions either.

Hizashi begins to rock his hips, pushing into you faster and deeper. You’re still clinging to him, moaning his name so sweetly. Having you like this, the morning after such a wild night, it was truly a treat. Hizashi was never going to get tired of you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your neck before kissing it.

He fucks you deeper, harder. With each thrust, you’re getting closer and closer to another orgasm. He nips at your neck this time, pulling a soft whine from you. His hands on your tits, squeezing just roughly enough to have you in a complete mess now. And with the next few thrusts, you’re pulled off the edge with a loud cry of his name.

Hizashi is not far behind you, pulling out just in time to spill all over your lower abdomen and mound. He pants as he strokes himself to completion. Then he settles on his knees, looking at how good you look with your body painted up with his seed. You sit up, pulling him in a kiss.

“Next time, finish inside.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

#bacon.writes #hizashi x reader #hizashi x you #present mic x reader #present mic x you #hizashi yamada x reader #hizashi yamada x you #yamada hizashi x reader #yamada hizashi x you #bnha hizashi #mha hizashi #present mic smut #hizashi yamada smut

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leclerity · 1 year ago

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that's who i'm racing for

Charles Leclerc x Fiance!Reader count: 1k words summary: Charles and you talk before a big race, sad because you're having to call instead of sleeping in the same bed. a/n: it sounds like angst but it's mostly fluff. i promise!

If you’re not in bed, by his side, he will call you before every race. He likes to say that not hearing your voice lull him to sleep brings bad luck, and that’s the one thing he won’t risk. You’re convinced it’s just a nice little gesture, but you cherish it nonetheless.

“Baby,” Charles mumbles into the phone, looking at the camera with weary eyes. “Turn your light on. I want to see you.”

“It’s late. I’m heading to bed, too.”

“I know, but I miss your face.”

You know he can see you as well as you can see him—the light from your phones is bright enough—but you turn on your bedside lap, anyway. “Happy?”

“Much happier.” Charles shifts around until his hands are wedged under his pillow and he’s staring at the phone with a lovey-dovey smile. “I can’t believe you had to stay at home.”

“Duty calls,” you say.

“I should be your duty.”

“You will be. Soon enough.”

“Show me.”

Dutifully, you bring up your hand, moving it so that the diamond ring is visible over the camera, as butterflies fill your stomach. It’s been months, yet you’re still not used to it – you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, it’ll just have one more ring added to it.

“Ah, I can’t wait for you to be mine,” he says.

“I’m already yours.”

“Not officially. And you’re not here.”

You turn the light off, knowing he’s seen what he wanted to see, but your smile still shows on the screen. “I know. I’ll be there for the next race, I promise.”

“The bed feels empty without you, you know,” he murmurs. “Without my fiance.”

“I’ll warm it up soon enough.”

“You better.”

You hear him playing music in the background – sometimes he does that when he can’t fall asleep, when you’re not there. Your heart tugs at its strings but there’s nothing you can do. His eyes are getting heavier, even though he’s trying to keep them open to look at you, and you can tell that he’s not far out from completely falling asleep.

You decide to take the initiative. “I’ll head to bed, I think.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m tired.”

“Maybe,” you say. “Does it make a difference?”

Charles thinks about it. “No. But I wish we didn’t have to sleep apart.”

“I know. Me too. But you need your sleep, my love.”

“I know, I know… I’d just rather be with you.”

“Me, too.”

He looks at you and you see his face soften, even with all the tiredness. His hair is messy and falling over his eyes, a far cry from how he likes to present himself, but this is how you like him best – at his most genuine, most vulnerable. Where he’s not the driver, the Monegasque, but just Charles.

Just yours.

He sighs. “Oh, what would I do to sleep in your arms tonight…”

You feel the pain in his voice as if it were your own. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t even think it’s your fault.”

The thing he won’t admit, not to himself and let alone to you—but you can see it—is the reason why he’s still up, way past his bedtime on race day. It’s almost halfway through the season and he’s doing good in the standings, and maybe Ferrari’s luck will turn for the better this year, but Lando’s right behind him and the race tomorrow has to be good if he wants things to stay this way.

The pressure is intense. You can see it in the weariness under his eyes, in the way he’s felt just a little bit aloof in the past week, especially since he landed in Spain. It breaks your heart to watch him like this and not be able to hug him, to hold him, to kiss the fear away.

So you fluff up your pillow and lie down, propping the phone up against what is usually Charles’s pillow. “We can pretend I’m there.”

“How?”

“Stay on call. Fall asleep together. I’ll hear you snoring and it’ll be like I’m there.”

“I don’t snore,” he says, but you can tell that his voice has picked up a little. “Okay. Just falling asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s late.”

You wait as he props the phone up, too, and the camera is half-covered by the pillow, but you don’t say anything. You can just about make out his hair and his eyes, even with his mouth out of sight.

He’s beautiful, no matter what, and you can’t wait to be finally his in every way that matters.

“You’re going to have an amazing race tomorrow, mon cheri.”

Charles kisses his finger then presses it to the camera, whispering sweet nothings to you in French. You feel yourself drifting off, but stay up—just in case—until you hear the familiar snoring, and you were right – it’s almost like you’re right there, right next to him.

When you close your eyes, you can still hear him snoring, and you find that you can easily pretend that you’ll touch him if you just reach over. Sleep takes you with your hand stretched out, lulled into dreams by your fiance’s snoring, and maybe the world won’t fall apart just because you’re not together.

You wake up and he’s gone, the call has ended, but there’s a text message thanking you for last night and telling you how much it helped give him a good night’s sleep, and how much he can’t wait to get back to you on Monday.

Later, some half an hour before the race, you get another text from him: 72 days until you’re mine. That’s who I’m racing for.

You clutch your phone to your chest, praying to all the gods you do and don’t believe it to keep him safe. To let him win without having to sacrifice anything. To bring him home safe, to you in one piece.

Soon enough, you’ll be lying in bed together, falling asleep with your arms wrapped around each other until it gets too hot, and just a little after that, you’ll be doing so while sharing the Leclerc name.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #f1 rpf #charles leclerc imagine #m.fic #this was meant to be fully fluffy so i apologise #but it's a lot fluffier than my usual stuff!!!#i pinky promise more fluff is coming #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff

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corvidcrossbow · 1 year ago

Text

I crave the kinda mornings with Daryl where you're both mostly asleep, locked in that dazy trance you tend to have after waking up just enough to be conscious, enough you can mildly function, but you still feel so hazy, but you need each other.

It'd already be pretty late in the morning. Neither of you had any reason to get up, and didn't want to: your bed was just so warm and comfortable, especially with Daryl spooned around you from behind, his strong arm draped over your waist and holding you to him.

He'd start to grind himself up against your clothed behind, lightly groaning a little against the back of your neck.

“Dar…” You exhale softly, eyes still closed. You bring your hand up to trace patterns on the forearm he has you secured in. You arch your back just the slightest bit, pressing him further into you, feeling how his dick starts to harden.

“Pleas’...” He grumbles sleepily, and you know exactly what he's asking for. You reach your arm down to push your pajama pants and whatever underwear you have on, maybe none, down to your upper thighs, blanket still draped over part of your body.

You help him to do the same, weakly tugging at his pants and such, too lazy to put actual effort into doing so, again just enough so that his cock was out. Daryl nudges his knee forward, pushing against your top leg to shift your position and angle your hips up, spreading you a little wider.

He rubs himself up against your soft asscheeks, mumbling incoherently into your skin and hair. He's just slowly humping you, enjoying just how smooth you feel against him – the silkiest, most addictive texture he's ever known.

He says something with a little more structure to it, but again, it's mostly unintelligible. Yet you know him so well you don't need actual real words to communicate. So you reach back, lifting your leg some and helping guide him to you, gathering some spit in your palm and running it down the shaft before he eases into you with another groan.

You let out a drawn out moan, relaxing back into the bed now that you're situated and don't have to do anything more. Daryl readjusts his hips then continues his rocking motion, going deeper into his humps as he now slicks in and out of you each time.

He snakes his other arm under your torso, hand finding its way between your legs to start and touch you too. You layer your arm over the one he has you wrapped in, slightly gripping at it.

“Mmm… baby…” You mumble, needing to recalibrate the pattern of your breathing. You arch further, pushing him deeper and bringing your upper back flush against his chest. He grunts in response, moving a little faster, but never going ‘quick’. He didn't want to rouse enough to lose this fuzzy, sleepy state.

His breath would grow heavy and ragged, pressing his forehead into your shoulder blade. You sway to meet him, helping keep the rhythm when he wavers a little, and the bedsprings whine some from the slow movements.

He keeps that arm around you the whole time, holding you against him, tighter as your body tenses and trembles and you cum, grunting as he feels your walls tighten up like they're begging him to finish too. He rolls you the smallest bit, using his body weight to push as deep inside you as he can and fill you, shoving his knee to spread your legs further apart. He tries to watch himself, but his forehead just falls to your spine.

You gasp a little, that familiar warmth spreading through you. He rolls back, removing his hand from your pelvis, but staying inside you as he softens. He presses messy kisses over your shoulders, back and the nape of your neck.

“Love ya, sunshine,” Daryl whispers, tucking his head back into the crook and cuddling close to you.

“Love you too, angel,” You reply, leaning into him. The two of you would stay like that, lazy and just drifting back to sleep, ignoring the obvious morning and daylight that peers through the blinds. You wouldn't trade this for anything.

Who needs warm cups of tea or coffee in the morning when you have warm creampies ♡

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viaaaviaaa21 · 6 days ago

Text

johnny Sinclair x reader

The Sinclair house always smelled like lemon and salt. Even Johnny’s sheets. Even his skin.

You didn’t know when, exactly, summer had pulled you back into its arms — or how it had pieced you back together with Johnny, like two pieces of driftwood the tide refused to pull apart.

But that morning, everything was both hazy and sharp. The sun cut through the curtains in golden streaks. And there he was. Lying on his back, one arm tossed over his head, the other hanging off the bed. His long, messy blond hair curled against the pillow in a perfect kind of chaos. He was breathing deep, as if even in sleep, he lived intensely.

You just lay there, still, watching the tiny freckles scattered across his shoulder — the ones you only noticed when the light hit just right. You knew them now. Almost by heart. Like a secret constellation only you were allowed to trace.

Outside, the island was alive. Wind drifted through the screen. Dogs barking. Kids laughing. Waves murmuring in the distance.

And all you could think was: please, let the world stay like this.

“You planning to stare at me every morning, or just today?” His voice was gravelly, still caught in sleep. A lazy smile tugged at his mouth.

You bit your lip. “Maybe.”

He opened one eye. Blue and bright, even in the soft morning light.

“Well… I hope it’s every day.”

Time paused. The silence between you wasn’t awkward — it was full. Heavy with years of things unsaid. Summers spent dancing around each other. Looking without looking. Laughing too loud just to drown out your hearts beating in all the wrong rhythms.

Johnny propped himself up, elbow bent, eyes on yours. He reached out, gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We’re gonna be so late. The mothers will lose it.”

You shrugged. “Let them.”

He studied you then, and you knew something real was about to fall from his lips.

“You’ve always been different.”

You blinked. “Different how?”

He paused, like the words hurt.

“Not a distraction. Not just a summer.”

Something tightened in your chest. You didn’t answer. You just laid your head on his chest, right where his heartbeat pounded against your cheek — fast. Uneasy.

And for a moment, that was enough.

By the time you both made it to breakfast, chaos had already bloomed across the Sinclair compound.

Mirren was sprawled on the porch steps, sunglasses crooked, lemonade in hand. She looked up at the sight of you in Johnny’s shirt and broke into a wicked grin.

“Ohhhh. Finally! I can cross morning-after gaze off my summer checklist.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “It’s not a movie.”

“It is,” she said proudly. “And I’m the audience.”

Cadence appeared behind her, quieter than usual. Her eyes landed on your hand brushing Johnny’s, then flicked away like nothing.

No one said a word. They didn’t need to.

Gat handed you both some leftover toast. “You missed the pancakes. Sorry. I was hungry.”

Mirren leaned forward. “Where’d you two sleep, hmm?”

Johnny didn’t blink. “In a dream.” He said it without looking at you. But you saw the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You sat close. Legs touching. Hands brushing. Hearts pretending to be still.

Later, you escaped again. Like always.

He led you down the dock, a bag tossed over his shoulder, a mischievous spark in his eye. The boat creaked as you climbed aboard, Gat complaining about the lack of life jackets, Mirren laughing with her feet dangling off the edge, and Cadence silent, distant.

Johnny was behind you, one hand on the wheel, the other around your waist. His chin resting on your shoulder.

“Imagine,” he murmured. “Just you and me. Leaving it all behind.”

You turned your face toward him. “You wouldn’t last two days without your yacht.”

He smirked. “Then I’ll take it with us.”

The ride took you to the far side of the island, to the jagged rocks where the sea turned wilder, deeper. Johnny jumped in first, calling your name through the air. And you followed.

Under the surface, everything went silent. And when you came up, gasping — he was there. Hair dripping. Skin glowing. That look in his eyes.

“You think if we stayed here long enough… no one would come looking?”

“Maybe the world would forget we’re supposed to be part of it,” you said.

He moved toward you. Water around your shoulders. His fingers lifted to brush your cheek.

“I want it to be you. This summer.”

You squinted. “Me to be what?”

“The one I remember. The only one.”

The sun was dipping low by the time you returned. You walked the shore barefoot, salt drying on your skin, a seashell in your hand — the one Johnny had picked up and dropped into your palm like a secret.

“It’s for you,” he’d said.

Small gesture. Big impact. Your chest felt too tight.

The others had already lit the oil lamps when you arrived. The cabins glowed gold in the coming dark. Dinner was being served on the big porch, and Johnny tugged at the collar of a shirt he barely managed to button.

“You look beautiful like that,” he whispered when he saw you. Not loud. Not performative. Just true.

The sky had deepened into a violet shade of blue, and the air smelled like only it could on this island at night — a mix of warm wood, citronella, and salt. The oil lamps flickered gently against the walls of the wooden cabins, casting golden light that swayed with the wind.

You could hear voices in the distance — Mirren laughing too loudly, Gat’s hurried footsteps across the porch boards.

Johnny had only given you a few moments to change, but you already knew he was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, too restless to sit still.

When you finally stepped outside, he turned to you. And for a full second, he said nothing.

Then simply:

“You look beautiful .”

No flourish. No shyness. Just a fact — like he was stating something obvious.

He held out his hand.

You took it.

The big wooden table outside was already set. Crumpled linen napkins, mismatched plates. A bottle of white wine left too long in the sun, now warm to the touch. Harris was already seated, of course — at the head of the table. His posture rigid, his presence heavy. A glass of whiskey in hand, and that gaze — slow and cutting — drifting across each of the Liars like he was weighing their worth.

You felt it pause slightly too long on you. Just enough to make your spine tighten. Not enough to say anything out loud.

Not here. Not in this family. Where silence forgave everything.

Johnny didn’t flinch. He pulled out your chair, sat right beside you. His knee brushed yours under the table. And he didn’t let go of your hand.

Gat was talking about modern poetry again — the way he only did when something really mattered to him. Cadence stared down at her plate. Silent. Mirren twirled her wineglass and recounted a half-true story about some forgotten beach crush.

But you… You were only tuned into Johnny’s breath beside you. Steady. Calm. Real.

“So,” Harris said, setting his glass down. “I hear the days are… long.”

You heard the edge in his voice. It was aimed at Johnny. And at you.

Johnny didn’t react. He sliced his fish without looking up.

Harris continued.

“I suppose some people here don’t need to worry about the time. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

Finally, Johnny raised his eyes. His tone was calm, but his fingers tightened around yours beneath the table.

“It’s summer, Grandfather.”

“Ah. The eternal excuse of the young.”

Mirren rolled her eyes. Gat shifted stiffly. Cadence still didn’t move.

But you — you stilled for another reason.

Because Johnny didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

As if he was saying: I don’t care what he thinks. Not if you’re here.

He tilted his head closer to yours and whispered — just for you.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“With you? Always.”

When dinner dragged on and the stars began to blink awake above the trees, Harris stood up, launching into his usual speech about pride, family, legacy, responsibility. But this time… you didn’t hear a word of it.

You were looking at Johnny.

And he — he was looking only at you.

At the head of the table sat Harris Sinclair.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t angry either. Just watching. That cold kind of watching that reminded everyone who really owned this island.

“Johnny,” Harris said, sitting a little straighter.

The tone was mild — but the silence that followed was instant. Everyone recognized that voice.

Johnny looked up calmly. “Yes?”

“You seem to be spending a lot of time with our guest.”

Your stomach tightened. But Johnny didn’t even blink.

“It’s summer,” he replied. “We’re meant to spend it together.”

“That’s true,” Harris said, taking a sip of his drink. “But summers… they don’t last.”

Mirren gave a soft, bitter laugh but looked away.

Johnny’s hand tightened slightly around yours beneath the table. Not panic — just tension. Silent defiance.

“Maybe not,” Johnny said. “But some leave more of a mark than others.”

You turned your head toward him slowly. He still wasn’t looking at you. He was staring directly at Harris, his gaze unnervingly steady.

Silence again.

Then, Gat — ever the peacekeeper — chimed in.

“Isn’t that kind of the point of summer, though? To hold onto something? Even if it stings a little after.”

Mirren raised her glass.

“To the summer that stings!”

Cadence offered a faint smile.

You laughed softly. Just enough to crack the tension.

But Harris wasn’t done.

“And what would you say, Johnny, if one of those memories came at a cost?”

Johnny finally locked eyes with him. “I’d pay it.”

No drama. No heat. Just a truth. And right then — in that single moment — you knew this wasn’t just something you had dreamed up.

It was real. And now, everyone at the table could see it too — even the ones who refused to name it.

The rest of the meal floated on a forced kind of joy.

People laughed louder. Drank more. Talked too much — just to fill the spaces.

But you could feel it. Underneath the tablecloth, something was still simmering.

You stood to clear your plate.

Johnny touched your wrist gently.

“Come on,” he whispered.

You nodded.

And without another word, he pulled you away from the table — toward the shore, toward the night.

You had left the lights behind.

The faint echo of laughter and clinking glasses drifted through the trees like a fading memory. Johnny walked ahead without speaking, his hand wrapped firmly around yours — tight enough to tell you this mattered.

The pine trees gave way to warm, familiar sand. The beach had fallen into silence. No music, no games, no sunburnt voices. Just the tide breathing in and out, and the moon trailing silver light over the waves.

Johnny stopped a few steps from the water.

Still silent.

He looked tense — not the kind of tense that snapped, but the kind that held back something heavy, deep. His hands were in his pockets. His shoulders had dropped just slightly from their usual posture.

You stepped closer.

“Johnny?”

He didn’t turn.

So you took another step. Then one more.

“Did what he said get to you?”

A sigh finally escaped his chest.

“No… well, yeah. But not in the way you think.” He glanced toward you, the moonlight outlining his jaw, his cheekbone, the soft mess of hair against his forehead.

“He wants me to live in his version of life. His map of what’s worth it.”

You tilted your head.

“And you don’t?”

A joyless smile.

“No. What I want… is this.”

He lifted his hand and gestured — the sand, the sea, the sky. You.

“You. Here. This moment.”

Silence fell again. But this time, it felt soft.

The wind tugged gently at his shirt. You could see salt dried on his skin. The shine of tiny grains of sand caught in his collarbone.

He looked into your eyes.

“I need you to know I’m not doing this halfway. I mean… us. Whatever this is we’re building.”

Your heart caught — not out of fear, but something else. Something warmer.

You stepped forward, closer now.

“I know. You didn’t have to say it. I’ve felt it.”

His smile was small. Almost fragile.

“Doesn’t scare you?”

You shook your head.

“It does. But the idea of it ending scares me even more.”

Then he reached out — this time without hesitation — and touched your cheek.

“I want to stay right here. With you.”

“Then let’s stay.”

He leaned in, slowly.

His lips touched yours like a whisper. Like a promise he wasn’t sure he was allowed to make. You felt the shake of his breath. Yours stayed locked in your chest.

And then — the kiss.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

Just slow. Deep. True.

The kind of kiss people dream of for entire summers without ever daring to ask for it.

When he pulled back, he stayed close. Forehead resting on yours. Eyes closed.

“If this is what summer love feels like… I want it to last forever.”

You smiled against him, eyes fluttering.

“Then let’s make it our forever.”

end. ( I try my best English is not my first language)

and wtf where are Johnny Sinclair fanfics?!!

#Johnny Sinclair #we were liars #Johnny Sinclair x reader #Johnny Sinclair imagines

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the-fiction-witch · 8 months ago

Text

Warmer

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Cregan Stark Couple - Cregan X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen Rating - 18+ Word Count - 1485

Cregan sat up in bed against his headboard, reading over some paperwork from the stone masons about the extensive repairs needed to the east tower. The thick furs were wrapped tightly around his bed, not just for warmth, but also to keep out the relentless chill that seeped in through the ancient stone walls. Outside, the snow continued to fall, creating a mesmerising pattern against the castle windows, while inside, his crackling fire lit stacked high with seasoned oak logs, casting a warm glow and filling the chamber with a comforting, smoky scent that lingered long into the night.

Footsteps beyond his door drew his attention from his papers, and as he glanced up a gentle tap came from his door.

“Come.” He barked to whomever was disturbing him at this hour,

The heavy wooden door creaked open slowly, to reveal the Princess Y/n. She sheepishly slipped inside her body shivering, her hair pulled back into a messy braid, her silk slip doing very little to conceal her from his eyes or the cold.

Y/n was Cregan’s betrothal, part of the pact of Ice and Fire between Cregan and Jacaerys. Jace would wed Sara Snow Cregan’s halfsister, and Cregan in turn would wed Y/n forever binding the houses together for the coming war. He and Y/n had yet to marry agreeing it was best to wait until the war was over, as Cregan didn’t wish to run off days after their wedding and leave her as a foreigner to run Winterfell alone as its lady, and he also feared if he ran off days after the bedding… he may leave her to suffer the early months of pregnancy alone… and he would miss so much time to enjoy his wife.

“My princess, what makes you wonder the halls so late?” He asked,

“I- I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, “I-I- I’m so cold, and my fire won’t stay lit, and I-” she trembled,

“It’s alright my princess,” He reassured, “It can be an adjustment for anyone not of the north.” He said, “Come here, you can share my room tonight I’ll make sure you’re warm.” He cooed patting his bed invitingly,

She nodded and quickly came over climbing into his bed, he slightly smiled and tucked the covers and furs around her shivering body.

“There, if you get cold you're welcome to come as close as you need to,” he told her,

She nodded once more and Cregan returned to his papers, slowly but surely Y/n crept closer and closer to Cregan desperate for the heat his body exhumed every time she moved a little closer Cregan’s smile grew a little wider, until she was bundled up against him, her legs around his thigh, her arms around his torso, her head pressed against his peck, and his own arm softly over her back,

“You’ll get used to the cold soon enough my princess,” he cooed pressing a tender kiss to her forehead,

“And if I don’t?” she asked,

“Then I’ll be here to keep you warm for the rest of our lives,” he whispered, “Come on, try and get some sleep sweet girl.”

She nodded looking up at him for a moment or two, “Cregan?”

“Yes Y/n?”

She gently moved herself forward and softly pushed her lips to his own,

Cregan's lips brushed against Y/n's, the kiss a gentle exploration of her mouth. It was a soft, tentative touch, but one that spoke volumes about his intentions. As he kissed her, his hands drifted down to her waist, holding her close. The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, and Y/n felt herself melting into it.

She wrapped her arms around Cregan's neck, pulling him closer as their tongues danced together. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the sensation of each other's touch. Slowly Y/n pulled back, her eyes met his for a moment, as she scanned every bit of his face. Before she spoke words he hadn't expected "Cregan?" Y/n's voice was barely above a whisper,

He searched her eyes, trying to read the emotion behind her words, but found only a hint of uncertainty. “Yes?”

"... I want us to have sex..."

Cregan's eyes locked onto Y/n's, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity. He didn't speak, didn't move, just drinking in the raw emotion emanating from her. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with anticipation. Then, without breaking eye contact, Cregan reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind Y/n's ear. His fingers trailed down her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. Slowly, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “As do I.” he cooed, “We have waited… long enough,”

she smiled and pulled him back into a kiss now with a new passionate energy. Their lips crashed together, the kiss explosive and intense.

Cregan's arms wrapped around Y/n, pulling her close as he devoured her mouth. She tasted sweet, like honey, and he couldn't get enough of her. As they kissed, Cregan's hands roamed over Y/n's body, tracing the curves of her waist and hips.

She tightened her grip and pulled him down with her so she laid down on the furs,

Cregan's hands moved swiftly, undoing the laces of Y/n's slip and letting it fall to the floor. He broke free from the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck. She lay beneath him, a vision of loveliness in the flickering firelight, her skin glowing with a soft, golden light. As he gazed upon her, Cregan's desire surged anew. He leaned in, his tongue dancing across her nipples, making them pebble with delight.

Y/n arched her back, her hands threading through his hair as she urged him on.

With a growl of pleasure, Cregan spread her thighs wide, his fingers delving into the warmth between them. He stroked her gently, feeling her tension build with each passing moment. His fingers danced across her sensitive flesh, coaxing forth a symphony of sounds from Y/n's lips.

She writhed beneath him, her hips rising to meet his touch, begging for more.

Cregan obliged, his movements becoming bolder, more insistent, as he built the tension between them to a fever pitch. As he worked his magic, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation, the very atmosphere seeming to vibrate with the promise of what was to come.

Y/n's breathing quickened, her chest heaving with each ragged gasp, her eyes flashing with a fierce inner light.

And then, in a flash of movement, Cregan shifted position, his body aligning perfectly with Y/n's. He slid deep inside her, feeling the warmth and wetness envelop him like a velvet glove. As he moved within her, Cregan's strokes became slower, more deliberate, each one building a sense of urgency and release.

Y/n's eyes locked onto his, her gaze burning with a fierce intensity as she met his thrusts, her body rising to meet his in perfect synchrony. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the rhythm of their lovemaking. With each passing moment, the tension between them grew thicker, heavier, until it seemed almost palpable.

Cregan's breath caught in his throat as he felt himself on the cusp and he knew that he had to give in to it. Without warning, he slammed deep inside Y/n, holding still for a moment as she cried out in shock and pleasure.

And then, in a rush of sensation that left him breathless, everything gave way the dam burst, the floodgates opened and Cregan was swept up in a tide of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

As the waves of pleasure washed over him, Cregan felt Y/n's body tense around him, her muscles clenching in a desperate bid to hold on to the sensation. But it was too late and now all that remained was to ride the torrent to its conclusion. With a final, shuddering cry, Y/n's body went limp beneath him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist as she drew him deeper into her depths.

Cregan's own orgasm hit him like a sledgehammer, sending him crashing down onto Y/n's trembling form. He buried his face in her neck, his teeth sinking deep into the tender flesh as he rode out the storm, his entire being consumed by the sheer, unadulterated joy of it all. When finally he emerged from the wreckage, gasping for air like a man who'd been drowning in a sea of pleasure, Cregan found himself lying atop Y/n's supine form, his chest heaving with exertion.

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room but even in the dim light, he could see the look of wonder still etched on Y/n's face, a look that spoke volumes about the depth of their connection.

"thank you Cregan, I feel much warmer now" she nodded

“I'm glad,” He cooed, “I am more then happy to warm you up whenever you are needed my princess,” He growled pulling her into another deep kiss,

#hotd fanfiction #hotd fandom #hotd season 2 #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd smut #house of targaryen #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #house stark #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #creganstark #lord cregan stark

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waylamia · 1 month ago

Text

All Bark

hey so this one is a doozy. and a significant departure from my previous work so just be mindful. of that.

recommended listening: Bite The Hand by boygenius, Crybaby by Nanna

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both. You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing. Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside. He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless. Yours vibrates in your hands. Cay ✈️: D: Cay ✈️: y?

-> You begged Grandma for a dog, growing up. You've always had one.

reader experience notes: reader is mc, reader is gender neutral and not physically described in this fic

MDNI - minors do not interact with this work

content: emetophobia. nonsexual petplay with sexual implications. a teeny tiny bit of NSFW content. I don't know what else to say about that. post homecoming wings, post lucid dream myth and painful signal, pre relationship. spoilers for most of his cards probably but its all pretty vague (lucid dreams myth, painful signal, and hidden waves off of the top of my head) completely unnegotiated kink that isn't like. engaged with AS a kink... YET. uh. strange and peculiar d/s coded dynamics?? theologyless catholic style guilt. heavy usage of pip-squeak. pip-squeak nation RISE. MC and Caleb are just both freakazoid weirdos there's no getting around it. some. nonsexual feet stuff. at the very end. not a lot. my bad. mc/reader is trying to process big, conflicting feelings and is having a not great time about it. Caleb and MC were raised as siblings and we are in the nuance mud about it. get messy or get gone my friend. mc/reader needs an attitude adjustment and TRUST 🙏 they are not going to get it JGDJSGJKDFJSJFJFS. very cool and fun finally writing grown up Calebmc. I heart them. they have issues. in the wise words of Saucy Santana... walk em like a dog <3 LMAOOOO

approx. 11k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

The thing about Caleb is he's annoying. This fact is made worse by another: no one, in the lifetime you've spent together, has ever sided with or believed you on this. Not even Gideon, who has suffered the only experience remotely similar to yours-shared space, the closeness that comes from it-could be coaxed into saying a word against him. God knows you'd tried, back in their DAA days.

Catching his eye while yours twitched, in the brief moments when Caleb would leave the room. 'Did you-' and Gideon's gaze would drift to the window without a word. Rude, but in these moments you'd always be too irked to care. 'He just- He is so-' and every time you'd be met with pursed lips and silence, a clear indication that one way or the other, he had no desire to be involved. So you'd huff and cross your arms over your chest. Wouldn't stomp your foot like you'd really have liked to, lest you be accused of throwing a tantrum at the fine age of 18 and 1/2. The fraction included for accuracy and not any arbitrary attempt to make yourself seem more grown up.

Now, if you're being honest with yourself, you can admit the obvious lie in that. In your mid-to-late teens and early adulthood everything had been about proving yourself. Caleb has always been bigger than you, and back then, for a long time, you worried you'd never graduate from his shadow. Worried no one would be able to see you in it. Worried that, if you weren't careful, if you weren't loud, he'd forget to look for you in the dark too.

He never did, of course, always smiling a little too knowingly when you'd remind him or yourself how old you are, how strong you are. At the time, you'd thought he was mocking you when he'd only respond with a laugh, messing up your hair and carrying on. Only when you look back on it now, can you see it for what it was. Cherishing, endearment, warmth. Maybe that's part of it. The annoyance, you mean. The gap in your understanding. He's always known more than you. More than you about you. And though you know him better than anyone-always have-you've never been able to boast the same ability to know exactly what he's thinking, like hes always seemed able to with you. You suppose it actually makes perfect sense that that gap in comprehension has only grown, since you helped bury the idea of him. Your perfect brother, in an empty grave in the ground. Your perfect brother, and you left behind.

'Always left behind.' You brood to yourself. And maybe that's not fair. But Caleb has never asked or expected 'fair' from you. Instead, you've spent a lifetime encouraged to take and take and take from him. You don't know that you could do anything else, after all these years of programming, think that a part of you is always going to be his spoiled little sister, forever. The thought sits in you like rot. Stuck in his shadow, still small. Afraid that that's how he will always see you, too.

Maybe being brought up together actually made all the difference in the world. Maybe that was another thing you had to be honest about.

About the fact that he came back, from the dead-not-dead, after you'd mourned and surrendered yourself to a life without him, and told you he was never your brother. About how it had hurt. Wounded you, left you reeling like the blast. Sent immediately back, standing in the wake of it not knowing what to make of yourself, what you felt, what was real.

Really annoying.

Caleb is just a really annoying person. You don't know how else to explain it.

And honestly? You would never allow anyone else to agree with you. 'Annoyed with Caleb' a secret emotion only applicable and accessible to you. You think upon hearing it said-after that brief, beautiful moment of feeling finally vindicated-your mouth or fists would start flying. Because how dare some hypothetical whoever think that they know him, could speak ill of him? What could anyone say to you about the man you have trusted intrinsically since before you could even spell the word 'codependency'? Not a thing.

And then, of course, who would be the one to pull you from the word or hand or both fight?

Ugh.

Then, it's the principle. That maddening, planted seed that never sprouts but stays ever stuck in you, dug into you. Caleb is incredibly fucking annoying. And, if you are being honest with yourself-it's something you've both been working on, since he came back-dying made him way way worse.

There is a tenseness between you, something that was simply not allowed to exist before he disappeared. The security you felt in each other, the closeness that never left room for anything else to take root. When he'd been dug up, taken half of your root and soil with him, room was all that was left. Now every day it is harder for you to make a distinction one way or the other. What you were and what you are and what you may be, may be in want of, all coagulating into something phlegmy and stomach-turning. It is a change you don't know how to swallow. It chokes you, like the look on his face, the sound of his voice, back in the interrogation room. Sometimes, it feels like you're still there, taking turns strapping each other down for questioning. You still feel the weight of that collar on your throat. It feels how his necklace felt, in the year you were left with it, and so you know he feels it too. There is an ache and comfort in that thought that grounds you. It's always the same, you cling to what makes you equal.

And so, there is another thing you must admit to yourself.

The thing about you is you're annoying.

It is a fact that has never been stated to you directly, and yet you have always known. Needy and bratty and emotional and demanding and kept all to yourself for all but one pair of eyes to see. One pair of ears to be chewed off. Everything that's about him is about you too. And you're both working on being honest, but only to each other. And you've always favored actions over words. Or maybe, you just find it's easier to be honest when you don't have the chance to open your mouth and fuck it all up. You think maybe you aren't any good at this. You wonder if he thinks the same thing too. And that's the problem isn't it? You wonder. You don't know.

You don't know that you ever did.

The point. Is. You're in Skyhaven. You'd gone to the Fleet HQ first, tracked down Liam-knowing that The Colonel was in a meeting-and had him escort you to Caleb's home. Now, you're standing outside of his front door. All that expended effort, for an unplanned visit, because you're mad at him. And when you're mad at him you want to be close to him. You don't know who to attribute that quirk to. Him, for refusing to give you any goddamn space all of your growing years. Or yourself, for getting into the habit of screaming into his shirts pulled over your pillow in the one he was gone. Whatever did or didn't do it, its done now, and the pattern has been established. One of many, for the two of you.

And so, even without Liam immediately reporting back, you know you won't have much time between pressing your finger to the lock on his door and him calling out to you while he peels off his boots, irritatingly unbothered by your uncommunicated arrival.

But that's fine. You'd had time to think on the ride over, as long as you work quickly you'll get done what you need to do.

A press of your finger, a soft chime and a click, and you push your way into the quiet of his home. Almost immediately distracted from your mission by the hairs on the back of your neck raising, the thought that you need to open a window. Even with the adjustments you've both made since he first brought you here, the atmosphere is stifling. The air is stagnant and oppressive, the walls are cold, the space occupied by an emptiness no amount of furniture or plant life or plushies could overcome. That's the problem. His arm that can't feel you and his home you fear you'll never fit into. There are parts of your lives that aren't shared. More now than ever, more every day. You shake your head, efforting to evict the thought and focus.

You force yourself into action, marching like a good soldier straight to his bedroom. Ignoring, along the way, the pristine kitchen and its empty sink, the layer of dust on the shelves, the closed curtains, the way even your breath seems to echo. You are completely certain that without the falling of your feet, you'd hear your heartbeat bouncing off of the walls. You don't know how he can stand it. The silence. You'd leave your beating heart here to fill it if you could. You'd feel better, you think, knowing he had it.

Maybe you could trade. Matching pulled open ribs for matching beating heart homes. The finger you'd pressed to his door lock tingles. You know that everything that's his is yours. You know that everything that's yours is his. So when you feel yourself suffocating in this empty fucking house...

Empty house like his empty grave. It's funny, you had wanted to follow him there too.

His bedroom is the closest this place comes to not feeling like a morgue to you. You hadn't put together, until you came back to Linkon, after that first eventful visit, why that is.

It was set up just like your old room, back at Grandma's. Bigger, differently-lifelessly-styled before your interference, but with all the furnishings in the same locations, facing the same ways. You wonder if that was intentional. You wonder who it was all for. If what he said to you was true, and he really had planned never to reenter your life, then-

He's annoying. You're angry. You have to be close to him because the distance has been killing you. It's an excuse you can use to explain your being here, but not what you're about to do.

You run your hand over each of the pillows on the bed, searching for traces of warmth, looking for fallen strands of hair. You are unsurprised when all evidence points you to the one on the far left, closest to the door. You've seen the way he sleeps, like even unconscious he was ready to fight, poised for it, tense. You snarl as you pluck his pillow up, along with the comforter, and stomp out of the room.

There isn't a yard at his house but there is a balcony, and it'll have to do. Your brow furrows as you slide the glass door aside, stepping out and unceremoniously dropping the pillow and bed cover onto the ground. You stand over them, attempt to make some sense of your actions to yourself.

Stepping outside hadn't helped you ease the dread and discomfort that came with being alone in his house. The sun is starting to set. It's still warm, and the breeze is soft, just like it was at his funeral.

And the bone deep cold you feel in you now is the same as you felt then.

You think maybe the problem isn't the house, maybe it's always just been you. You, all needy and bratty emotional and demanding. The thought festers as you stare at the bedding at your feet, and finally you have your answer.

More than closeness, what you need is control.

Your stomach drops. You don't get time to process it.

There's a chime and a click, and the front door opens. He never gives you enough time. He always gives you too much.

Can two things be true at once?

"You here, Pips?" He's unzipping his boots. You don't feel the need to respond, he'll find his way to you. You're expecting him to.

Big feet pad through the house, purposeful, with a distinct lack of wandering. Like he knew exactly where he'd find you. Though you think he should have no reason to expect you out here. He's still in uniform-obviously, since he'd come straight from work to you-and he looks tired. You are surprised, ashamed of yourself, to find that doesn't deter you.

He's just looking at you, like always, and you know he's waiting for you to say something, to over-explain yourself like you tend to when you're nervous or caught off guard or just caught. All you can bring yourself to do is stare back, face blank. The sliding door is open, with you on opposite sides of it. You're gaze darts to the threshold and back up and you almost want to look away again. Coming up against the resistance you usually do when he wears his old face with his new uniform, head at a slight tilt, eyes wide and relaxed. Like he's smiling even though his expression is neutral.

"Yooou okay?" He looks you over, gaze falling to your feet, to the bedding beside them. You tense up, immediately drawing the conclusion that what you were about to do was crazy, and you absolutely needed to rein it in and back down. You sniff, shaking your head like a dog trying to shake off water, your face heating as you open your mouth to do the usual song and dance of rambling and excusing. The sooner you start it, the sooner it will be over. If you tell him to forget it happened, he will. Or, he'll pretend he will, for you. It's been enough before. Maybe pretending is enough.

You're interrupted before you can start.

"...if you're doing laundry, generally speaking you want to take the pillow out of the case first-" He steps beyond the threshold, outside, kneels before you to reach for the pillow. "-and nothing is gonna get dry all bunched up on the ground." He thumbs at the comforter with his glove, looking at you with raised brows and that too-aware-too-familiar smile that makes you feel like he can see inside you. To the meat and marrow, all raw and ugly. You're brain catches up to his words and an indignant laugh is choked out of you. Obviously you know how to do fucking laundry. Obviously the blanket is completely dry. Obviously he knows all of this. Why is he always so-

Oh.

He's giving you an out. A chance to undo what you've done, whatever you've done. To pretend, if pretending is enough for you.

He sees you. It's comforting, familiar. He tilts his head curiously, angled away from you, exposing his throat.

'I've always held myself back and endured day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.'

Annoying.

You see red. Meat and marrow. No. You won't play pretend anymore. You need to know who he is. You need to know who you are.

You've been working on being honest.

You step around and over him, back into the house. He watches you as you go, smile dropping with your continued silence. As he moves to stand, you slide shut and lock the door. He blinks at you from the other side of the glass. Mouth parting in confusion.

"Okayyy. Are we.. gonna talk about it?" It. He says, muffled by the glass. Implication being: he doesn't know whats going on. Good. You almost smile. A sick thrill running through you, followed quickly by the sorrow, the guilt. That he doesn't know what you're thinking, that you've made it so.

You realize you haven't spoken to him since his return. You open your mouth, only to close it again. You don't have the words. You don't know how to say them. The collar tightens. You want him to choke too.

"Pip-squeak." His garbled voice is firm, but not stern. Anchor to your brewing storm. You realize you've been looking just past him, and let him pull you back. When your eyes drift to his its still his face, not the Colonel's, that you're looking at. The funhouse mirror that is your Caleb in the Colonel's uniform. This is good. This is the right way for this to happen.

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both.

You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing.

Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside.

He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless.

Yours vibrates in your hands.

Cay ✈️: D:

Cay ✈️: y?

And. Well.

...It is at this point that you realize you cannot remember what made you so angry at him in the first place. There had been a specific something, but in the time it took you to get from your place to his you'd gotten a bit distracted by everything else about the both of you. Together and separate. Meat and marrow. You know too much about each other, you don't know enough anymore, you can't think about him too long without all that you've ever swallowed trying to come up. Bring the bile with it. All of the ugliness in you.

It's his. He's the only one who gets to see it, to hold it.

You'd gotten sick on the ride home from the orphanage. It was your first time in a car, and you'd been watching the world speed by through the backseat window. Caleb was holding your hand, watching you. That had ended up being a good thing, when the wave of nausea came. As it often went when you were little, he noticed before you did. He'd shouted something at Grandma, and she'd responded in the calm, even manner she always did. None of their exchange made it to you, discomfort in your body quick to turn to gagging, heaving, vain attempts to swallow it down. Caleb was quick to turn your body to face him, away from the window, and cup his hands.

Grandma did pull over, just not fast enough. By the time she made it around the side and opened the door it was already over. Her eyes scanning from your exhausted, shaky body, to the spared interior of her car, to the bile pooled in Caleb's hands. She'd sighed, rubbed steady, gentle circles into your back as she reached for a bottle of water that had been left rolling around at your feet.

She made her way around to the opposite door, poured water over Caleb's outstretched hands until they were clean, and told him not touch anything until he could wash them properly at home. He'd nodded and kept his word.

Even though you spent the rest of that trip with your head in his lap, eyes closed to keep you from getting sick again, he didn't touch you even once.

You'd thought it was silly. What did it matter? All he had on him was you.

...You don't know how to say any of that to him. You stare, untyping, at your phone. Will yourself to respond. Honestly.

Cay ✈️: ...because I canceled our plans yesterday?

He beats you to it. Rather, he beats you to saying anything, because you're sure that wasn't the thing that set you off. He'd already apologized for it and you'd ended up having to work late anyways.

...But it would have to do.

Pips 🧡: ding ding ding!

The embarrassment has set in, total awareness that you are being ridiculous. But the noxious cocktail of shame and frustration and anger-always, these days, the anger-are at the wheel. You've done it and it's been done. You can't take it back. You won't.

You are so. Goddamn. Annoying.

You turn to walk away before you can second or fifth guess yourself when your phone vibrates again.

Cay ✈️: if i'm out here who's gonna make dinner?

---

It is decided that you will make dinner. Mostly because you know if he gets you to unlock that door and let him back in you won't have it in you to shut him out again, which is not an option when you've already committed to... whatever this is. You're fine enough at cooking, you've had plenty of practice since Caleb first left for the Aerospace Academy, though you don't think you'll ever be able to match his skill. You're clumsy with a knife, more prone to over-seasoning. Everything is a reflection. You, ever careless and dramatic.

You're still trying to figure out what you were mad about as you stare into the empty fridge.

Empty, again,like his stupid grave. Which you cannot stop fucking thinking about today. Standing here in his house, kicking him out, trying not to lose him. What are you even doing? What do you hope to achieve here? Do you want him mad at you like you're mad at him? Whatever you're mad at him for? Has it always been like this? You lashing out for something you're making up as you go? And him, always just-

"Stop." It comes out with your voice, from your mouth, but it's not your thought. Caleb used to be the only one who could cut off your endless rumination, coax you into sitting still and staying your hands and 'copy my breathing Pip. In-one, two, three, four-good. now slower.' It had been one of the harder things to teach yourself, when he left you. Harder than the braised chicken recipe, which you still can't get right. "Stop." You're talking to yourself, but your gaze turns to the sliding door anyway. Where Caleb is standing at an informal sort of attention. Arms folded and head cocked, observing, smile rising to his face when you catch his eye. You turn back to the fridge.

It isn't a difficult puzzle for you to solve. He doesn't cook much when your not around, you've talked about this. But even still the state of the thing is dire. Three protein shakes, two eggs, and an apple. What does he even eat? You know he's meticulous about his diet, so there's no way he's just eating out. You pull open the freezer, not even a frozen chicken breast. Is he just inbetween grocery trips? With his salary there's no excuse to let it get this bad. You're pulling open and checking cupboards when your phone vibrates on the counter.

Cay ✈️: I've moved some stuff around since you were here last. If you let me back in I can show you?

Cay ✈️: ...and then you can scold me for doing a bad job taking care of myself >x<

...As enticing as the idea of reprimanding him is, you aren't a fool, and you aren't falling for it. All he's done is confirm to you that he knows you know you won't be able to push him away again if you let him through that door. Just like you know he knows you know he could come in whenever he wanted, lock be damned. They've hardly stopped him before. You can't suppress the smile that thought brings to your face. Truly, it should worry you more how giddy it makes you. You're older, the game is different, but one thing remains ever unchanged: Caleb will always play with you. Always. Even when you shut him out.

Food. Dinner. The fridge.

Grandma didn't raise a quitter, but she did raise someone with solid deductive reasoning. The situation is hopeless, and you are fucked. By the time you find the half empty box of cereal-the processed-to-hell sweet crap that was only here because of you in the first place-tucked high, hiiigh up in one of the cupboards, you are already resigned to your fate.

Caleb is distinctly unpleased when you approach the glass door with two bowls of stale cereal. No milk. Milk is for Caleb's that don't die-not-die and for You's that don't go on weird ends-to-the-means-unclear power trips. Also there wasn't any. You stand opposite each other, separated by the door, you with your cereal bowls in hand, actively trying not to laugh at Caleb. Whose still crossed arms are now accompanied by a single rhythmically tapping finger and an impressively unimpressed scowl.

"'s not dinner, Pip." He's speaking low enough that you almost can't make it out through the barrier. You sigh, aggrieved, like someone who didn't start this.

"I'm not the one with the empty fridge." You make an attempt to balance both bowls in one arm with little success before deciding against it, sighing once more, at your unending trials. You move to lower one of the bowls, yours, to the floor, to free a hand. "'m gonna open the door but you better stay-" Caleb undoes the lock, slides the door open with his evol, stands back, still, and stays.

Not without sort of glowering, mind you.

"That's not dinner." His voice is clear, with the door open, so you know he's just choosing to annunciate like you can't hear him. You have to fight not to roll your eyes.

"If you wanted food you should have had food in your house." You set the bowl down just beyond the threshold, ceramic making an aggressive clink that you feel appropriately conveys your annoyance to him. "Bon appetit." You gesture at the dish, sitting down on your side of the door, already spooning the sugary, grainy, nutritionless pellets into your mouth. Caleb huffs, moving to sit as well, to be level with you. You mistake the movement for an advance into the house.

"Uh uh. Stay." His arm freezes midair, where he was reaching for the joke of a meal you prepared. A single finger twitches, a shaky breath is exhaled.

"'m not goin anywhere Pips..." It's difficult to tell, with the sunset glare at his back, but you'd swear his pupils are dilated.

"Okay." You release him, he doesn't move. "Caleb, eat." You reach a hand beyond the threshold, push the bowl towards him. Finally, he stirs. The way his fingers brush over yours as he grabs the dish is familiar, so much so, that the complete innecessity of the action doesn't even occur to you. Instead, your focus falls on his continued avoidance of the sugared cardboard crap, even with the bowl now in his hands, even with your command. He stares at the bowl in a daze. "Dude. You will survive one cheat meal, I promise you."

"I don't care about me." He shakes his head, raises the offending dish, glaring at the cereal like it was was responsible for all the evil in the world. "You need to eat something with substance." He raises a spoonful only to pour it back into the bowl in distaste. You bite down on your own spoon, teeth clinking against the metal gratingly. That is the problem. That is always the fucking problem.

You could actually strangle him.

"Caleb." You say, stern.

"Yup." He pops the 'P', like an asshole. Annoying.

"Shut up. And eat your food." You reach up to pull the door back shut, flipping the lock.

He sighs, but doesn't say a word more. Just picks up his spoon and eats, like a good boy.

---

Beyond dinner arrangements, Caleb doesn't complain. When you've both finished your bowls he pushes his right to the door, to the place where it opens. Sits, leaned back and relaxed, when you unlock it to take the bowl. He doesn't scold you, or shout at you, or call you ridiculous even though he probably should. He doesn't even try to bargain again. Just looks up at you smiling as the lock slides back into place.

You think that's the end of it, that the night will pass like this and you will both wake up tomorrow, pretending it never happened. You think that, until you're washing the dishes and hear a knock at the door. The main door, not the glass one Caleb is standing, watching you from behind. You checked, to be sure he wasn't messing with you.

Your brows furrow, because you're on a fucking private floating sky island with some sort of forcefield disguise mechanism wrapped around it, who the hell could possibly-

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: its okay.

Cay ✈️: you can open it :-)

You scoff, head darting to look at him incredulously. Locked out of his own damn house and still acting like he's in charge here. Annoying annoying annoying. You march over to the front door, throwing it open like you own the place. Because you can, not because he told you to.

It's Liam. With takeout.

"When did he even-?" You head whips to the balcony door before turning back to your unexpected guest, stunned. You move yourself to block his line of sight to the glass door as you try to recall Caleb pulling out his phone even once. You come up empty.

"Have a good night, miss." Liam says flatly, extending the bag of food to you. Paper, which you interpret to mean posh. All of the little places you frequent still use plastic. And it would certainly track for Caleb to pick something needlessly high-end. Like his stupid, expensive car and his stupid, dreary house. You take a deep breath, recognize that you are being kind of a dick.

To Liam, of course. Not Caleb, who you don't even have a last nerve for, right now.

You relieve him of the bag.

"I- thank you! I'm sorry you had to come all the way out to-" You speak up, frantic and embarrassed.

"It's no trouble. Goodnight." Mission completed, he turns to leave without ceremony. You stand still in the doorway. Your attempt to process the interaction interrupted by muffled laughter.

"Motherfucker."

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: shut up and eat your food xP

---

Back in the kitchen, your assumption is proven right. Needlessly fancy food from a restaurant you aren't even going to attempt to sound out the name of. With the logo embossed, not stamped, onto the side of the paper bag. A single serving, you note, with great irritation. You're convinced now, he is actively efforting to dig himself a second grave. You grumble obscenities to yourself as you pluck the same two bowls off of the drying rack. Distributing the to-go box's contents equally between them. You, pointedly, do not look towards the balcony, as you know exactly what you will see if you do.

How can he possibly be so smug, locked out on the balcony at his own home?

You know, have known, have been saying it all night, have been saying it for years.

Caleb. Is. Annoying.

And, as you make your way over to the door, bowls in hand, a perfect replication of only an hour before, you know you can't let him get away with it.

He's grinning as you approach the door. You reflect his earlier glower back at him, and then the idea strikes you. You look into his eyes, focused and intense, and will him to guess your next move. You drop the bowls in your hands, and they fall no more than an inch through the air before being stabilized. Floating gently beside you, as you unlock the door. Something stirs in you and you swallow it down, along with the satisfied smile you don't want him to see.

"'Sposed to be for you Pip." He hovers the bowls towards your face, as if to clarify the point of discussion. Again, he is so-

"Well if you'd gotten two I wouldn't have to share." You huff out, with a roll of your eyes. Annoying.

"Didn't know if I'd earned it." Something in you stirs, at the acknowledgment of your roles in this, heat in your stomach immediately beaten down by shame, and the part of you that wants him to fight back. But he won't. You don't know if there is anything you could do to him that he'd protest to. It frustrates you. It scares you.

"You wanna come back in the house? Then you'll eat it." And you're at the door again. Not the one between you, to the balcony, but the one in your heart. You have your fingers on the lock, you've been trying to be honest. "And you couldn't have had it delivered before I went through the effort of washing the dishes?" You fail.

"Fair is fair." He shrugs his shoulders, you don't need him to elaborate. He's spent years cleaning up your messes only for you to make them again. You're only just beginning to take your turn.

You eat your second dinner in silence. This time, you don't shut and lock the door between you. You take turns pretending not to watch each other. Cornered animals waiting for the other to bite or fawn, in your view. You don't know how Caleb sees it. Sees you. You worry that he thinks of you as something other. Something lesser or more, and either way, different from him. Not his sister, not a woman, not-

"You're anxious." Any other voice, cutting through the quiet like that, would make you jump. Not his. Not with the way he says it, all low and certain.

"When did I say that?"

"You don't have to say something for me to know." That thing stirs in you again. A rumble of satisfaction at being known. And then a prey animal, seen. Ready to run. You tense, looking away from him, eyes landing on his pillow. Remember your role.

You scoff, voice mocking, a challenge. "Okay. Then why are you outside?"

He pauses, hand raising to his chin in thought. "...don't know. Haven't decided yet." Not he doesn't know, and not he hasn't decided yet. Which leaves... which means-

"I'm not doing the dishes again." You don't have an answer for him.

"I'll do em." He grabs his bowl and chopsticks, leans in, arm over the threshold, to take yours too.

"No, sit down. Stay." Your hand raises in a stopping motion between you, just nearly touching his chest.

"You said if I ate I could come inside." He grumbles, whines, leans into you, closes the distance between his body and your hand. You can feel his heart, the beat of it thunderous. You pull away as though burned.

"I said you'd eat if you wanted to come inside. That's not the same as an invitation."

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he pulls back. "Yeah?" His grin is wide and manic. "You're being particularly cruel tonight, did I really upset you that much?"

"Yup." You nod, slowly. Pop the P, like an asshole. And suddenly you know that he knows this isn't about whatever made you mad, not anymore.

"Okay, okay. Colonel Pip-squeak, I'm staying." And an old thing is made new again, he speaks to you like he knows something you don't. Caleb is older than you, a distance of only a few years that he has never let you forget. It had mattered more to you, when you were small. One of the first ways you learned to be annoyed with him. You remember struggling after him, to climb as high on the orphanage garden tree and every tree you could find after, with him teasing all the while. He was older, his hands were bigger, that was just how it was. An insurmountable distance, established between you from day one. It was easy, in your agitation, to forget that he'd always pulled you up to meet him, in the end. There's a symbol in that, you think.

"Where'd you go Pip?" Your drawn back to the present moment.

"The playground." You don't have to say which, though you've been to many, over the years. He just knows. The way that he always knows, when it comes to you.

"You should get some sleep." 'We can talk in the morning, we can talk when you're ready.' Goes unspoken. He removes his hat, sets it at his side. Yawning, but still sitting tall. Still, somehow, accepting of this. Of you. "Be sure to lock the door."

In lieu of a goodnight, you do as told. Sliding the door shut, letting the lock click solidly into place, while he watches your hand, dazed in a way you refuse to attribute to anything but exhaustion from his work day.

You turn away from him without a word, making your way through his house to get yourself ready for bed.

---

You're in his bathroom, glaring at his toothbrush laid flat on the counter. Yours, which had been stood up nicely, in the cup by the sink, is now being used to scrub much too aggressively at your mouth. Brush and bristles catching on your cheeks and teeth like you find yourself caught on his brush's needless separation. If you didn't know better, you'd think he wanted to be apart from you. Your heart stutters. Because maybe he did. Maybe that was the thing you were missing, in your desperation to be close and close and closer still. He wasn't going to find you, that's what he'd said, if you hadn't stormed the Fleet yourself you'd never-

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

Cay ✈️: Goodnight Pips, sleep well.

Cay ✈️: [Sunny Apple: G'nite]

You exhale. No. No. He'd wanted to protect you, you know that. You spit into the sink, rinse your toothbrush clean and place it back in the cup. You wipe the toothpaste at the corners of your mouth onto the shirt you'd pulled over your head to sleep in. One of his, now stained by you, like many others before. You creep out into the hall, peak around a corner toward the balcony, where you can only make out the vague shape of him, faced away from the door, toward the rest of the world, either asleep or pretending at it. You turn off the house lights and make to retreat into his room, stopping briefly again at the bathroom, to place his toothbrush in the cup with yours.

In his bedroom, you pull a pillow over to the far left side of the bed. You take his place in it, pull the sheet over you. It's a warm night, even for Skyhaven. You tense and untense your body, rhythmically, try not to dwell on the too quiet of his home. On how you were right, earlier, when you thought your footfalls were the only thing stopping you from hearing your heart. It kicks up now as you shift around under the thin cover. You find yourself briefly worried that Caleb will get cold. You pluck your phone from the nightstand to check the weather. Your punishment of him not without its limits. You hum dismissively at the readout. He'll be just fine. You close the weather app and unconsciously open your messenger, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Pips 🧡: Night.

Pips 🧡: [Sunny Apple: Bye]

The walls in his house are thick, and his bedroom isn't all that close to the balcony, but still you'd swear you hear him laughing softly from outside.

Whether it is a hallucination on your part or not, the sound of it soothes you to slumber.

You are at a dog park. The one nearby Grandma's old house. Its larger, in the dream, the trees at the far end less human planted embellishment and more organic forest. The fence lining it is a sturdy iron, and not the feeble, beat up, wired one that exists in reality. You are playing fetch with a dog, your dog. Which you both cannot see and have also, in your waking life, never had. You toss the ball and assumedly the dog catches it and brings it back, as it keeps reappearing in your hand. Your voice echoes through the eerily empty park "Yes, good catch. Good boy!" You coo at it. Each time it barks out a reply. You hear its feet hitting the ground as it runs, kicking up grass and dirt as it goes, your laughter is light and giddy, as you continue to play with the unseen thing.

Until eventually it makes its way back to you-"good boy! yes, yes so good!"-and its bark is warped. Less dog, more... human.

"Woof." You look down and finally you see it, him. Caleb is there, all big and broad, sat at your feet. His eyes are dark and focused. He's panting. Red apple, like a ball, between his teeth.

You wake with a start. Breathing ragged, stuck between confusion and mute horror. You stay completely still for a long while. Playing it back, feeling more and more sick each time. Knots coiling in your stomach. What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

You have to let him back in the house.

You throw the covers off of you, move to stand, before freezing entirely. Your shifting weight, the movement of your legs, draws your attention to the wetness between them. You exhale shakily, tears building unbidden behind your eyes. Your brain short circuits, scrambling to explain it away as just a fucked up dream. Challenging, with the subject of it currently locked outside like an animal. Your body's reaction could be written off as just that, a reaction of the body. Totally isolated from you. You will yourself to believe, in your half-sleep state, that you've not felt the knot all night long, the coil in your stomach.

The sensation now given a name, one you can't bear to repeat.

It's fucked. You're fucked. And even still, as always, you want to run to him. To have him soothe you the way only he knows how. If you went to him, now, would he be disgusted with you? All night all he'd done is listen to you. If you told him again to sit, to stay, to eat-

You gasp aloud, invisible collar tightening as if tugged. The thought is banished, and you lay back down, stock-still. No, actually. You need to go back to sleep. You need to not be near him. You need to rewrite this moment, too, as part of the bad, bad dream. Not real. Not your drowsy-but-still-very-much-awake thoughts. Not yours. Not really.

It will be like the theme park, like those days consumed by the chip. You'll forget. You'll pretend to forget.

It's the only way to ensure you both survive it.

In sleep, you are drawn back to the dog park. You know he is still there, can hear him panting and whining in your ear. You refuse to look at him. The apple, that you think now may have never been a ball, is held loosely in your palm. You stare off into the grassy field ahead, to where the horizon hides behind the treeline. From there, you wouldn't be able to see the park fence. Even within the dream, you untense. Caleb barks at you. You stare into the trees, the fullness of them, the cover. You throw the apple into them, as far as you can.

And, without even looking to see if he's given chase, you take off running after it.

It's morning, when you wake next, the sun cresting over the horizon. You paw at your sleep crusted eyes, instinctively sniff at the air for the scent of Caleb making breakfast. You'd figured, sometime in the night or early morning, he'd find his way back inside. Whatever game you were playing abandoned, in favor of play pretending none of it had happened. One game for another. Something put up on a high shelf, where you wouldn't have to look at it, where only Caleb could reach.

But there's nothing, not the smell of coffee, not the sound of sizzling, no spatula scraping at the stove. All is quiet. You frown, move to rise from the bed. Your nose scrunching in distaste when shifting your legs unsticks yourself from your underwear. Great. Gross. Before anything else, you need to change.

You try and fail not to remember the dream, as you dig through his drawers for some boxers. So lost in the catastrophic mess of your own head that you don't think much of anything when you come across three pairs of your own underwear. It's easy to ignore, you leave stuff here all the time, and his underwear drawer was a pretty logical place for them to end up, all things considered. Just because you don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

And again, you're kind of more worried about your dog problem.

You'd pleaded for one desperately, a few years after Grandma adopted you. You'd spent some time with a friend and her dog, watched her do tricks on command, follow your friend around all open-mouthed and bright-eyed, seen how she'd sat, her back facing the pair of you as you played, keeping silent vigil. You'd been awed, you'd been envious. But Grandma was adamant about maintaining a pet free household. And so your dreams were dashed.

Mostly. Except for the part you'd forgotten, until now.

You'd been moping about the house all day. Grandma's continued rejection of your wishes putting you in a sour mood. One Caleb had been incessantly trying to lift for the last hour at least, as you both sat on the living room floor, sat in front of the big fan, trying to keep cool in the sticky summer heat.

"Piiiips. C'mon. Let's go on a walk or something." He tosses the paper plane he just finished folding at you. It flies in circles around your head, courtesy of his evol, until you swat it out of your orbit. He makes a big show of crash landing it in front of you, making explosion noises and everything. Apparently three people need immediate medical attention. It's all very tragic. You kind of don't care at all.

You're at tough ages now, 13 and 15. You don't know if he's gotten worse at comforting you, or you've gotten worse at being comforted. There's no time to ponder it, as he has succeeded in folding the rescue helicopter, which is also just a paper plane.

"Dispatcher Pip, we need coordinates, these people are not going to make it."

You sigh dramatically, half-heartedly pointing to the crash site. "They're over there."

"Copy that, dispatcher Pip, sending in the rescue team now." The plane is thrust into the air, gently floating its way to you, just as the first did. "Oh no, we seem to have encountered an obstacle in our flight path. There is no clear path around it." Ugh! Yes there is!

You duck, raising your hands over your head defensively. "Are you saying I have a big head?"

"Negative. Gravity seems to have warped around you, the rescue copter can't escape the pull." The paper plane-copter circles your head, just like the first, the only thing keeping you from swatting it down is your desire to keep him from introducing a third.

"Well I'm not the one with gravity powers-"

"Do you wanna go get ice cream?" The suddenness of the question takes you off guard. Caleb's always been really good at that, making distractions. You blink at him three times before remembering that you're super upset. You sigh, for probably the 100th time in the last 25 minutes.

"I don't want ice cream. I want a dog." You pout at the floor, knees pulled into your chest. A finger tracing at the wood grain absently.

"Then lets go to the park." Caleb says with a shrug. You perk up. "To... get a dog?" You ask, equally hopeful and confused.

"Nnno..." He starts, and you deflate immediately. "Gran would probably send us packing if we pulled something like that. Buuut I bet there will be at least one nice doggie there for you to play with." He shuffles across the floor to you, ruffles your hair. "You're small and cute, I'm willing to bet their owners will let you." You bat at his hand.

"'m not that small..." you grumble, but don't reject the idea.

"Okay. Are we goin or not?"

---

There aren't any dogs at the park. Mid-afternoon heat keeping visitors away from the sun soaked field. You are devastated of course, and kind of annoyed, since you bothered to peel yourself off the floor and away from the fan for this. But it wouldn't be Caleb if he didn't have a backup plan.

"I'll be the dog." He says, easily.

"You'll huh?" Your head whips to him, brow raised and mouth agape.

"I'll be the dog." He shrugs, like whats he's saying makes any sense. "How did your friend and her dog play?"

You hesitate, feeling that somehow this is wrong, but not finding any real reason to say no. Find it incredibly hard to want to, when you've spent all day really really wanting a dog."...She would hold one of her rope toys and run around the field. And Buttons, that's her dogs name, would chase her. And tug at it when she'd catch her." You hold up your empty hands to him. "I don't have a rope toy though."

Caleb thinks it over. "I can still chase you? If you want?"

You nod without hesitation. Eyes widening excitedly.

He chases you around the field, barking and yipping playfully as you laugh and run away. He tugs gently at the hem of your shirt when he catches you, lets you go again when you squeal. It isn't long before you're sweaty and breathing heavy, exhausted from running around in the heat. Caleb all but drags you to the water fountain, demands that you drink and then drink some more. The breeze has picked up, to your relief. A soothing balm on your overly warm skin.

"We should head back." His breathing is still leveling out. You push away from the fountain and nudge him to take your place. When he raises his head, after a drink, he catches your frown.

"Do we have to?" Your tired, yes, but you were also having so much fun. Even if it was just pretend.

"We don't have to..." He cups your sweaty face in his equally sweaty hands. "...but anymore sun and you might start cooking." He says, patting your cheeks.

"Just a little longer. We can play a different dog game." You're eyes are big and pleading, something you know always works with him.

"...okay, okay. 10 minutes. One more dog game."

You tell him about your friend and her dog playing catch. How she'd throw the rubber ball and Buttons would chase it down and bring it back. You don't have a rubber ball, and so you improvise with a stick you find by the tree Caleb made you sit under. Compromising about play time only when you promised to stay in the shade. You throw the stick, he runs to catch it, and when he picks it up in his hands you tell him no. He's a dog, he has to use his mouth. And so he does. Runs back and forth under the sun, picking up the stick with his teeth, while you sit in the shade. He's panting again, all sweaty and beat red. You wonder how long he'll keep going, if you keep throwing it, before he tells you to stop.

He doesn't. Not until you tell him you're ready to go home.

The memory leaves you horrified with yourself all over again. God. You were spoiled. And cruel. And over all these years nothing seems to have changed, not for the better anyways. Now, on top of it all, you're a pervert too. Your list of objectionable traits only growing.

You'd managed to get changed, while you reflected-soiled underwear tucked into your bag to be dealt with whenever you got back home-and now are making your way back to the main room in the house. Expecting still, to find Caleb either in the kitchen or living area, busying himself while waiting for you to wake.

But he's not in either location. When you turn the corner, finally in clear view of the balcony, you see him there. Sat right outside the door, in uniform. One arm propped up on a raised knee, the other extended behind him, supporting him. Relaxed. Patient. Waiting. 'Stay.'

Oh.

It's worse. He's making it so much worse.

You walk to the door, open it with a shaky hand that you try desperately to control. You search yourself for words. For anything to say at all.

Your rumbling stomach cuts through the tension for you. Startles you out of your stupor.

"...Ok, you can come in. We're going to the grocery store." You give your best performance of passivity, only look at him when you recognize your avoidance of eye contact will do just as much to give you away.

When your eyes finally land on his face, his smile knocks the breath out of you.

---

From there, the day passes with frightening normalcy. The both of you get ready, make it to and from the grocery store with little drama, and Caleb, graciously, doesn't bat an eye at your sudden awkwardness. Falling easily back into step like everything is completely normal and you didn't totally overstep in pretty much every conceivable way just hours ago. You return home and he makes breakfast. You eat together at the table, the silence companionable. You, stealing glances at him all the while. Searching for any anger, or upset, or discontent. Something that says he's sick of you, because he should be.

There's nothing.

You spend the rest of the day working on one of his models. Mostly he works and you scroll on your phone, still keyed up about... pretty much everything, unable to meaningfully focus. You'd been so angry yesterday, and you'd lashed out at him, disrupted his whole day like you had any right to. Had the audacity to be annoyed with him about it. You still can't even remember what had gotten you so worked up in the first place.

"Hey, we should watch that new episode, while your here." He says offhandedly, still focused on the model in front of him.

Oh.

My fucking.

God.

You remember. You remember why you were so angry. Which sucks, because its completely stupid. You fight through the embarrassment, through the heat rising to your face, to respond. "Yeah. Sounds good." You know he hears it, but he says nothing about the way your voice cracks.

---

The sun is long past setting and Caleb is still chipping away at the model. You, for your part, have pretty much given up on assisting. Drifting in and out of consciousness from where you are sprawled out on the couch. He says something to you, a request for another piece, probably, but you miss it in your drowsy state. You rapidly blink your eyes, try and compel them into staying open.

"...huh?" you hum groggily. He turns his attention to you. Face and voice soft.

"...Said can you hand me the-" He cuts himself off, gives you a once over. Huffs out a laugh. "Coulda told me you were fading, Pips." He smiles, leans over to pinch your thigh. Startling you just slightly more alert.

"Ow!" It hadn't hurt. "Rude-"

"You can't go down yet. You gotta tell me where I'm sleeping." He says coolly. Your eyes narrow in confusion. He hums, raising himself up from his place behind the coffee table with a little 'hup'. And disappears from your line of sight.

You hear the opening of the sliding glass door.

Shit. Shit.

Your stomach drops. Heart thundering with every step his feet take back to you.

He's in front of you, pillow and comforter in hand, still smiling, all teeth.

"So, Pips, have I been good?"

Your entire body lurches, breath catching, heat rolling through you.

Everything stops moving. Like his evol is active, even though you know it isn't.

You don't know what to say. Every wire is crossed, every weapon you have, misfiring. He's still... why is he entertaining this? Why would he start it again? Is he just... messing with you? Is it a test? What are you supposed to say?

"Pips." He kneels, makes himself level with your position on the couch, looks at you, all big-eyed and focused. "Where do you want me?" He brings a hand to your ankle, rubs circles into it.

You look away from his face, to the dirty bedding in his other hand, and say the only thing that comes to mind.

"You can sleep at the foot of the bed, but those aren't coming with you."

---

He had been quick to mask his surprise. Just not quick enough for you to miss it entirely. Besides the night he was sick, its been years since you've shared a bed.

You needed a minute. To recover from what he'd said, what it had done to you. And so excused yourself to throw the pillow and comforter into the laundry, telling him as you hastened away, to wash up before bed. The fact that he'd let you go, do the deed yourself, without protest, tells you he needed that minute to. You're leaning over the running washing machine, arms braced at the front edges of it, trying to get yourself through and over the thought of 'What the fuck? What the fuck do I do?' and onto something more productive.

A part of you, the selfish, spoiled part you don't think you're allowed to deny anymore, hopes that Caleb's already solved it. That he has returned from his time outside enlightened and will, like every other time before, pick up all your troubles for you, and carry them like they weighed nothing. The other part of you, the bigger part, the one that has spent a decade trying to be his equal. Hopes that whatever truth he saw he'd tell to you.

That's the hard part. Getting him to tell you. It's the one thing Caleb won't give you without first taking. Truth, confessions. You groan to yourself. Your either gonna have to tell him about the dream, or the reason you made him sleep outside.

Frankly, the choice is obvious.

You make your way out of the laundry room and into the bathroom, where you see Caleb brushing his teeth. By the time you start on yours he's rinsing his mouth out.

"Gonna grab an extra blanket from the hall closet..." He sets his toothbrush down on the counter. You make a displeased noise through a mouth full of foam and spit. Glance at him, brows furrowed, only to find he's already watching you. His mouth turns up, slow. Grinning wide enough to make his eyes squint, as he picks the brush back up, and places it in the cup. He looks to you, you hum, nod your approval. His nose wrinkles with a giddy little huff. He pats your shoulder, lets his hand rest there, as he makes his way around you and out of the bathroom. You roll your eyes, when he's gone. 'And what are you supposed to make of that?' Annoying. The same annoying Caleb. No amount of canine roleplay or psychosexual wet dreams will ever take that from you.

He's changed into his pjs and draped the blanket by the time you finish up and make for his room. Already laying at the foot of the bed, eyes closed, with the pillow you'd used tucked under his head. You don't know if he chose it because it was in his place, on the far left, or because he'd known you used it.

"I don't remember saying you could have that." You give your best effort to sound firm. Though you can tell from the way he smiles, not bothering to open his eyes, that he knows there's no bite in it.

"You've let me come this far. Is this really where you're gonna draw the line?"

You're not sure there is a line, anymore. But you don't say that. The silence, you crawling under the covers, into the bed, is answer enough. You reach for the light, pausing for a moment with your hand on the pullstring. You'll have to be honest with him, if you want any shot of him being honest with you.

...doesn't mean you can't do it in the dark, though.

You yank the light off.

"Night Pips." He wraps a hand around your ankle from over the covers, just to hold it, you think. It settles something in you that he wants to know you're there.

"I remembered why I was mad at you." You blurt out, the cover of dark doing very little to make you brave.

"Yeah?" he squeezes once, then rubs circles into the bone.

"It was the canceled plans. Kinda. But it wasn't that part." You pause, take a breath, he hums for you to continue. "...We were gonna watch the new episode of that show together. You couldn't make it and that's fine, we're adults with jobs and we get busy. I didn't care about that." Another pause, another breath, this time he just waits. "But you told me I could watch it by myself, if I wanted." You shrink in on yourself, unconsciously. "...Aaand it bothered me." You pull the blanket up over your face, despite the fact that he couldn't see your expression in the dark if he tried.

You feel him shift, rise up onto his elbows, know without seeing yourself, that he is looking at you.

"...You made me sleep outside, at my own house... because I was too considerate of your excitement and desire to not see spoilers?" And you can't even entertain the idea that he's irritated with you, because you can hear him smiling stupid big.

You always manage to forget. He's not just annoying. He's a big annoying weirdo.

"I mean. Kinda. Yeah." You sigh, lowering the blanket back down, so your mumbling can be heard more clearly. "It wasn't about the show. Or it was, at first. But then it was more than that?" You were still working out the details yourself, you don't know how to explain it to him. But this is Caleb. If you just... say exactly what you're thinking. He'll figure it out like he always does. At least you hope he will.

"I want to be the same as you. I don't like that we have our own heads... sometimes." You lose steam with each word, end of the sentence leaving you as barely a whisper.

There's a beat of quiet. Then another. "Only sometimes?"

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. But say nothing beyond it.

You did your part, now it's his turn to talk.

"...I don't want you to be the same as me Pip." His hand has reached under the covers now, wraps itself back around your ankle. Like he knows it's not what you want to hear. "You deserve more than- ow, let me finish." You'd kicked at his chest, which he should have anticipated, he knows you hate it when he does that. As he speaks, he pulls you closer, not away. Presses your foot to his ribs, shows you where to hit him next, if he upsets you again. "I'm yours. Always have been, always will be. And if it were up to me you'd have everything, it wouldn't even be a question." After that, his voice dips low.

"Everything good. And none of the bad. That's all me." More circles rubbed into you, tracing further up, on your calf now. "I'd let you crawl under my ribs though, if that's what you wanted. Use me like a jungle gym. Give you something to cut your teeth on...." You push your foot into his ribs, toes pressing into the spaces between the bones. He grips your leg tighter.

"If you're mine I'm yours."

"Pips, listen-" His hold loosens as he sighs, the first hint of frustration you've seen from him over the last two days. You pull away from his grip entirely, throwing the covers away from you. "If you're mine I'm yours. It's not a question. It's the end of the discussion." You crawl to the end of the bed, movement quick and clumsy. You lay facing him, close enough to see his eyes even in the dark.

He chokes out a bitter little laugh, wraps his arms around you, nudges a leg between yours. "You still don't get it. Even after the stunt you pulled?"

"Don't get what Caleb?" You curl into him, head tucked into the peak of his arm, breathing deep. "Don't make me guess. Just tell me, for once." And that's rich, coming from you. But you don't really care about your own hypocrisy at the moment.

"You always wanted a dog, didn't you?" you tense, freeze, and then try to pull away.

He doesn't let you.

"Ah, so you do get it." You can feel him smiling against you. "Good. That's good."

"Caleb..." You whine, pout, squirm. All the sudden feeling entirely too seen. Worried he somehow knows. About the dream, about the knot. He's laughing at you, now, strong enough to shake with it. But the way he moves against you, the boyish lilt of his voice... you can't bring yourself to feel embarrassed over it. He squeezes you tight, secure and warm, even without a blanket over you.

"Don't worry about it. Same rule as always. We'll put it up on the high shelf. Til your ready to face it."

It's enough, for now. Not quite pretend and not quite honest.

You're working on it.

---

This was supposed to be a 500 word drabble. btw.

#read. the long ass content warnings.#pleasies.#caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #calebmc #lads caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader

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