#pipsqueak and hiccup

[punkeropercyjackson]

as someone who selfships with astrid (wuh luh wuh) and has Hiccup as a familial f/o, you are so real for hicpip !!! lore dump about your s/i sometime -🪓🐑

Okay,i will!!!!

Pip's full name is Pipsqueak Undergo Reidun(hideous names given to ward off monsters etc)and his title pre-series is Pipsqueak The Worthless

He's the son of a berkian woman named Gertrud Reidun and an african/'eastern archipeligo' man named Osmund who was raised nordic to help fit into his setting.Osmund is ambigiously black because 1.i don't know which african country my ancestors came from </3 and 2.he's long dead by the time the story starts and so is Gertrud.They were killed under mysterious circumstances when Pipsqueak was 9 so Pipsqueak lived alone in their house but didn't quite raise himself as Gobber helped him out very often with things he couldn't do and taught him how to do ones he could at that age

Since he's black/white mixed,he has black hair,brown eyes,light brown skin,a big nose and plump lips.His color motif in his outfits is purple but his actual favorite color is pink and in Httyd1,he has twin braids and bangs that mostly cover his eyes,in Rtte he has goddess braids with gold accesories and Httyd2 he has an afro with a gold metal headband.He's also almost as scrawny as Hiccup(underweight from lack of care)but like Hiccup too,puberty hits bro like a truck and he's still flatchested and short but ends up midsized and grew into his looks big time

Hiccup and Pipsqueak met when they were 4 years old and their parents were having a meeting so they brought them along and Hiccup offered Pipsqueak the last slice of his milk and cookies pie and Pipsqueak told Hiccup his freckles are cool and they were best friends ever since.Hiccup's egg cracked when he was 6 and he came out to Pipsqueak first,who accepted him happily with open arms and Pipsqueak realized he's bigender and genderfluid when he was 9 shortly after his parents' death and told only Hiccup to avoid even further isolation from Berk.The Berkians had a feeling though,with how deliberately androgynous he is

Valka like Osmund is from 'the eastern archipeligo' but a different part,being from what was The Philipines at the time so Hiccup is biracial/wasian and his facial features are notably different from fully white berkians,as is his hair texture and he has a (very) light brown tone to his skin

Pipsqueak was a shrinking violet who kept quiet most of the time due to the bullying he faced and it only got worse upon his orphaning.He's always been a real yapper around Hiccup though and this is because that's what he's actually like and he's also very in touch with femininity and loves adrenaline and causing chaos and but holds it back to not make everyone hate him.He's also an artist,adores cooking and gardening and collects pretty and weird things he finds.He's a premordial earthy black girl tbh

Httyd1-Pipsqueak is introduced in the opening intro narration by Hiccup as he runs up to a water filled barrel to knock it over to take out the fire the other teens ignored to to do the slomo walk and goes to the forge to tell Gobber to leave Hiccup alone.Gobber teases them about their closeness and when he exits,Pip tells Hiccup he'll prove everyone wrong one day and that they know he will and he feels happy they believe in him and it boosts his self-eestem and he tells him he knows too and thanks him.Pipsqueak spends the movie mainly as Hiccup's supportive and understanding best friend but has his own mini arc in learning to stand up for himself and becoming best friends with Astrid as they learn they're not as opposite as they think they are and have more reasons to love eachother and be there for one another than to hate eachother and stand divided.It's kicked off by them saying 'A shield!' at the same time during the first dragon training session and being shocked over it

Pipsqueak had a semi-intense dislike of her,seeing her as just a shallow mean girl with no issues that Hiccup was crazy to crush on(there was some jealousy there too but they didn't know that at the time),and Astrid started thinking over what she actually knew of Pipsqueak and not everyone's opinion and gained an interest in befriending another girl her age who wasn't Ruffnut(and they ain't exactly friends and Astrid dosen't want them to be.Lesbian flag emoji).She's very socially awkward and actually has autism + ocd and is trans too but she knew she's a girl so young nobody remembers or knows she's not cis.So it took her a bit to get the hang of showing it to him in a way he'd get it but she did and Pipsqueak reciprocated her efforts before he even got what she was going for.Pipsqueak fought back early on against Snotlout and the twins' torment and it only grew as part 1 of the story went on.By the end,he was more Snotlout's bully than he his but in a friends and even siblings way and Fishlegs and him are hinted to geek out together a lot in the future,shown onscreen in the sequels

He knows about Toothless since the beginning as Hiccup's confidant and is really distressed at the strong posibility he'd be hurt or even killed trying to train him but encouraged him nonetheless to pursue what makes him happy and gives him a chance at acceptance,knowing how much it means to him and not telling him his fears so he could give it his all.He admits to them near the climax and Hiccup feels guilty and apologizes and makes it up to him by being a lot more attentive-which is saying a lot considering how he treated Pipsqueak beforehand-from that point on through the whole franchise,including the games and comics.Pip is the only dragon rider to not gain his own dragon in Httyd1 and just rides Toothless and Stormfly with Hiccup and Astrid but he gets one in Rob

Rob-Okay so much happens since it's a fulllength show so i won't do details but he's an mc in most episodes and gets a few of his own,most significantly his dragon's introduction:Cloudy Skies,a Rose Fury aka the pink and chlorokinetic Night Fury subtype.The series starts with Pipsqueak feeling leftout on not having a dragon and he encounters Cloudy Skies out on the beach and this happens multiple times throught the episode,over the course of a few days.By episode 2,he convinces her to meet the Dragon Riders and her fellow dragons and her and Toothless instantly jump on eachother on Fury connection.It's a lighthearted comedic episode until the ending,when Pipsqueak wakes up to Cloudy Skies missing.Episode 3 is the finale to the mini arc and it's revealed Rose Furys need enrichment to survive by spending time surrounded by nature and Pipsqueak dubs her with her name as it rained on the day they met but they stayed together on the beach anyway.As a twist on the Toothless x female Night Fury Variant trope ever present in Httyd self-insert fics,Cloudy Skies and Stormfly are love interests

Hiccup,Pipsqueak and Astrid are the Nightrosenadder trio and Hiccup is over Astrid by Httyd1 to establish a healthy platonic m/f bond and avoid love triangles.Platonic Hiccstrid is as close as it's canon romantic counterpart despite the no romance and Pipstrid is one of the closest relathionships to ever come out of Dreamworks tv but is queerplatonic in a sapphic way and maybe even sisterly but they don't put a label on it until adulthood,which is when their feelings fully settle and Astrid calls Pipsqueak the sister she always wanted and Pipsqueak calls Astrid everything he's not but not out of resentment anymore-He means she completes him🩵🩷🫶🏽

Rtte-Pipsqueak has earned the new title Pipsqueak The Worthy for his boundless,nonstop and near impossible heroism based on his pure selflessness and refusal to stand down when someone needs help and it's played for laughs sometimes of him acting like a fussy mother,cemmenting his team mom status in his friend group and to kids they meet on their adventures too and even to some dragon babies.His cooking skills are even better and so's his artistry and his collections now come in hoards from all the items and he's fully open with his snark and silly troublemaker tendencies now and his garden is in bloom and strong as he is.Hicpip is still slowburning but Fishlout and Ruffstrid are canonized in this run and so is aroace Tuffnut.Ironically enough,Fishlegs,Snotlout,Ruffnut,Astrid and him all assumed they were already a couple pre-befriending them and Hiccup is on default team dad mode

Pipsqueak becomes an Ormar,a half human/dragon hybrid,the first of his kind.Rtte has seven seasons instead of six and one is dedicated to this journey/Pipsqueakcentric.This includes uncovering what happened to his parents and he dedicated all his time to the mystery,to the point Hiccup has to force him to eat and sleep(once the other Dragon Riders walked in on Hiccup pining Pipsqueak down to Pip's bed to make him sleep when he was refusing to because he 'almost had it' and came to the natural romantic/shippy joke 'it's not what it looks like!!!' conclusion and teased them for a week straight).The leadup is Pipsqueak and Cloudy Skies getting kidnapped by a gang of sorcerers who worship Furys in the same way christians worship the bible i.e they ain't know jackshit and just lie and use them as an excuse to be bad people,to the point they're a cult.They perform a ritual on them to transfer Cloudy Skies' soul into Pipsqueak's body but thanks to their lack of actual Fury knowledge,it turns him into basically Cloudy Skies' twin/kid with her dna greatly in him and thus granting him powers.I'm dragonkin so there's not any angst for him upon his new species and he's happier than ever in fact

The Cult of Furies(a hint to their poserisms that aren't revealed until a bit later is they don't know the plural of the Fury species is 'Furys',not 'Furies'.They're norse,not greek)targeted Gertrud and Osmund for their extensive research of legit Fury facts,knowing them sharing it to the world as they'd announced they'd do would destroy their credability,and assasinated them at the crack of dawn.Pipsqueak can't bring himself to kill but he does throughly punish them upon busting the case:Forcing them to work as servants to the needy for the rest of their lives,placing a spell upon them with their own 'holy book' that gives them the uncontrollable compulsion to.He uses it to do spells on Hiccup and Astrid too but to give them their 'dream bodies',that is to say magic testosterone and estrogen respectively and essentially non-medical surgeries to remove Hiccup's boobs and give them their desired private parts

Dagur has a one-sided weird obsessive entitled crush on Hiccup(seriously what the fuck was up with this nigga towards him in Rtte?????Giving booktok boyfriend and not in the Katara way)and is thus extremely hostile to Pipsqueak and tries to hurt him or force him away so him and Hiccup 'can date at long last'.Hiccup is still in denial over being in love with Pipsqueak atp but tells him he'd pick them over him even if he held his axe to his throat and is found by Pipsqueak themself just as this happens,leading to Pip kicking Dagur's ass so hard he's scared of him now

Httyd 2-Hicpip is canon at last!!Like Pipverse Httyd1,this is mostly a play by play of canon but with a few add-ons and adjustments.Fishlegs and Snotlout's dragon racing attempts to impress are trying to one up eachother as boyfriends to flirt and Pipsqueak is the one in Astrid's place in the iconic Hiccstrid scenes in this,they're too good to remove!!No actually they're not actually dating yet <3 Pipsqueak comes along with Hiccup on the Valka journey and Valka figures out they're in love literally 3 convos in,including their first (re)meeting.Pipsqueak hopefully asks Valka for info on Osmund and Gertrud and she tells her stories of them on their younger days and how excited they were to have him,bringing him to a short burst of happy tears and Hiccup wraps an arm around him in comfort.While the five of them(Cloudy Skies is there too,since she's Pipsqueak dragon)are having a fun lighthearted adventure and Valka even introduces them to ube food during it,Astrid is trying to keep things in place as she helps out Stoick with the Drago situation and with Ruffnut's secretive nature recently as she can easily tell she's hiding from her despite otherwise acting normal,Ruffpuff normal way and yes,Astrid does call Ruffnut her Ruffpuff.Only in private and Gobber laughs when she accidentally lets it slip in front of him,to her embarrassment as she tells him at least she has someone to be gay with(he gets offended and says he could be gay with anyone he wanted to.....if he wanted to)

Hiccup admits his feelings for Pipsqueak outloud for the first time in his life,as he muses over his fear of the future and who he is and who he wants to be.It's not until it's said word for word by him that he fully believes it and he tries to plan out an elaborate confession he keeps fumbling and changing his mind on until we get a 'Hiccstrid but it's Hicpip' moment again,the 'Still doing that one.That's hilarious.Come here,you' kiss scene when Hiccup pulls in Pipsqueak by his waist for a kiss,only this is their first kiss,and Pipsqueak had zero confidence Hiccup loves him back but kisses back on instinct inspite of his shock.And to replace Stoick dying as a major core event of the movie,Pipsqueak uses his Ormar/Rose Fury status to train The Dark Alpha as his friend,wanting to save it upon finding out it's being mindcontrolled by Drago and severely abused by him for who knows how long and it eats him in the final battle.Pipsqueak remames his second dragon 'Lightscratch',Hiccup becomes chief because finally ending up together with Pipsqueak gave him what he needed to accept his deserved and earned role in the world,Valka returns to Berk with her and Stoick's 'future daughter in law' as enthutiastically shouted by him in front of the entire village and Ruffnut reveals the secret she was keeping from Astrid in front of the entire village too:A proposal.Astrid of course says yes in unrestrained joy and pulls her up into her arms bridal style to kiss her passionately and Snotlout comments snarkily it looks like it's makeout day now to which Fishlegs shyly asks if they can participate.Snotlout thinks about it for exactly three seconds and plants one on him

There's an after credits short about the Hicpip wedding day and a timeskip showing them and everybody else as middle-aged,with the Hicpip kids(or 'Milk and Cookies Pie Kids' as i like to call them /silly)consisting of identical twin girls named Bronwyn and Stone,an eldest son named Isagani and a toddler girl named Mark and Cloudy Skies and Stormfly have a litter of hybrid dragon babies of varying ages

And a little bonus:Pipsqueak is voiced by Estelle☺️

[wickedcriminal]

the Naming Dame is too wild and needs to be stopped, like what if movie!Hiccup and book!Hiccup were twins 😭😭 what other backup runt names do Vikings have? Pipsqueak? Trifling? Leftovers?? Inconsequentelle??? Or would she double down and have Thing 1 and Thing 2 The Brothers Hiccup running wild through Berk as if that were normal

LEFTOVERS,, INCONSEQUENTELLE,,, TFUGOGOVYIGOGUO IM CRYING

Honestly she'd probably stick to her guns and The Hiccups would be NIGHTMARISH to refer to 😂😂 traditions be damned, Gothi, think of our sanity!!

[incorrect0hicsqueak]

Hecate: *accidentally brushes Pippa’s hand with her own*

Pippa:

Pippa: *aggressively holds Hecate's hand*

Pippa, under her breath to Hecate: Freaking commit to it.

[malikselfindulgence]

SENDING THIS BEFORE I FORGOR AGAIN:Hiccup and Pipsqueak loving eachother is like WAY OBVIOUS to literally everyone except them,even fuckin' Dagur.Case in point:

There's a scene in his fic(still a huge wip,not even half way through Httyd 1)where Hiccup asks Stoick permission to go visit Pipsqueak because he hadn't seen him since the morning of the movie's opening dragon raid attack and Stoick immediately says 'Alright but no funny bussiness.I know how you two are with eachother so i feel the need to make that clear'(And ofc Hiccup mcdies of embarrasment and denial)

All the other viking teens assumed they were a couple already pre-befriending them

Valka spots the love between them after literally 3 convos with them

In Rtte,Dagur is actively hostile to Pipsqueak for 'stealing' Hiccup from him(because of whatever they fuck he had going on on his side towards him in those seasons).Hiccup is still in denial but tells Dagur to his face he'd pick Pipsqueak over him even if he held his axe to his throat(and this leads to Pip kicking Dagur's ass so hard he's scared of him now)

And that's just the stuff i've planned ahead.They're so autistic 4 autistic Odinbless

I FUCKING LOVE THEM SO MUCH IM SO SERIOUS . Bitches who r so comfortable with each other and have been for so long they're unable to see how close they've come to be ..... also the stuff w dagur is so real that hiccup line is going to be bouncing in my head 4 ages . KICK HIS ASS PIP!! Also would VERY much love to read the fic if you wanna share :33!!!

^ sillies ever ... the twins were making fun of him u can hear them laughing in the bg

[inkykeiji]

purge me, purgatory

character: caleb warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest, noncon that turns into dubcon, a hint of dacryphilia, toxic masculinity, reader is a bit of a brat, size difference, manipulation, praise, caleb can get a little mean, nightmares, toxic relationship, power dynamics, pet names words: 5.3k

notes: i started working on this piece before caleb had even been released and i am SO glad i finally finished editing it. this also wasn’t supposed to be nearly as long as it became but alas, such is my curse (◞‸◟；) please heed the warnings above and stay safe!

You know Caleb has nightmares. You’ve seen the toll they take on him: exhaustion hanging heavy over hunched shoulders, staining sunken eyes with rings of purple, face twisted into a grimace as he collapses in the chair across the table from you, an untouched bowl of apple oatmeal steaming in front of him.

“Another one?” you’d always say, voice so kind and cautious, so wan and worried, bottom lip caught between your teeth muddling the question. 

“Yeah,” he’d always respond, dragging a hand down his face as if he’s trying to scrub the fatigue from his features. “But don’t worry about me, pipsqueak. I’m okay.” 

You know Caleb has nightmares—but they’ve never been as bad as this one. 

Because tonight, it wakes you from your slumber, roused gently from sleep’s embrace by the rough whimpers seeping through the thin drywall separating your bedroom from his. 

They sound painful, terrified little noises that keep catching on the uneven hitches of his breath or splintering sharply in his throat, unintelligible pleads sprinkled throughout, too muffled for you to make out the content and chopped up by hiccups.

A dull, dense pang sears through your heart at his yelped out No!, emotion growing thick in your throat and stinging your eyes. Fingers curling in linen, you hug your blanket to your chest, a feeble attempt to quell the ache.

There’s nothing worse than hearing your big brother—your one and only protector, always—in such intense agony. 

And it isn’t stopping. 

It’s too much to bear, your nose beginning to twitch with the threat of tears, and you kick your legs free from your duvet, bare feet hitting cold hardwood a moment later. 

“C-Caleb?” your timid voice soaks into the wood of his bedroom door, followed by a soft rap of knuckles. “Caleb, are you alright?” 

You’re met with a deafening silence, so thick you swear you can feel it weighing down on your chest, lungs crushed beneath the force, ears ringing with it.

“Caleb?” you press your ear flush to the door, eyes squeezed shut in concentration—the ruffling of sheets, the quiet groan of a bedspring, and then, a sniffle. 

Something cracks in your chest, splits itself open so big and so wide it has you hunching over in pain, shoulders curling inward as if your body is trying to keep from tearing apart, one hand flattened over your sternum, the other gripping the brass doorknob.

Another sniffle and the knob is turning, the door falling open, your body stumbling through the threshold. 

Your breathing is laboured, ragged and unevenly shoved from your lungs by a rapidly palpitating heart, a choked version of his name mangling itself in your throat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, but his voice is thin, weak, fragile, fingertips thumbing aggressively at his eyes, flesh mopping up remnants of teardrops.

It’s a tone of voice that you’ve never heard before, a tone that turns your blood to shards of ice in your veins, a tone that has unease blooming at the base of your spine, crawling up the notches one by one. 

Because Caleb has never been afraid before; you’ve never seen Caleb afraid before. Out of the two of you, he’s always been the strong one, the brave one, the ‘I-can-and-I-will-take-on-anything’ one. He’s always been your guardian angel, your watchdog, your shield from all the bad and scary things in the world. 

You thought he always would be—it is what he promised, after all. 

But right now he looks so small surrounded by a crumpled sea of cotton, tufts of hair clinging to his sweat-drenched temples, muscles tense and rigid, like a predator ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger.

It has you rushing towards him, falling into his waiting arms—trembling, but safe—and clutching at the collar of his worn t-shirt. Instinctively, your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, cedar and peppermint streaming down your throat to fill your lungs with him. Your chest swells with his essence, held deep within your core, a natural sedative, your heart beginning to slow.

Home; your big brother will always smell like home. 

You allow yourself another moment to steep in his scent before you finally pull back to look at him, hands clasped tightly around his neck, fingers toying with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck—a nervous habit for you, a calming sensation for him.

“What happened?” 

“Nightmare,” he chuckles, but the word is shaky. “Pretty standard stuff. Nothin’ to be concerned about, pipsqueak.” 

And his facade of nonchalant is good, but it isn’t good enough to fool you.

Frenetic eyes search his face, noting the sheen of cold sweat glazing his skin, the salt that has dried his lashes in thick spikes, the panic swimming in violet irises, concern weighting the corners of your lips. 

“Caleb,” you begin slowly, “you woke me up.” 

His brow furrows, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I…Did? Has that ever happened before?” 

And that’s all it takes, really, to have Caleb switching into his Big Brother Mode, stern and straight to business, the need to know if he’s disrupted your precious sleep before much more important than the terror he was experiencing mere moments ago, as if your comfort matters more than his own. 

“No,” your fingers push into his hair and his head dips, a hum vibrating in his chest. “This one was bad. I can tell.” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, his neck curving more, his forehead nearly bumping against your collarbone.

“I’m worried it’ll come back the moment you close your eyes,” you admit, nails raking along his scalp, a shiver coursing through his body, following your ministrations. 

“How many times do I gotta tell you? You don’t need to worry about me.” 

And although it’s supposed to be a reprimand, it comes out soft, no heat to his voice as his head follows your touch, tilting to the side and allowing your fingers more room to move.

He has told you, many times before in many different tones, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever actually listen. 

It isn’t your fault; you can’t help how much you care for him.

“Just because I don’t have to, doesn’t mean I won’t,” you huff out, a bite to your voice. “It doesn’t matter how many times you say it; it isn’t going to stop me from caring about you, so you might as well—”

He looks up suddenly, brows knitted and eyes hard. 

“Who’s the big brother here, huh?” violet scours your face, his gaze bright and sharp, searching for an answer. “Who’s job is it to take care of who?”

“It is our job to take care of each other,” you say, palms flattening to the sides of his head and inhibiting him from looking away. “It’s a joint effort, Caleb.” 

The hinges of his jaw flex beneath your touch, a forceful sigh flaring his nostrils, his shoulders deflating a little in your stark stubbornness. An argument is nipping at the tip of his tongue, desperate to pry past his lips and reassert authority, but his teeth clench, molars grinding together. 

“Why don’t I stay with you tonight?” you continue, thumb smoothing out that thick vein in his forehead. “Might make you feel better if you’re not alone—kind of like the way we used to make blanket forts in the living room during really bad thunderstorms.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—” 

“Come on,” you whisper, brushing a strand of damp hair back from his temple. “Let your little sister take care of you for once, yeah?” 

“I’m fine—I’ll be fine—”

“You always say I make everything better, so…” you shrug, eyes searching his. “Let me make this better. Please.” 

The sincerity straining your voice is potent, so much so that he swears he can feel it surrounding him in a suffocating embrace, soaking into his skin and permeating his muscles with something dense and heavy. It weighs him down, roots him to your aura, immobilizing him physically and mentally, the sweetest poison.

Swallowing, he looks away from your piercing eyes.

“It’s not—”

“Caleb,” you whine out, petulant, his name dripping out stringy and thick through a pout. “What is with this reluctance to allow me to take care of you every once in a while? It’s not fair.” 

You sound like a fucking child, and for a moment Caleb is transported back to your shared youth, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has encountered many times before, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has yet to find a defence from, an antidote for.

And you, well, you know this—he knows you know this, your infamous brattiness finally making an appearance, usually a foolproof way to get what you want from him, even it if comes with a hefty dose of reprimand. 

Your gaze, glassy and hard, is framed by furrowed brows, nose scrunched up in typical distaste.

His stare searches your own, and you hold your expression open for him—so willing, so wanting—his own eyes darkening with something you can’t quite place. A shiver skitters up your spine, but you swallow against the unease, continuing. 

“I want to help,” you say. “Please.” 

It isn’t right—he doesn’t need your help, shouldn’t need your help, fated to the role of big brother and, by extension, Man of the House; if anything, it should always be him comforting you. 

Well, that, and the undeniable fact that having you in such close proximity—so intimate, sharing a bed after a nightmare—is tantalizing, and that makes it dangerous. 

But he doesn’t know how to say any of that, how to thread those thoughts into sentences and push them from his disinclined tongue.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

Either way, it doesn’t matter, because in the end you get your way, just like you always do—just like he always lets you. 

“Alright,” he finally says, the word nothing more than a defeated huff of breath. “Alright.”

Disappointment sinks hard and heavy in his chest, and Caleb bites his cheek, disgusted with himself. It’s stupid to feel such dismay; he should be used to this by now. Maybe he had hoped that this time, he would be strong enough to deny you. How utterly silly of him to believe he was capable of such a feat.

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes, playfully nudging his nose with your own. “Don’t sound so excited.”

But your amusement is not contagious, Caleb’s expression steadfastly dismal, your smile fading as your brow crinkles in confusion.

“Hush, now,” he says, but his voice is gentle, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You need rest.” 

The numbers glowing on his nightstand indicate that yes, you do need rest, you both need rest, and you nod, allowing Caleb to manhandle the two of you beneath his blankets.

The delicate scent of warm toffee and fresh orchid engulf him, one of Caleb’s strong arms curled around your waist, slotting your back up against his chest.

“Sleep,” he instructs, the order rumbling his ribs, his voice low and gruff. “My little protector.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, but your eyes slip shut. “You’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

But Caleb’s not so sure. 

Because despite your presence being warm and comforting and full of home, Caleb can’t fucking sleep. 

Because you are too fucking close. Abnormally close; inappropriately close, and it’s driving him up the Goddamn wall. 

He’s tried everything—first shuffling away a little, just to put a couple inches of space between your bodies; close enough for you to still feel his presence, and for him to still feel yours, but not too close to be considered indecorous. 

When that didn’t work, when your body sensed the loss and instinctually sought out his own, Caleb shoved himself so his back was pressed flush to the drywall—as far as he could possibly get without physically removing himself from the bed entirely—but that didn’t help, either. 

Because you’re like a little magnet, attracted to his body heat, burrowing through wrinkled sheets to glue yourself to his form as if it is natural, normal, entirely intuitive. 

Even in sleep, you’re greedy. 

Caleb supposes he’s even worse. 

Caleb could, realistically, turn away from you—present you with his sculpted back and protect his front from your unconscious attacks; or leave the bed entirely, opting to sleep on the too-small, too-scratchy sofa in the living room downstairs so he doesn’t have to worry about hands with minds of their owns—hands desperate to touch and grope and mark, hands that can’t keep to themselves. Caleb could wake you up and firmly insist that you go back to your own bed, exercising his Big Brother Authority and overruling any and all of your rebuttals and arguments—but he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Because he’s fucking weak, weak to his own wicked whims, a slave to his sins, drowning in his own desire. It’s too good of an opportunity to give up, his deepest, darkest indulgences presented to him on a platinum platter, crafted by the devil himself. And Caleb isn’t strong enough to resist it’s enticing allure, ironclad willpower melted to sticky silver in the heat of your body, seeping from your flesh into his, poisoning his blood and his brain.

That’s what you do to him; you eat up his logic and spit it back out, mangled and gross, you consume his highly prized self respect and military-grade discipline and reduce him to something desperate and degenerate. 

And eventually, finally, his worst nightmare comes true. 

It’s stifling in his bed, the fabric of his t-shirt damp with sweat—yours, his, does it matter?—and plastered to his body. His tongue has turned to sand in his mouth, dry and grating and heavy. Swallowing does nothing to alleviate the discomfort, the action rough and sticky, the gummy walls of his throat sticking together with the motion.

Water would be nice, but there’s no way for Caleb to slip from your embrace—a thigh thrown over his hip, a palm pressed to his sternum—without ruining your peaceful slumber. 

And you do look oh-so-peaceful; so serene, so ethereal, so fucking breathtaking that it’d be a crime to spoil such a sight.

Moonbeams stream through the window, painting you in strokes of translucent silver. It catches on the beads of sweat adorning your neck, dewdrops that glitter with the steady throb of your jugular, and Caleb feels saliva begin to flood the underside of his tongue, thick and slimy. 

Sweat has water in it, doesn’t it? 

It happens before he even has a chance to think it through, a primal desire his body knew needed to be met, tongue unfurling from its cavern slow and sick to trace along that jagged pulse.

Your neck arches into his taste, offering him more—such a good little sister, you are—and he takes, a slave to temptation, tongue flattening against your flesh and licking one long, wide stripe from the notch of your collarbone to the hinge of your jaw.

It’s delicious, better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, and Caleb laps at you again, harder this time, rougher this time. 

Your essence, salty sweat and bitter perfume, explodes on his tastebuds, and something rattles, roars to life, deep within his chest. It ignites a hunger within him that cannot be sated— dark, desirous, depraved as it claws at his sternum, no matter how much he takes, it always wants more, his desperate attempt to feed it only working to make it more voracious.

It awakens the monster rooted at the core of his soul, a sordid creature borne of something illicit and sinister and wrong many years ago. It sparks the ever-simmering addiction kindling in his rotten, charred heart—a craving that flares higher, burns brighter with every passing second, leaving him intoxicated and stupid, drunk on your aura.

If he doesn’t cut it out he’s going to lick your skin raw—how many licks to get to your sugary sweet center?—your saccharine sweat staining his tongue. 

His mouth latches over your collarbone and sucks, tongue swirling around the knob as his teeth scrape, nipping superficially. Tiny tangles of capillaries snap beneath the force, violet flooding the tissues beneath the thin barrier of skin—and oh, how sweet your blood must taste, how shameful to have it trapped beneath your flesh. 

A soft moan vibrates in your throat as Caleb seals the mark with another heavy lave, pressing a singular kiss to the rapidly developing bruise. Pulling back slightly, violet eyes sweep across the mess he’s made of your flesh, fleeting marks that will fade much too quickly for his liking.

A callused thumb ghosts over the bloom, an involuntary whimper catching in his throat. 

“So pretty,” he breathes to himself, caressing the mark again. 

A delicate shiver quivers through your flesh, procured by his airy words, and Caleb coos, tongue washing over your skin again in a crude caress, his hot breath cool against the glaze of saliva he’s painted in its wake. 

“Y’like that?” he whispers, the question barely more than a wisp wafting over your soaked skin. “Y’want me to do it again?” 

You answer with the softest mewl and a groan rumbles his ribcage, his hips snuggling between your spread thighs, a dainty wheeze pressed from your chest as his weight bears down on you. 

His tongue lolls out from between his teeth, thick strings of drool dripping off the tip to drizzle along your neck, sopped up a mere moment later as the slick muscle rolls along your flesh, following the scrape of his front teeth. 

Another gentle tremble ripples through your form—such precious responses to your big brother’s mouth!—and he runs his teeth along the curve of your throat again, revelling in how such simple actions can pull such gorgeous reactions from you, entirely subconscious. 

That must mean you like it, right? Such responses clearly connote your enjoyment, don’t they? You ought to know, on some subconscious level, that it is your big brother doing this—that it is Caleb’s lips and Caleb’s tongue and Caleb’s spit, that it is Caleb that you are reacting to.

It’s impossible to quell the slow gyrating of his hips as he feasts on your flesh, aching cock grinding against your thigh in messy little circles, fully hard and tenting flannel. He can feel the small pool of pre-cum steadily garnishing the slit, leaking through his PJ pants to leave shimmering smears of his perverted pleasure along the silky skin of your inner thigh.

He’s getting greedy—he knows he is, but he just can’t seem to restrain himself, your essence too alluring to resist; a compulsion, uncontrollable and unquenchable.

He should stop before you wake to your big brother gnawing at your neck and humping your thigh; really, that’s what any good, decent big brother would do. Your rest is important, after all. 

He should do a lot of things.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

The sensations are overwhelming; something he’s spent several years denying himself, something he’s spent several years dreaming about—it doesn’t count if it’s just in his head, right?—and he finds himself drowning in it, embraced in the ecstasy.

“God, fuck,” he whimpers, curse cracking in his throat. “You feel so—so good.”

Forehead pressed into the crown of your head, his breath is sweltering and damp along your hairline, rough little moans spilling from his lips with each rut of his pelvis. 

“Y’so perfect for me, letting me use you like this,” he manages to gasp out, eyes squeezed shut, imagining how stunning you must look in the throes of pleasure; dazed eyes glazed with lust and rolling back in your skull, lips licked raw and mouth dropped open as the sweetest symphony plays on your tongue, spine bowing off his mattress as pure rapture climbs the notched vertebrae.

Oh, what he’d give to see such a sight, just once.

He wishes he could trick himself into thinking that a singular instance of experiencing such beauty would be enough to keep him from committing such a heinous act of indecency ever again, but he knows that isn’t true. 

Because already he wants more, gluttonous for your body, yearning to be buried in the warmth of your sweet little cunt; and he’s barely taken anything at all yet. Caleb can’t imagine what sort of creature this monster would evolve into under such circumstances. Too much is never enough. 

Caleb sure as hell can’t trick himself into believing such nonsense, but he sure as hell can trick you. 

He doesn’t realize you’ve awoken until he hears your tiny voice, muffled by his chest, fingers pressing into his tensing abs. 

“Cae—Caleb?” his hips stutter at the sudden sound—so quiet, so scared—his cock twitching against your leg. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushes you, body sliding down yours so he can search your face, so you can see the sincerity, the desperation, shining in his gaze, his cock pressed hot and hard against your core. “Just—” his hips roll once, a groan catching in his throat as his shaft is enveloped by your swollen lips, so easy to feel through the flimsy fabric of your pyjama shorts. “—Enjoy it.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Come on, just this once.” 

“Caleb,” you begin, and the fear in your voice, tinged with a sick sort of curiosity, has another moan clawing at the back of his tongue, hips rolling into yours slow and purposeful. “This isn’t right…” 

“No one has to know,” he slurs out, nuzzling his cheek against your temple in a crude form of comfort. “We keep so many secrets—what’s one more?”

“No, Caleb—” your hands furl into fists, pushing into lean muscle, and a dark, decadent sound of amusement drips from Caleb’s lips. Oh, how pathetically precious the you think you could ever shove him off. 

But your squirming is beginning to annoy him, that telltale aggression building in his chest—an anger only you seem to evoke, especially when you’re being uncooperative—and he snarls, pulling back a little to fix you with an unimpressed look, his hips pinning you to his bed. 

“Tell me it doesn’t feel good,” he glares at you, his words a cross between a growl and a whine, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a demand or a plead. “Go on, fucking tell me. Say ‘it doesn’t feel good, Caleb. Your cock doesn’t feel good, Caleb’. Come on.” 

Your lids clamp shut in the face of his intense, invasive stare, tears blossoming along the seam of your lashes, a pitiful squeak catching in your throat as your head shakes.

“No? Why not?” A hand wreathes itself around your jaw, blunt nails biting into your cheeks, the pain causing your eyes to spring open. “Is it because you can’t?” 

The question has that same taunting tone he’s used since you were kids—that infuriatingly blasé I’m-better-than-you cadence, the one that proclaims that you’re stupid and he’s superior, that he always wins—and a fierce flame of determination ignites within your ribs, eyes hardened and teeth barred. 

“It—It doesn’t feel—Oh, oh, Cae—”

And you’re trying, trying so desperately to force those words from your tongue, to spit them from your lips and devour the smugness glinting in his eyes, but then he’s moving again, the slick head of his cock rubbing over your clit in precise movements—back and forth, back and forth. 

That isn’t fair, but when has Caleb ever played fair, really?

He’s got you completely trapped beneath his body now, his knees digging into the mattress as he shifts his weight, forcing your thighs open wider.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.” 

“I—It’s not—It doesn’t—” A mewl of frustration slices your sentence, chased by a groan of defeat. 

“C’mon, angel, spit it out already if it doesn’t feel good.” 

Squinting in the face of his mocking stare, you steel yourself, throat rippling with a thick swallow of resolve. 

“We shouldn’t—” The sentence splinters with a whine, your words pulled taught between virtue and desire. 

Tears cloud your eyes, rendering Caleb nothing more than a shimmering blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear them, tiny droplets caught by your lashes. 

“You’re a terrible liar, y’know that?” he breathes, the question damp on the shell of your ear. “I can feel how turned on you are, silly little girl.” 

His hips rock forward once in accentuation, the movement slow and purposeful, as if to prove a point. His clothed cock glides over your drenched cunt with ease and the head strokes your swollen clit again, another torrent of heat rushing to the apex of your thighs. 

“And you know what this tells me?” his voice drops to a whisper. “It tells me you like it.”

Pins of humiliation erupt across your cheeks, tingling heat flooding your face. A soft sob stutters your chest, head shaking in weak denial—a denial that you like it, or simply a denial that this isn’t moral, neither of you can be sure.

“Besides, don’t you wanna take my mind off that stupid nightmare?” His voice drops an octave, deep and devious, chills skittering across your skin. “This—” he rolls his hips once in emphasis, “this will help.” 

“Cae…” 

And he can hear it; can hear the internal struggle reflected in your voice, a tug-of-war between the need to please and the obligation to do what’s right.

“Come on, be a good little sister for me—you said you wanted to make me feel better, right? This will make me feel better. This will make me forget all about it.” 

This will bring him to the crest of bliss, the closest to Heaven he’s sure he’ll ever get. 

“I…I don’t—” 

“Why can’t you just enjoy it with me, huh?” Caleb murmurs, dragging the words along your jaw then planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Give in to it. Just this once.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you’re nodding into his neck, body gone slack beneath his own; you’ve always been so easy for him, so eager to obey even with venom in your mouth and fire in your eyes. Caleb supposes that’s just a big brother’s influence. 

Because no matter how much you retaliate, how much you taunt and tease him, you have always wanted to be his good little girl. Praise from Caleb is sacred, precious, and rarely doled out. It must be savoured, protected, cherished. 

And so you allow your big brother to find comfort in you, in the warmth of your body, in the melody of your moans, praying that this short-lived ecstasy will be enough to cleanse his mind of its nightmares.

“There’s my good girl,” he hums, pleasant and triumphant, the reverence sealed with a chaste kiss to the edge of your hairline. 

Then he’s pulling away and sitting back on his heels, an arrogant little smirk materializing on his lips at the discontented whine that sounds at the back of your throat. Violet stares down at you with such passion it nearly burns, his callused palms pushing your knees open wider, following the V of your thighs until finally, finally, he reaches the apex. 

“Fucking Christ.”

Drenched silk outlines the contours of your cunt—No undies, huh? How naughty—and Caleb reaches out, tracing the shape, pointer finger ghosting over every bump and dip and curve. 

“Gorgeous,” he breathes to himself, gaze hungry and unblinking, enchanted by your body—enraptured by your arousal, captivated by your reactions; the way every graze of his fingertip sends a delicate wave of pleasure tremoring through your flesh; the way his touch makes your lashes dither, unsure if they want to stay open or snap shut. “Let me see it.”

Potent lust leaves his voice husky, and while his sentence is a statement, it comes out as a plead—desperate, desirous. 

Vying fingers pull your sleep shorts aside to reveal your glistening cunt, a whine vibrating deep in the back of his throat. Chest heaving with yearning, his trance stays unbroken, his mouth parted and his tongue pulsing with each of his heavy breaths. 

For a moment everything is still, silent, Caleb revelling in the radiance of your body.

Then something snaps, the final thread of thin resistance broken, and he’s surging forward, teeth catching on your upper lip as his mouth collides with yours, procuring the prettiest little yelp to crack in your chest. He swallows it down greedily, tongue breaking through the barriers of lips and teeth to lavish your mouth in his spit. 

His hips are moving again, shoved snug between your spread thighs, sharp hipbones carving bruises into supple flesh. Each forceful roll of his pelvis has his cockhead catching on your hole—so close, so close—a vicious shudder coursing through his form.

And he can feel it, he can feel your cunt through the thin flannel of his pyjamas—teasing him, taunting him, tempting him, each gentle contraction begging for him to stuff it full—another groan rattling from his mouth into yours. 

It’s all simultaneously too much and not enough, the soft breaths of his name exhaled hot and heavy onto his waiting tongue and the eager fluttering of your cunt desperate to suck him in and the nails scrabbling at the back his neck and—and Caleb feels like he’s going to burst out of his fucking skin, flesh starting to split at the seams, if he doesn’t get more, now. 

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing, moving on pure instinct as a hand snakes between your bodies and paws at the waistband of his pants, the heel of his palm pushing it down just enough to free his aching cock.

A faint Caleb, no, wait! tugs at the back of his consciousness, blotted out by sheer lust as his palm wraps around the base of his cock, head bumping purposefully against your hole. 

The cry that shatters in your throat as he shoves himself into your cunt is nothing short of gorgeous, his own responding whine straining his throat. One quick, hard thrust to bury himself to the hilt is all it takes before his cock is throbbing, filling you with copious amounts of cum—so much, too much, and Christ, when has he ever cum like this?

It’s so intense that it has his whole body tensing, pleasure whiting his vision and wiping his mind and all he can smell, feel, taste is you, you, you—toffee and orchid shooting straight to his brain, your body knotted with his, hips rocking up in desperate little movements as you try to fuck yourself on his spent cock, your sounds of pleasure sweet on his tongue and he licks into your mouth, starved for more. 

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!” 

“M’here, baby,” he slurs against your mouth, rubbing his lips into yours. “M’here, come on, make a mess for me.” 

He isn’t even sure you cum—something he’ll berate himself for in the morning—but in the moment it doesn’t even matter, his brain so poisoned by the pleasure that it’s turned to a pulsating mush, intoxication flooding his veins as he submerges himself in you. His hips stutter as his cock twitches with those last few ribbons of cream, almost as if he’s trying to fuck his seed deeper into you, before his trembling muscles finally give out, Caleb collapsing on top of you. 

“God,” he gasps out, lips moving against the crown of your head. “Th-Thank you.” 

The gratitude is punctuated by a kiss to your hair, his breath hot and erratic on your scalp. 

“Thank you,” he says again, a singular arm twined around your waist as he manhandles you both onto your sides, your body cradled close to his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Caleb falls into a peaceful sleep. 

[chiwhorei]

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪs sᴇxʏ ʟɪʟ’ sɪsᴛᴇʀ.˚⊹♡

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: big bro!Caleb x lil sis!reader

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ: hi, uh, can i order a ❛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ. ❜ for caleb with a side of incest and light manipulation / dubcon ? please n thank u !!!

ᴛᴀɢs: NSFW & dark content, incest, siscon, dubcon-(ish), manipulation, fingering, overstim, pet names

ɴᴏᴛᴇs: Thanks for participating in Cupid’s Chokehold, tons of LaDS requests for this event so stay tuned!

➽──ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ’s ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ — ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ’s ᴅᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ────❥

Your brother has plenty of nicknames for you. It’s true that ‘pipsqueak’ gets under your skin in a thoroughly satisfying way, but Caleb likes to change it up depending on the reaction he’s looking for.

“Hey twerp, did’ya miss me?” You leap from the train terminal straight into his awaiting arms. He had an excuse almost every weekend to get you up to visit Skyhaven when he was in school. You spin around in Caleb’s tight embrace, giggling as your body swings like it weighs nothing to him. He could hold you like this until the last train to Linkon departs and the station is dark and empty.

“Who’s got your face all scrunched up like that, kid?” Caleb notices your curled up form on the couch as soon as he walks in the door. Crossing the living room in two steps and pulling you into his lap. You tell him about the stupid high school boy that broke your heart between hiccups. “He’s an asshole. Doesn’t deserve any part of you, least of all your tears.” Caleb tries to smooth out his tone, but the palms on either side of your cheeks are twitching with an anger so red hot you must feel it through his skin. Your brother doesn’t take things like this lightly, finding the little prick on his walk to school the next day and punching his nose flat into his skull.

“Come on, short stuff, I know you can do better than that.” Your brother doesn’t even have to raise his arm all the way to keep you from the cellphone he swiped from your hands. You were smiling at it a bit too contently for Caleb’s liking. Your fingers claw at his arms and chest, before wrapping your hands around his neck and jumping into his hold. You know Caleb like no one else, sure he’d lower his defenses to catch you and wrap your legs around his waist. You pout, eye-level and foreheads pressed together, but instead of relenting Caleb slips your phone into his back pocket and throws you on the couch in a barrage of distracting tickles and cheek kisses. Like most of the games you two play, he comes out the winner.

“Don’t start whining now, brat, you’re the one that asked for my help.” Caleb bites sadistically into a kiss, growling into your now-parted lips. He’s right, of course, you came to him with a wobbly request behind your teeth. Your brother has always said he’ll do anything for you, so of course he agrees when you ask him to teach you how to make yourself cum. He’s trapped you under him, brutal kisses on your face and jaw, leaving wet marks down the valley of your breasts and up to your tear-stained cheeks again. Caleb’s fingers pump into your pussy relentlessly, filling his dorm room with the sticky wet sounds of your arousal. You’ve cum against his mouth and curled fingers more times than you can count now, but he refuses to let up. Caleb needs you to need him to an almost psychotic level. He’ll make sure no one can make you feel this good, not even yourself.

As for the nicknames you have for Caleb, he’s got no preference. His cock is sitting deeply inside of your aching cunt, a sick smile turns up on the corners of his face. He refuses you the pleasure of just fucking you properly already, and your fractured begging sounds like heaven. “Asshole,” you grit, clinging to fistfuls of his hair for dear life. “I mean- Caleb, please move. Please!”

Your brother coos, adjusting you in his lap to reach deeper but holding your hips down to deny you still. “ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ.” It makes no difference to him, he’s not going to fuck you until he’s sure your poor little brain is fork tender and thoughtless.

➽─────────────────────────❥

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2025©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dad!Tangerine x wife!reader

Summary: Tangerine and your daughter go grocery shopping.

Genre: Just fluff <3

Warnings: jealousy (nothing super serious)

~ in honor of Father's Day 🤍 and this is officially an apology for breaking your hearts with Last Kiss… ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

There was nothing Tangerine hated more than grocery stores. No matter how clean, they always smell like dust, and no matter how empty, they are always loud. 

This afternoon, the new, hip, pop music is blasting across the store's multiple speakers and Tangerine almost considers covering his poor daughter's little ears because of how loud and obnoxious it all is. But, she's sleeping so darn peacefully, he's afraid that touching her more than the firm hand he has on her little head will disturb her.

He walks down to the baby food aisle, pushing his shopping cart with one hand. Thank God you had insisted on buying this ridiculously expensive baby carrier. It makes life so much easier and it's snug around his hips, keeping Maisie secured to his chest. Tangerine looks at all the brands on the shelves, taking his time, as he tries to find the ones you like best for her. After all, you spend more time with Maisie than he does—because of his job and all. Which is exactly why when he's home, he likes doing all the things you usually do—including shopping. 

Maisie makes a little sound, indicating that she's stirring awake and Tangerine smiles. "Hiya, Pipsqueak," he whispers as her round blue eyes blink up at him. Her small mouth forms into an 'O' and she hiccups, blinking rapidly. Tangerine bounces her in the carrier, his hand patting her back, anticipating her crying and, distracted by the movement, Maisie giggles. 

"There ya go," Tangerine praises, his smile widening. 

"She's very cute," a woman's voice interrupts the happy moment and Tangerine looks behind him. She looks around his age, early-thirties, with chestnut brown hair and wide hazel eyes. She's pretty, he makes the observation—objectively, of course. No woman compares to you in his eyes so he doesn't linger on the passing thought. The woman has her own child, a rowdy little boy who is half-hanging off the shopping cart he's strapped to. 

"How old is she?" 

"Almost seven months," Tangerine answers politely and turns to his food choices. Maisie makes a little sound and he coos, "I know, Pip, don't these all look so good?" as he caresses her wisps of hair.

He holds the little jar of orange pudding over Maisie, watching her eyes move with the jar, and he reads the label; Apricot and Beef. His nose scrunches in disgust. "Bloody hell," he mumbles and shakes his head, discarding the jar back onto the shelf.

"Are you a single dad?" The woman asks again, her son making loud car noises and Tangerine's mood instantly sours. 

"Oi, what kinda question is that?" he turns back to her, sounding offended. He's still bouncing Maisie, his gaze narrows at the woman, hoping his wedding ring becomes obvious. 

The woman pales at his tone and she raises her hands in a surrendering motion. "I- I didn't mean any harm," she mutters and her gaze drops to his hand. "Oh," she finishes, her cheeks becoming pink. Tangerine's gaze hardens as he becomes increasingly annoyed by this entire interaction. 

"I think she only asked because it's rare to see a man in this position," another woman interrupts cheerily from his opposite side. She is also wearing a baby carrier, but her daughter is much older than Maisie and she rests against the woman's back, her small hands hitting her mother's shoulder.

This woman is older and her eyes look tired. "I sure wish my husband would offer to take the children and do the groceries once in a while, if only so I could have a moment to myself. How long have you been married?"

Tangerine's expression softens as he looks between the women. What an fucking odd situation, he thinks. "Four years," he says. He smiles. He truly takes any chance given to talk about you and his marriage. "Been together for a little more than eight now though." His smile widens a little, your beautiful face popping into his mind. Maisie bables, drool getting on his chemise, but he just chuckles. "Quite a long time, huh, Pip?"  

The older woman smiles, wrinkles crinkling near her eyes. "Ah, the honeymoon phase—although, I'm sure it will last if you keep this up." She gestures towards him. The younger one, who is now holding her boy as he fusses in her arms, nods as well and she sends Tangerine a strained smile. She's looking at him with envy, but he can't blame her. His gaze drifts to her wedding ring. Her husband must be a real bellend. 

"It'll last," he says, grabbing some baby crackers and dropping them in his cart. "And a bit of friendly advice for ya." He looks back at the younger woman, smiling without his eyes. "Tell yer good for nothing husband to man the fudge up or leave his sorry arse. Kay?"

She seems speechless and he pats Maisie's back as she makes another gurgle and he rolls his cart past the woman. He pauses and reaches up higher than she can, grabbing some squeezable apple sauce from the top shelf. He'd noticed her debating on how to reach them, her eyes flickering to them during the conversation. He hands them to her and her eyes widen. 

"Oh, how did you—"

"By paying attention," he shrugs, looking between the women again. "Evenin'," he nods his head and walks away. 

He can't deny the thrill of being better. Better than their husbands, better than most men. It makes him feel superior and the closest to perfect he can be. He beams. He can't wait to tell you this when he gets home.

Maisie keeps on babbling at him, her tiny hands reaching for the lapels of his suit. He looks at her adoringly and nods, "Daddy did good, didn't he? Yeah," he chuckles and looks around, until he catches the plant section. "Now what kind of flowers do ya think Mummy would want, hm, Pip?"  

* * *

You've fallen asleep on the couch by the time Tangerine and Maisie come home. Your book is resting open on your chest as you snore slightly, your hair slightly damp from your shower.

Still, no matter how quietly your husband closes the door, you hear the sound. You've trained yourself to hear every little noise around the house because of Maisie. 

"Sorry, luv, I didn' wanna wake you," he says with a smile and unclasps the carrier, one hand under Maisie's bum as he slips the strap down his shoulder. You stand, yawning behind your hand as you walk over to him. He leans down and kisses your cheek, handing you the roses he'd picked. You take them, thanking him immediately as you smile brightly. Tangerine kisses your lips and then you bend down to pick up the groceries from the floor. You blink the haziness from your vision as Tangerine secures Maisie in his arms, the carrier put away. You caress your daughter's cheek and smile, walking into the kitchen.

Once you're inside and have found a vase, you arrange the pink and red roses. Tangerine buckles Maisie into the reclined infant seat, cooing sounds at her and it makes you smile. You move to the brown paper bag. "Oh, you found the ones I like," you hum, starting to put away the food. You hand Tangerine the baby crackers and he takes a sticky baby-plate and arranges some for Maisie. She gurgles happily when she sees them. 

"You were very specific, darling." Tangerine chuckles, breaking the crackers into smaller pieces for Maisie. 

He walks behind you, his hand skimming your stomach as he presses his chest against your back. Your eyes flutter closed and you lean into him, sighing. Exhaustion falls over you again, your body tired and relaxed. "How was your snooze?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Perfect," you say with a smile. "Thank you for going."

"Anything for you."

Tangerine rests his chin on your shoulder and you reach up to cup his cheek. "Was she fussy?"

"Nah, she was an angel," he smirks against your neck, pressing a kiss to your skin. "Although, some ladies seemed quite interested in 'er. And me, I suppose," he says with some cheek, hoping you take the bait.

When you spin around, your back pressed to the counter, he knows he won. His gaze flickers to Maisie, making sure she's okay, and then he looks at you again. 

"What happened?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. Not out of suspicion that something did happen. But simply because he's wearing that expression. You poke his cheek. "You're smiling like something happened," you tease. 

Tangerine shrugs. "What can I say, married women seem to love me. Some of them asked if I was a single dad."

Now your gaze hardens. "They what?"

Tangerine laughs and cups your cheek, kissing near your eye. "Don't look so gutted, my luv. Told 'em about you. Showed 'em my ring and all. They did sing my praises however, best husband or what not—" he winks, a smug grin creeping up his face. 

You cross your arms, now holding in your smirk. "Oh, they said that? For what? Grocery shopping for me? For our daughter?" 

"Guess so. Some husbands they must have. Miserable, innit?" Tangerine rolls his eyes. 

You laugh wholeheartedly now, placing your hands on his chest. "Aren't I lucky," you say it with a hint of sarcasm, but behind the playful tone, you do mean every word.

You are lucky.

Tangerine hums and leans in, his lips almost touching yours. He's still smiling, his eyes soft. "So lucky."

You nod, kissing him. "Mmm. The luckiest."

The sound of crackers falling from Maisie's hand interrupts the moment and you pull away, fussing over her as Tangerine continues to put away the groceries. You pick Maisie up, handing her a new small cracker. She gnaws on it happily, her consistency softening in her mouth. She's smiling up at you as she chews, babbling at you. 

"So damn talkative," Tangerine hums from behind you, closing the fridge.

 You nuzzle into Maisie's head, wiping some cracker crumbs from her lips. "He is such a complainer— you're just a little chatterbox, hmm?"

Another gurgle and a grin. 

"Heard that," Tangerine calls. 

You playfully narrow your gaze, ignoring him. You kiss Maisie's cheeks, putting her back into the chair and turn to ask Tangerine to prepare one of the fruit purées for her but he's already stirring the small spoon in the glass jar. You smile, your gaze softening. "You're such an overachiever," you say with a laugh.

He grins. "I'm adaptable. I think ahead."

"Show off."

"You love me."

You nod, "I do."

"And I love you."

"I would hope so," you say as he walks towards you and captures your lips with his again. 

"I love you more than anything," he says and then his gaze drifts towards Maisie behind you, her wide eyes staring at him and he smiles softly. "Maybe not anything," he adds and you turn your head as well, your smile obvious.

"Mm, of course."

Tangerine straightens up and smells the jar, his nose wrinkling. "You promise we aren't killing our daughter by feeding her this shit? Smells proper nasty."

"Promise. Now give it here you big drama queen," you say and take the jar from him. You take a spoonful for Maisie and bring it to her mouth. "Daddy is such a drama queen, isn't he, Maisie?" 

Tangerine rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Oi, stop bad mouthing me to our kid." 

"Sooo dramatic." 

Maisie makes a little sound and both your hearts melt on the spot. The banter dies and you both look at your daughter with love and adoration. Tangerine glances at you and you lock eyes, simply smiling. 

And at that moment, nothing else matters.

[pinecavity]

caleb x drunk!reader

// angst, mutual pining, yearning, all that jazz. Based off this tweet!!!

The door clicks shut behind you, and the room tilts- just a little, just enough for you to stumble.

And of course, Caleb catches you without even thinking. Like gravity, like inevitability.

His hands settle at your waist, firm, steady, and so damn warm that it makes your stomach turn.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, voice as lived-in as an old sweater. Familiar, well-worn, something he’s never forgotten how to say.

You hate how much you’ve missed it.

Your fingers find his chest, pushing weakly. “Don’t call me that.”

“You’re drunk.”

You scowl, tipping your head back to glare at him, though the effect is ruined by the hiccup that escapes your throat. “No shit.”

And then your hands are reaching up, latching onto his face, fingers pressing into his cheeks and pulling. Stretching his freckled skin like you’re trying to warp him into something familiar, something yours, something that doesn’t make your heart hurt so much.

“Why’d you have to go and get all—serious and weird and—and tall?” you grumble, your words slurred, thick with something too heavy to name.

Caleb huffs, his voice half-warped from the way you’re tugging at his face. “Think it had something to do with puberty.” A pause. Then, dryly, “Or maybe all those weird shampoo potions you made me drink finally caught up to me.”

You let out an indignant sound, releasing his face— only to grab at his shirt instead, fisting the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“I don’t like it,” you whisper.

And God. That does something to him.

Your voice cracks, and Caleb swallows hard, hands hovering uselessly at your sides.

“I don’t like that you’re so different but still so you.” You shake your head, brows pinched, eyes glassy. “It’s not fair, Caleb.”

His chest feels too tight.

You inhale sharply, and then—

“Why did you have to change?” The words slip out between uneven breaths, small and fragile and breaking at the edges.

Caleb’s jaw clenches.

Your fingers twist in his shirt. “Why do you still feel so far away?”

There’s a beat of silence.

You sniffle, press your forehead against his, and your voice drops to something barely above a whisper.

“Why do I still love you so much?”

And—fuck.

Caleb stops breathing.

The weight of you, of this, presses in from all sides. His fingers twitch like they want to pull you close, like they don’t know if they’re allowed to anymore.

Your grip on him tightens. Your breath shudders against his skin.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur. “You left.”

His throat works. “I came back.”

“Not the same,” you interrupt, and he barely hears it over the hammer of his own heartbeat, loud and aching.

His hands finally settle on your back, pulling you in like instinct, like you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home.

He exhales. “I know.”

You make a choked noise, curling into him, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“You suck,” you mutter, voice wet, muffled. Bitter.

Caleb lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh, his grip tightening just a little. “Yeah,” he says. “I know, Pip.”

You stay there, folded into him, breath uneven, and he stays still, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers all over again.

Like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel human.

[etherfraisie]

New Birthdays

Caleb x fem!Reader

summary: You've been so busy in the association lately that you forgets what today's suppose to be.

words: 1.739

tags: fluff, domestic fluff (kinda), they're dating, crying, comfort, birthday fluff, birthday cake, Caleb made the birthday cake (it's good tho dw), a lot of pipsqueak mentioned.

author's note: this is heavily self-indulgent, i hope you don't mind. happy reading!

“Caleb? What are you doing here?” The girl had just left the Hunters Association building. She’s about to take a turn to the bus stop before she spots a familiar face, one she has memorized every bump and line.

“Hey, Pipsqueak! You didn’t think I’ll forget the special day, did you? I’m hurt that you think so lowly of me.” Caleb clenches his chest with his hand, feigning pain. 

Although she wants to pinch his cheek for his theatrics, his words catch her attention more. “Special day? What are you talking about?”

At her response, Caleb looked at his beloved in shock. They stand there for a while, each questioning whatever the hell the other is talking about. Not wanting the awkwardness to marinate, Caleb clears his throat. “Funny joke, Pipsqueak, but I'm a veteran at your pranks so I won't fall for it.”

“Caleb, I’m being serious.” She has this determined look on her face. One that made Caleb realize that she actually forgets what today is supposed to be. Which then gives Caleb the idea to just let her be in the dark for now, to sustain the element of surprise.

“It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go home. You must be tired from how much work you have to do these past few days.” Caleb ruffles her hair before urging her to get into his car.

“You’re suspicious!”

“Nope, you’re imagining things.”

The car ride to her apartment isn’t quiet. It’s never quiet, actually. It’s usually filled with silly banter or her telling him what she’s been up to the past few days. On a rare occasion, Caleb would tell her about his mission that he concluded a few weeks ago. But today it’s filled with her urging Caleb to tell her what he’s planning behind her back. Caleb responds with a ruffle of her hair, wiping down her face with his hand, and a short “you’ll see soon enough.”

And soon enough she did see. Her apartment has been cleaned thoroughly. Not a speck of dust in sight. She looks up to Caleb in awe, her eyes demanding for a reason. “You said the association has been packed with extra work in the past week and I know you’re barely able to take care of yourself because of that. So I thought I’d come here to make sure everything is nice and clean.”

“Caleb…” She turns around to face him. His face is beaming with a golden glow, proud of another successful attempt at taking care of his beloved. But it quickly turns to worry as he notices tears streaming down her eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Did I do something wrong? Is this not a good time?” Caleb wipes the tears streaming down her face, but no matter how quick he does it, another line of tears quickly replaces the previous wiped ones. She tries to speak but it only comes out as hiccups and sniffles.

Caleb then pulls her head into his chest. Letting her cry into his shirt, staining it. He doesn't mind, he can wash it later anyways. He pats the back of her head softly and occasionally kisses the crown of her head. “Shhh, It’s fine, you don’t have to talk.”

They stayed like that for a while until her cries turned into small sniffles. When she finally calms down, he pulls her back and holds her cheeks with both his hands. “Feeling better, Pip?”

“Yeah…” she says barely above whispers.

“How about you take a bath? I’ll prepare it for you, wait a bit.”

She plops herself down on the couch as Caleb goes to the bathroom. Running water can be heard not long after. As she waits, she wipes her face from any tears and snots left. Soon after, Caleb came out of the bathroom. “Bath’s ready, Pip.”

“Will you join me?” she says quietly, tugging at his shirt.

But what is Caleb if not a man with the strongest self-restraint known to humanity? He has his priorities straight after all. “I’d love to, Pip, but I still have stuff to prepare for you.”

“What else could possibly occupy you so much that you neglect me?” she pouts. Her choice of words caught him off guard and he started laughing. His laugh never fails to make her feel better.

“I’m not neglecting you, Pipsqueak.” he says in a reassuring tone and softly pinches her cheek. “Dinner’s on me tonight and I have prepared your favorite dish. But I still have a last minute preparation to do.”

“Ugh, fine.” She slumps her way to the bathroom.

“How about I’ll dry your hair for you after?”

“Deal! No backing out now, Caleb!” She’s now more eager to get into the bath.

At that, Caleb starts to set the table for their dinner together and makes last preparations for their dinner. Caleb was humming a tune when she came to the kitchen with a towel draped over her head. The delicious smell of her beloved’s cooking engulfing the whole room. “I’m starving!” she says as she pulls a chair to sit at the dinner table.

“Now, hold on, let me dry your hair first.” Caleb grabs the towel over her head. He’s about to grab a hairdryer before she calls out to him.

“Don’t use the hairdryer.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too noisy. Just wipe it with a towel, please?”

“Alright, Pip.” he says softly. He starts to gently rub her scalp. “How’s your day?”

“Not really great. There was an unexpected fluctuation in the middle of our mission, we were ambushed by a group of wanderers.”

“Did you get injured?” Caleb’s tone is laced with worry.

“Nope! But my body is so sore.” 

“I can massage you after dinner.” 

She then turned around to face him. “Why are you doing all this?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always taken care of you.” Caleb reaches for the ends of her hair, wiping the last excess of water.

“Yeah, but today feels different. You suddenly came to Linkon, cleaned my apartment, and you’re pampering me a lot more than usual.”

Caleb just chuckles. He put away the towel in his hands, and hung it to dry on the balcony. “Let’s eat. Aren’t you starving?” he says as he sits across from her.

“You’re not gonna answer me, aren’t you?”

“Hurry up, Pipsqueak, before the food goes cold.”

Dinner goes by with her trying to pressure Caleb, but he just won’t surrender. So now she just gives up and talks about other things. She told him why the association has been very busy lately, that there was a case her team had to deal with, and the extra workload occupying her daily routine so much that they skipped their daily calls for a few days. Caleb doesn’t mind it though. Well, he did, to some extent, but she had warned him about the case she’s handling a week before so that he won’t have to wait for her if she weren’t picking up his calls.

She tells him that the case isn’t done yet. There’s still some places she has to investigate and some reports she has to make. But the dark circle under her eyes tells him that she’s exhausted. How could she not? This has been going on for a week and she still has a few more extra work for the next few days. Caleb wishes nothing more but to be able to help her lift the burden. But he knows better than anyone else of how stubborn she is. She’d insisted that she can do it alone or she has her teammates to help, hence why he came to Linkon today. He’d rather take the initiative and help her around her house for the day. That and one other thing his beloved seems to forget.

When they’re both done with their dinner, Caleb takes both of their plates and puts it in the sink. She was about to stand up when Caleb called out to her. “Wait up, Pip. I have a dessert for you.”

“Really?” She beams up.

“Yeah, but I want you to close your eyes first.”

“Is that really necessary?” She looks at him annoyed.

“Yes, or else I’ll just eat this dessert myself.”

“Fine!” She sat back down on her chair, her hands covering her face.

“No peeking!”

“I won’t.” She can hear his movement as he moves around the kitchen. She then hears something being placed in front of her, followed by Caleb telling her to open her eyes.

In front of her right now is a cake. One that is decorated in a simple manner. The base of the cake is in her favorite color. There’s not much icing on it, but she doesn’t mind, she’s not much of a sweet tooth after all. On top of the cake, there’s two candles and just below the candles, there’s a letter in Caleb’s handwriting that says ‘Happy Birthday, Love :)’

That’s when the realization kicks in. This is what he meant by special day. She’s been so busy at the association that she forgets today is her birthday. She looks up to Caleb in disbelief. “Happy birthday, Pip. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you last year, but I promise I will never miss a single birthday from now on.”

“You remembered.” Of course he did, this is Caleb we’re talking about.

“Make a wish, Pip.” He pushed the cake closer to her. She closes her eyes, makes a wish, and then blows the candles. Caleb claps his hands and then reaches over to kiss her temple.

“Here’s to another year together.” Caleb says as he presses his forehead to hers.

“Thank you for all of this, Caleb.” She leans forward to kiss his lips which made Caleb chuckles.

“It’s all in a day’s work, Love. Now let’s cut the cake.” He pulls back to reach for the cake knife.

“Is this why you’re suddenly in Linkon?” she asks him as he cuts the cake and puts it on a plate for her to eat.

“Yup. Thought I’d help you take care of the place since I know how you are when you’re busy with work.”

“Did you also make the cake yourself?”

“I did! Did you like it?”

“It looks so silly.”

“You’re so mean, Pipsqueak.” Caleb pouts to her which she laughs at.

“I’m joking! The cake is perfect, thank you so much, Love.” 

[arlerts-angel]

warnings: DARK CONTENT. power play, piss. humiliation. dubcon (implied but not explicit consent). unprotected sex. creampie. not proofread.

don't like it? don't read it!

fuck okay listen this might only appeal to me but god damn it.

sitting in the fleet's interrogation room being broken down and berated by colonel caleb to the point of pissing yourself and suddenly you see his eyes darken and the corner of his lips tilt into the most shit-eating grin of your life.

his cock is fucking HARD. not only is he enjoying his power at play, but now his sweet little captive darling just opened a door she can't close.

"did you just piss yourself?" he asks, tilting his head to one side.

"'m sorry ca-" you hiccup.

"that's colonel, to you." he quickly corrects.

tears stream down your eyes and your cheeks burn from embarrassment. caleb is reeling, relishing in this moment.

"i always knew you were a crybaby pipsqueak," his voice low in your ear, "but a pissy one? tch."

he knows there are cameras littered around the fleet, and he can't have someone seeing his darling like this. he escorts you to the private bathroom in his office.

after you rid yourself of wet clothes, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your neck. "since you can't seem to hold it in, i guess i'll just have to let you relieve yourself."

he takes his cock out of the confines of his uniform, his tip warm and leaking precum. he strokes himself just a little.

caleb pulls you in by your waist, groaning together as he pushes himself into your gummy entrance. "ngh, 's like you were made for me."

his grip on your waist tightens as he bounces you up and down on his cock. the room is filled by your wanton moans and wet slapping of skin.

"show me how much of a piss baby you really are, pipsqueak," he growls, "piss on my cock."

you start to object, but are quickly interrupted.

"did i stutter?" he asks, pressing down on your tummy. "piss on my fucking cock. colonel's orders."

"caleb," you sniffle, "m so close. i can't hold it anymore 'm sorry."

he's so fucking turned on.

your bladder tingles each time he fucks into you and your clit grinds against him. a mix of piss and arousal pools at his groin, and the lust bubbles in the pit of your stomach begin to pop.

"there you go, pipsqueak. just like that," he coos, "cum for me. right on my fucking cock like a good girl."

"m gonna cum, y'gonna make me cum caleb fuck," you blubber as your orgasm washes over you.

"take my fucking cum, take it all," caleb groans and fucks himself into you one last time before filling your messy cunt.

you press your head against his heaving chest. "you did so good for me, pipsqueak," he says softly. caleb rests his hand on the crown of your head before pressing a kiss onto it.

"i'll take you back to my place and get you cleaned up, yeah?"

[punkeropercyjackson]

The dragonkin urge to selfship with Hiccup,,,,,,

[cherryredstarz]

hi 🫶 can I request caleb who is still in his feral horny desperately yearning era paired with mc who's past the process and is already in the "acceptance" stage of grieving her "unrequited" love for him?? either sfw or nsfw?? thanks so much!!

A/n: YES I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 🫶

Cw: mc is about 18, and Caleb is 19, a bit of angst (it’s for the plot), fluff and comfort, clingy puppy Caleb

Ice Cream🍦

It hurts to look at him now.

You’re in mourning.

Mourning the loss of someone you still have but can never have.

You’d never risk your friendship with Caleb in fear of being rejected, or worse, him wanting nothing to do with you after years of love and closeness.

One day he’d find some girlfriend, the ‘love of his life’, and leave you. You’d be alone again.

That’s how you ended up here; crying on your bed, binge eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and rewatching your favorite romcoms. You’ve accepted it now, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Your pillows and beloved plushies were practically drowning from your quiet tears—you didn’t want to worry grandma, and you definitely did not want to worry Caleb.

And then of course, he had to come in.

One look at your teary face and Caleb knew something was obviously wrong.

“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong?” He crossed the room in quick strides and carefully sat on the edge of your bed.

“Go away.” You hiccup, pulling your knees to your chest.

“No, don’t be like that. What’s wrong?” He pulls you to his side.

“Are you mad at me?” Caleb asks softly.

“Yes. No…I don’t know..” you hiccup.

“You can tell me anything baby.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He insists—it breaks his heart to see you so distraught.

“You’re never gonna leave me, right?” You look up a him, and his heart ached seeing the big tears welling up in your wide eyes.

“Never baby. Why would you ever think that?” His brow furrowed as he gently rubbed her back.

“C-cause one day—your gonna get a girlfriend ‘nd leave me!” You cry, burying your face into his chest.

“Baby.” Caleb begins to laugh. Laugh. “Silly girl.” He exhaled against your scalp.

“Quit laughing at me.” You cry harder.

“Pip, look at me.” He gently pinched your jawline and made you look at him. “You’re my girl. Mine, baby. You’ve gotta be crazy to think I’d ever love another girl as much as I love you.”

“What?” You hiccup.

“You’re stuck with me. I’ve loved you since we were little kids. I’m never letting you go.” He kissed your forehead.

“I’m so dumb..” you mumbled.

“Not dumb, sweet girl. Just mine, alright?”

“Alright..” you giggle as he wiped your tears away.

Caleb looks at you with those violet eyes—entire galaxies could be hidden in there. “Pucker up.” He teased, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You gasp but relax into it—this is nice.

“Are you gonna share the ice cream?” He teases.

“Never!” You giggle, and begin to cackle as he tickled your sides.

Everything is going to be alright.

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: gn!reader [no pronouns or gendered nicknames used, but reader described as wearing a dress]. use of "gege" towards caleb, "pipsqueak" towards reader. canon-typical actions [ex. ruffling reader's hair]. possessive behavior. using prompt from here. mostly a writing warm-up to see how we feel about writing for caleb. wc: 950 Yandere Minific Masterlist

Again. It happened again. The tears form at the corners of your eyes but only sit there, hot and angry, as you flop onto the couch and let out a long, slow breath, emptying your lungs until it feels like your ribcage will collapse. You close your eyes and ball your hands into fists, digging them into your thighs, trying to soothe the disappointment that gnaws at your bones.

The familiar creak of the second-to-last stair cuts through your haze of irritation, and you turn to see Caleb rounding the corner into the living room.

“You’re home early,” he says, a lack of concern in his voice that you’re too distracted to notice. “Didn’t you have a date?”

“I did.” Your gaze lowers, focusing on the floor in front of you, trying to avoid the pitiful look that Caleb must be giving you.

“Oh no.” He crosses the room to you, kneels on the floor in front of you, making himself almost impossible to avoid. “Did something happen?”

“He said…” You make the mistake of glancing up momentarily at Caleb, and the look of concern he wears—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted—is all it takes to coax the stubborn tears to fall and the words to tumble out in a hiccupping staccato. “H-he didn’t want—want to see me anymore.”

“What?” Caleb grasps your chin with his thumb and forefinger—his skin rough and warm—and tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why wouldn’t he want to see you anymore—did he say?”

You shake your head. “He just said it was best if we kept our distance. Didn’t even want to be friends anymore, either. Said to stay away from him.”

“That’s awful.” He places a hand on your thigh—carefully, gently, his large palm settling on the fabric of your dress, his wrist just grazing bare skin below the hem. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“It just—it just keeps happening to me.” The words are nearly engulfed by your sobs, the overwhelm of rejection after rejection squeezing you like a too-tight sweater. “What’s wrong with me, gege? Why doesn’t anyone want to be with me?”

“Oh pipsqueak, nothing’s wrong with you, nothing at all.” He raises a large hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb, wiping at the rivulets of tears. “But you should’ve listened to me.”

A feeling of unease starts to creep up your spine at the shift in his tone, and you would swear you saw something in his expression change, if only for a moment, before his gaze softens again.

“What do you mean?” You place your hand on his wrists, feel his pulse quicken at your touch.

“I told you they couldn’t be trusted. These—” he trails off for a moment, brow furrowed, trying to find the right word as his grip on the side of your face tightens ever-so-slightly before he releases you, “—these boys.”

Boys. Caleb spits out the word like venom, the vitriol nearly dripping from his lips. Boys. As though they’re beneath him, another species altogether that are undeserving of his respect. He flattens his lips and huffs a sigh through his nose, before taking a long inhale. Both hands now rest on your thighs, lower now, warm and trembling palms against your bare skin, his fingertips barely touching the hem of your dress. His hands are no strangers to your thighs, used to the occasional squeeze or playful smack when you’re being particularly difficult, but not like this—not skin against skin, long fingers dangerously close to wandering up and up.

“Caleb…” you mutter, mouth dry, heart racing.

His mouth hangs open a moment as if to speak, before he effortlessly moves one hand next to you on the couch cushion, the other ruffling your hair as he chuckles softly. “Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much energy on trying to find someone right now, y’know? It’s taking a toll on you. I hate to see you so sad.”

It seems to wear on him, too—your pain, your discomfort, your little fits of sadness. He’s always there, ready to comfort you after every conversation that suddenly stops with no explanation, every friendship that starts to get a little too close and then ends in abandonment, every romantic rejection you ever experience. As if by design, Caleb is waiting, always waiting for next opportunity to soothe, to patch up your emotional wounds and dote on you until you’re just on the precipice of feeling smothered.

“Maybe you’re right,” you sniffle, nodding solemnly. Of course he’s right, he’s always right. Caleb always knows what’s best for you, always has your best interests in mind—right?

He grins, a look of something close to satisfaction on his face—you’d swear it’s almost smug, but no, that can’t be, he wouldn’t be happy about your misery…right? “Now—what do you say we go to the arcade and I’ll win you a plushie? I’ll spend as much as I need to get you the one of your dreams, I promise. And after, I can take you to that new bakery you wanted to check out—the one with the cute little mochi animals?”

You force a smile and say yes, of course, you’d love to. Because why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t you love for him to take away the pain, the pain that feels all too routine, and give you the connection you crave so badly from another?

“See? Who needs stupid boys when I’m right here, hm?” He leans down and wraps you in a hug, and you press your face into his chest, inhaling his scent—comforting, familiar—as he murmurs against your skin, “I’m all you could ever need.”

[prismaticpichu]

Half the reason I love the “Sephiroth can fall under Jenova’s influence” headcanon is because it’s spoopy, and the other half is so I can also headcanon Zack pulling a Hiccup Haddock and placing his hand on Sephiroth’s cheek to bring him back through nothing but kind whispers and sheer love as Jenova watches on all “What?? What is this obnoxious pipsqueak doing?? How is it doing that?? Why isn’t my son calling me anymore???”, and then Sephiroth himself is the one to destroy Jenova as he and Zack tearfully embrace and touch foreheads and Zack promises to never let him go again and~~~ 💖💖💖

[kingofthewilderwest]

Do you think Hiccup could have physically overpowered Viggo?

I do not! Assuming we're looking at a straightforward physical one-on-one, Viggo would win. At least 9 times out of 10.

While Hiccup has the advantage of:

Blacksmith

Constantly physically active in ways that'd strengthen you

Stronk Proof Via Snotlout Punch

and Viggo has the disadvantage of:

Leader who sends other brawn out

Chess Maces and Talons nerd

we've still seen Viggo in action. Viggo is a man of war. An adult man of war. Viggo is older, bigger, more matured and developed, and by logical accounts stronger than a still-growing beanpole teen (even a very active and honed beanpole).

And I think that's good. While villain variety is good (not all should be Sir Brawny Brawn the Muscle Man), Hiccup is the hiccup, the unlikely pipsqueak who's made it within a war-heavy Viking realm by showing how to be different. Hiccup is active enough to hold his own, utilize his intelligence, and work with dragons to overcome any skirmish. But I like that Hiccup remains the beanpole in this world, highlighting that, no mind he's grown tall and handsome, he's still a unique product like the archipelago's never seen.

[dem0batz]

Writing Tag Game

Rules: I'll give you five words. Find the word (or the closest approximation you can) in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

I've had to be away for longer than I like lately so I'm sorry I'm late to responding to tags. Thank you @grabby-smitten and @deepspacenova for thinking of me! After reading both of your excerpts, I have some fics to add to my reading lists 👀

My Words: sound, breathe, stand, doubt, anticipation, mouth, drink, need, sigh (I'm just going to pick 5 from this list)

New Words: pliant, growl, purr, cry, long

Tagging: @a-million-usernames @feelymeely @megandg @daydreamsofren @millenialcatlady + any other writer friends who want to participate (feel free to use this post as me tagging you!)

Mouth

Slowly, they both pull out at the same time, leaving you feeling suddenly empty after being stuffed full for so long. It only takes a second, though, before Ben is taking Matt’s place, swiftly thrusting into your squelching pussy. With how pliant you are, there is no need for him to ease into it. “Ohhh fuck you feel so good, baby. Gonna give you this whole load,” Ben moans. “I’m so tired, Benny,” you say softly, your sleepy voice barely audible. “I know,” Ben pants hotly against your ear, “I know, sweet girl. You’re doing so good though. Almost there, baby. I’m the last one, promise.”  You cry out when Kylo’s fingers touch your oversensitive clit, swirling the pads over the swollen, hardened bud, “I want one more from you, princess.” “Nooo,” you sob, hiccuping around unsteady breathes.  “Shut up and do as you’re told,” Matt hisses before his half-soft cock finds its way into your mouth. You gag around the sudden intrusion as the taste of you mixed with Kylo and Matt bursts on your tastebuds. 

(Trouble's Coming | AO3 - triplets! Kylo, Ben, Matt x reader)

Anticipation

“We’re siblings, Caleb,” you say, trying to be the reasonable one though you want nothing more than for him to finish what he started. “Not by blood. Besides,” he pauses, one hand wedging between your bodies to allow his thumb to start circling your clit, renewing the delicious feeling in your abdomen. “It’s kind of hot, right? Doing something forbidden.” Your insides quiver and you clench around him with a slick gush at the dirty words. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, pipsqueak?” he chuckles darkly in your ear, beginning shallow thrusts. Not enough to be all the way in, but enough for the anticipation to start building again. “Is my little sister gonna let me fuck her, hmm? Has anyone else ever been inside of you before?” Face growing hot, you shake your head in denial, unable to say the words out loud. Caleb’s body trembles above you as he presses in a little further. You can feel him right there. “Good,” he growls in your ear. “I probably would have had to kill anyone else who touched you first and the only blood I want right now is this.”

(Apple Spice and Oaths | AO3 - LADS Caleb x mc!reader)

Sigh

“Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll be repulsed once I get a taste?” Teeth worry your lip, telling him that is exactly where your train of thought had been. “Maybe…” you whisper, feeling silly and vulnerable. It’s not like you had any prior experience to tell you otherwise. Head shaking slowly, his fingers circle your wrists, pinning them to each side and leaving you unable to move with your legs still thrown over his shoulders. His eyes fall to your center again, head tilting to the side in observation. Though his view is not as clear as it had been earlier with the assistance of the lantern up close, he could still see the glistening shine of your juices. Dipping down, the tip of his nose grazes the wispy tendrils, following it down along your slit as he inhales deeply, the aroma finding his nostrils more heady than any perfume on the market. “Eddie,” you whisper again, more breathy and less anxious as your thighs tremble against his ears. “You smell so fucking good,” he sighs, the tip of his nose running along the crease, serving as a guide for his lips to find your clit. His mouth presses against the little pearl between the folds, giving it a loving kiss and coating his lips. His tongue flicks out, intent on just getting a little taste as he reassures you that this is his idea of heaven, but once that little swollen bud throbs against the tip of his tongue, he’s gone. With a groan, he kisses your clit again, tongue flicking out and dancing around it the same way it does when he kisses your mouth. “Tastes even better. Goddamn,” he rasps between kisses as your flavor explodes on his tongue while he makes out with your pussy.

(Rainbow in the Dark | AO3 - Eddie Munson x oc!reader)

Breathe

He taps another trail of powder, starting at the top curve of your breast, sprinkling down and dumping a slightly larger pile in the valley of your cleavage. He puts the lid back on the vial and places it off to the side, within reaching distance. “Mmmm, sugary tits,” he grins, returning his attention to you. His hand cups your clean breast, thumbing lightly over the sensitive nipple before licking it, leaving a stripe of saliva, and taking the peak into his mouth, making your breath hitch in your throat and your pussy clench.  He releases your nipple with a pop! , and moves to the pile of drugs on your other breast. Your hands card into his slightly damp hair, needing something to hold onto. He doesn’t close off a nostril this time, instead just openly inhales the dusty trail on your tits leading to the valley between them. “ Fuckk , I could do hits of blow off of your body for days,” he growls, voice muffled; shaking his face between your breasts. 

(Lit Up | AO3 - rock star!brother Ben (Solo) x reader)

Sound

"How the fuck am I supposed to think about player maps and monster stats when you're nuzzling my cock like that?" he growls, clearly growing frustrated. It was cute the way his big brown eyes widened, his curly hair wild and frizzy from the Indiana summer heat making him look a bit feral and untamed. "Not my problem. But if you want me to stop," you shrug, beginning to pull away. "Wait, wait, wait," he pleads, beckoning you back. "Fuck! Okay, okay, you win. I'll-I'll just--" he stumbles through his words while his hand pats the mattress beside him, fishing for the discarded notebook. When his finds it, he opens it back up, presumably to the page he had left off but you weren't going to check. You didn't actually care if he continued his DM prep right now or not. You just liked getting him riled up. He would make sure it was done by the time the club had their next session. He briefly peeks around the notebook, not quite as stealthy as a Rogue as he tries to slyly watch, but you catch him immediately. "No peeking, Eddie!" you scold with a frown. He grumbles something low in his throat but ultimately complies, bringing a triumphant grin to your face. You reward him with a slow pump of your hand, the finger still stacked with Peach Rings rubbing against him. Lowering your mouth, you kiss the shiny red tip as the light salty flavor of him bursts on your lips, mixing with the sweet granules of sugar from the candy. A barely audible groan sounds from behind the notebook but he keeps his eyes trained obediently on the page.

(Peaches | AO3 - Eddie Munson x reader)