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ポーの一族 (The Poe Clan), Moto Hagio

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cc_tomoy on Instagram

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I want one piece self-shipping mutuals!!!!! Please let's be friends!!!!

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Nguyễn Phan Chánh (Vietnamese, 1892-1984)

Dyers at Work

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WIP WEDNESDAY.

a portrait of madness | oil on canvas (in the clumsy strokes of a child's fingerpainting)

JOHNNY MACTAVISH X READER

18+ | IMPLIED KIDNAPPING. NON-GRAPHIC SMUT. TRAUMA.

He burns incense on Sunday.

Catholic, he says with a slight roll of his shoulder, tone dipped in a thick coat of nonchalance that drips like hot wax over his words. Habit. 

It's piled together with other things, too—his life story eliding into a thickened paste, slurring over the edges until they're blurred and distorted. Nonsensical. Something he seems to realise by the pinch in your brow, and clicks his tongue in irritation, murmuring a jagged apology under his breath that makes you want to weep.

You won't, though. Crying just makes him frantic. Makes him gather you into his arms, holding you tight as he whispers it'll be okay and you fight the urge to tell him it's all your fault. 

Swallowing it down is easier than letting him pretend he's a hero, so you watch him instead. Voyeuristic. Riveted as he brings his hand to the mangled mess of his temple, fingers folding into a fist. Driving, digging, into the scarred tissue that frames his temple. Angry. Muttering under his breath as he grinds his knuckle into bone—

It's episodic. These little spells of torment last several minutes where he digs and you fight both the urge to be sick all over the sheets and to cry, beg him to stop. Don't hurt yourself. 

A farce. 

It shouldn't matter that he's chiselling into tissue, raking claws through grey matter; playing Dies Irae over coiling gyri. Orchestral condemnation that makes you feel like you should be relishing in his torment. Conducting madness with barbed words and caustic accusations. But—

You derive no pleasure from his suffering, and spend the day choking on the heady plume of incense as it fills the small room he keeps you locked inside, begging him to stop.

(Please, god, stop—)

He won't, though. Not until he's satiated some indivisible need to hurt himself—righting a phantom wrong with the push of his fingers into torn tissue; trephination costumed as self-flagellation. And it's only when this urge is quelled will he climb into the lumpy mattress with you, eyes glazed over and blood dripping from the scratchmarks on his temple, and gather you into his arms. Shackling you to his heaving, sweat-slicked chest as he mutters insanity into your ear, and runs his sticky, blood-damp hands over your body. 

"Mine," he'll bite out, and it'll be the only thing he says that'll make sense for the rest of the night. Everything else is the scrape of iron over lodestone; grunts and whimpers and ragged breath. 

He'll take you apart with teeth and tongue, nipping at your skin as he laughs into the hollow of your throat, dazed and dizzy with the split of your thighs bracketed around his waist. A perfect feckin' fit, pretty doe. 

In these moments, you'll forget yourself. Clean slate. Blank canvas. You'll pull him closer and whine when he pushes himself inside of you—a perfect fit, just like he said. A missing piece, just like he is. 

You've never realised how empty you felt until he rolls his hips, sinking deep inside of you. Filling the space that aches like a bruise when he pulls out. Yearning. 

And it's such an ugly thing, isn't it? To find that missing part of yourself in the thick split of his cock as he gasps about stolen ribs and figs and how he remembers you from a past life. 

It'll make you sick in the morning when you feel him—sticky and thick between your thighs; cum dribbling out of your bruised, tender cunt (already aching)—but you'll beg for it as he buries his teeth into slope of your breast, grunting into the wound like you've gutted him. 

And maybe you have. In a past life. A different time. Took a blade to his firm, trim belly and sliced through the tangle of thick, black hair until a line of red grinned up at you; a vicious twist of its lips, mocking and cruel. Flensed maw gaping wide enough to swallow you whole—

The worn bible on his desk, kept next to the dogtags and locket they sent him home with, speak of murder as a mortal sin. He laments this in mutable sermons sometimes, spinning reviled lies of death and destruction. Penance in pounds of flesh. 

He talks about that a lot. 

Penance. 

Whispered out between feverish mutterings of nonsensical things too ground up in his thick patois for you to discern. To make sense of. Everything is blurred under heavy brogue, except—

"Are ye finally gonna confess today, doe? 

He asks this with his legs spread wide, knees far apart. Bible resting on the top of his thick, muscular thigh. Rosary clenched tight in his fist. The cross on his chest swings like pendulum when he leads forward, eyes wide. Wild. Peering into the heart of you as he asks the question again. Softer this time. Slower. A caress. Sweet in your ear. 

Enticing. 

You like him better when he's drenching his fingers in grey matter and screaming at the ghosts to stop hiding things inside his closet. 

So, you evade. You look away. Pretend he isn't real. Doesn't exist. That he's a ghost. A phantom. A bad dream—

"look'it me, doe—"

A shadow in a hallway. A noise in the dark. 

"Look'it me—!"

Whispers at midnight. The ocean in a seashell. Creaking floorboards in an empty house. Something in the corner of your eye. 

"don't do this tae me, doe! Ye cannae—"

Immaterial. Something you made up inside your head—

"why'd ye dae this tae me, doe? Why'd ye do this tae us?" 

Not real. Not real. Not real—

Until his hands are around your throat. Teeth bared, lips cocked in a snarl. 

"oh, ahm real, doe. Ahm very real—" madness drips in the back of his eyes like condensation down a glass. He tugs you closer until his blood-stained teeth pinch at the soft skin of your cheek. "An' don't ye forget that, doe. Ahm just as real as ye are. Ahm just as—"

Sometimes you think it's a little strange how you can still breathe even when his hands are tight like a noose around your neck. Even stranger, maybe, that you like it. The way it feels. The sight of him breaking apart, unravelling. Coming undone. Unmoored as you turn your head away from him, drawing those fevered eyes to the slope of your throat—

He bites down until skin breaks, tears. Buries his canines into you first, gasping at the puddle of blood that wells beneath his teeth. Slurping. Sucking. Groaning into your neck as your warm blood soaks his tongue, almost choking himself on the flood of it. His front teeth follow, slicing through tissue. Punishing. 

Feeding. 

Vampiric. You knot your fists into his shorn, messy hair, pulling him closer, nearer to your vein. The ridge of your jugular. Just get on with it. 

End me, you demand. Make it worth it. 

He closes his palm around your fingers when you go to push him away when he refuses your plea, wrenching your hand down to his side, his ribs, and moaning low in his throat—the sound wet, gurgling; sticky—when your nails catch his skin. Tearing. More blood between you than air in your lungs. 

He presses them hard into his muscle until it yields against bone. 

"feel th'?" He slurs, iron drenching his words. Sodden chin jutting into the hollow of your throat as he heaves with an airy, pluming laugh. "S'missin', ain't it, doe?" 

The hand gripping your fingers tightens until they go numb. Your dizzy gasp swallowed up into the ragged spill of his breath as he slides the tips of your fingers down to bottom of his ribcage with a grunt. 

He asks again—feel th', doe?—and you offer a feeble nod in response. 

"what'd ye do wi' it, doe?" 

You don't have an answer. You don't know. 

His growls, this low, dangerous thing, and pushes your knuckles harder into his skin until it sinks against tissue—

"S’not there, is it?" He laughs with his tongue against your neck, lapping at the blood. The scorching puff of humid air against the wounds hurts like a sunburn. You bear your neck a little more. "Where'd ye put it?" 

Your head hurts. Swaying like a loose pendulum on your neck—a teetotum—and you wonder if he bit too deep this time. All the way through until it clings to your body by a thin piece of tissue—

You drop forward, slumping against him. Forehead pressing into his cheekbone, lips dragging against stubble. 

"You're crazy," you slur into skin, and he laughs, a muffled rumble buried in the makeshift cage of your throat. 

"ahm no' crazy," he grunts, pushing you down until your back is flat against the mattress, his body boxing you in. Heavy on yours. Smothering. His head is still buried in your neck. Tongue lapping at the last drops of blood that weep from the wounds you can't feel anymore. 

Not crazy. You think about this room. These four walls. Concrete. Stone slabs. Gothic revival. A bed that smells of sweat, sex, and incense. Old paper. Dusty books. 

Blood.

The hollowness of his ribcage. The missing door—

He mutters things as you lull between lucidity. Talking about a man named John. Someone named Simon. How they warned him this would happen. 

"aye," he concludes as you sink deeper into sleep, clinging by a loose, fraying thread as he buries himself inside of you once again. "Sift me as wheat—"

On the dredges of sleep, he'll murmur, soft and sorrowful: why'd ye dae it, doe? Why'd ye—

You don't know. 

But in the back of your head, a memory dredges up from the bowels of your subconscious, spat up like vomit. Regurgitated madness. It festers, writhing like a parasite. A worm in your brain you can't control. 

Ribs between your fingers. bury the bone in the backyard. But no—

Hung on a spit, blackening in the flames. Charred marrow crushed between your teeth like stale, hard bread. Chew, swallow—

You think you might have killed him. Devoured him whole. 

Metaphorically speaking, that is—

(in dreams. in the empty vacuum of your mind. a different time, a different place;)

—because the thing in your memory isn't you. 

[felinesindolence]

Daydreaming about straddling Rosi's lap, riding him... incoherent words are falling from my mouth... moans, sighs, softly calling him "Mi Corazón" sighing with so much love, so much desire... chest raising and falling to his rhythm... nothing else matters but this warmth and utter bliss... mhmm!

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Moved <3 !

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𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . .

diluc x awea. silly little self ship drabble ♡ fluff. third person pov. wc: 1k.

diluc stirred from his sleep, his senses immediately picking up on the sound of awea’s gasp. the sound was quiet, barely more than a breath, but enough to make his heart lurch.

his body tensed, instincts honed from years of vigilance snapping him awake as he felt her body jerk beside him. in an instant, he was sitting up, his crimson hair tousled from sleep, eyes filled with concern.

fear seized him. his mind raced. was it a nightmare? was she in pain? was something wrong?

“love? what’s wro—”

the question died on his lips as he turned towards awea. she was sitting up against the headboard, a trembling hand clamped over her mouth, eyes wide. he quickly assessed her, his gaze travelling over her body until he reached her lap where there was…

a book.

diluc let out a sharp exhale, a wave relief washing over him as he ran a hand through his messy hair, shaking off the remnants of his alarm. his weight shifted as he propped himself up on one elbow, gazing at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

“archons, you gave me a fright, sweetheart. i thought something happened to you.”

awea blinked as if realizing for the first time that she had woken him. guilt flickered across her features as she reached for him, her fingers a featherlight touch against his bare shoulder — a silent apology, a reassurance. her touch was warm, grounding him in the reality where she was unharmed.

“sorry… i didn’t mean to wake you.”

awea bit her lip sheepishly, embarrassed that she had reacted so dramatically to the story she was reading. the sight made diluc’s lips twitch and he shifted closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“why are you even awake, love? it’s four in the morning. you should be asleep." he murmured, voice husky from sleep.

awea turned her gaze back to the book in her lap, moving her hand away from diluc’s shoulder to flip the page. diluc already missed her warmth.

“i know, i know! but i just had to know what happened next. just one more chapter.”

"one more chapter?" diluc arched an eyebrow, unimpressed, but amused. his gaze flicked to the book in her lap, then to the clock on the wall.

“you’ve been telling yourself that for the past two hours, haven’t you?”

awea froze, the slightest flush creeping up her neck as she got caught red handed. “no— luc!"

before she could come up with a flimsy excuse, diluc moved swiftly, plucking the book from her grasp and holding it just out of reach. she let out a soft, scandalized whine, lunging forward and nearly toppling into his lap as her fingers grasped at empty air.

“give it back! i swear i’ll only read one more chapter!”

diluc chuckled softly, shaking his head as he deftly slid his fingers between the pages of her book, bookmarking the page she was on with practiced ease. he knew her too well — if he didn’t mark her page with the ribbon, she’d spend half the morning frantically flipping through the book with a frustrated pout, trying to remember where she had left off.

“you say that, my love,” he mused, snapping the book shut and resting it on the nightstand, "but the next thing you know, the birds will start chirping, and you’ll still have your nose buried in between the pages — if you don’t already finish the whole thing before dawn, that is."

awea pouted, crossing her arms even though she knew he was right. "that’s not true…"

"we both know i know you better than that, love."

before awea could protest, diluc wrapped his strong arms around her waist, his voice coaxing as he effortlessly pulled her against him.

“come now, you know i don’t like sleeping without you in my arms. the book will be waiting for you in the morning.”

awea sighed, her resolve crumbling as she immediately melted into his embrace, her head finding its familiar place against his bare chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, his fingers already combing through her hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“not fair,” she grumbled softly against his skin, her words slurring as she instinctively snuggled closer and drowsiness finally started to take hold of her. “using your warmth against me… they were about to kiss, you know?”

diluc couldn’t help but chuckle again, a deep, rich sound. gently, he cupped awea’s cheek, his thumb brushing lazily over her skin as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. there was something undeniably tender in the way he looked at her — like she was the most captivating story he'd ever read.

"oh, what a terrible cliffhanger. allow me to apologize, sweetheart," he murmured and he leaned in, his breath warm against her lips.

then he kissed her — slowly, sweetly, tenderly, like he had all the time in the world. it was the kind of kiss that turned her into putty in his embrace, a kiss that promised everything and demanded nothing. his fingers curled at the nape of her neck, holding her there just long enough to make her forget all about the book, about the stolen moment between fictional lovers she’d been so desperate to read.

when he finally pulled back, he studied awea’s dazed expression, satisfaction gleaming in his gaze. "i hope rhat will suffice and satisfy you enough to put off reading about their kiss until tomorrow?"

she blinked up at him sleepily, a lazy, content smile tugging at her lips as she hummed softly and nodded.

diluc smiled, pressing another kiss to her forehead — soft, lingering, full of quiet devotion. his arms tightened around her, pulling her impossibly closer until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between them. “good girl.”

awea let out a soft yawn as diluc buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as if committing the scent of her — of home — to memory. his fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along her back, encouraging her to finally get some rest. “now sleep, my love. i love you.”

and just like that, awea surrendered completely, her breaths evening out as she dozed off. her dreams were filled not with the story she was reading, but with the man that held her.

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Sayume Tachibana, Anchin and Kiyohime, 1926

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So I've been making a list of beds I wish to make love/have sex on or just kiss and kiss and kiss and- honestly, the list would go on forever but so far these are the ones that I save rn and oh god... I love it here... bedrooms my most beloved!

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Another Lynn core mood board <3

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i love u ocs.

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I write so much in this blog, in this language, that I stopped writing in my native... this is not good... even when I write this my mind goes blank and I translate it to my native to get it... strange things are happening to my writing hobby! I take great efforts and time to write on it obviously but the process is far more different than the process of writing in my native... and I feel hesitant too (in both languages) but most def in my native because I'm so used to it, so intimate, so close to my innermost thoughts that I fail to capture the words in it... I'm just feeling feelings, abstract unnamed intangible feelings where words mean everything yet I'm not close enough to type them or write them... just feeling them, plagued by visions of them, dreaming of them, but never actually written them... kind of saddening and maddening too!

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Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings

— Xia Caleb x Fem!Reader • Word count: 2.3k —

content warnings: psuedocest, use of gege (brother) and mei mei (little sister), breathplay, dubcon, manipulation, toxic relationship, jealousy, spoilers for painful signal (i pulled a few lines directly from there), blowjobs, dacryphylia, calls you a whore once… idk what else to tag

There’s an eerie silence when you enter Caleb’s apartment. A seed of dread planted deep in your belly when you call for him and he doesn’t respond. You make your way deeper into the coldness of his home, tiptoeing so as not to cut through the building tension.

You gasp when you open the door closest to you, the sight of wires connecting to Caleb’s arm. Seed sprouting furiously through your gut; leaves spilling out your throat as you fight for words.

Caleb seems shocked at your presence, eyes darting across your features to gauge your reaction. It’s silent for a while before he finally speaks up.

There’s always tension running rampant through the air when you’re alone with Caleb. When you’re hidden away from prying eyes who wouldn’t understand the two of you. But this— the coldness in his eyes, the way he shudders away from your eyesight. It makes you sick.

“Are you scared?”

Caleb’s voice cuts through your stunned silence, the only reprieve being the machine his arm is hooked up to. Tears brim your waterline, and you watch the way his shoulders shudder through the pain of his repair.

“Of course I’m not,” you finally whisper, “I could never be scared of you.”

Caleb barks out a harsh laugh, shaking his head as he turns his head to glance at you from his periphery. He’s changed since the last time you saw him. A creeping dread slowly overtaking you every time his predatory glance comes through when you spend time together. It’s easy to forget when he smiles at you the next second, takes you under his arm and presses a kiss to your head.

It’s frightening, the way he shudders and glares; bares his teeth the only way he knows how.

“Maybe you should be.” His words spit out like a venom, seeping through your veins, blanketing your racing heart.

You shuffle forward hesitantly, arm reaching out to touch him; ease his pain in a way only you know how.

“Stay back.”

You whimper at the rejection; once again feeling like the small girl he’d play tricks on when you were young. Teasing you and pulling at your hair; scaring away boys with an excuse to protect you.

You step forward again despite; hand grabbing his unmarred shoulder in a weak attempt to get him to look at you.

“I almost forgot…” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head, “you never listen during times like these” He hisses through his teeth as another burst of pain comes through.

“Caleb,” you whisper, brushing his arm, “gege, look at me.”

You find a small victory in the way his lips quirk up at the familiar title, his body turning to face you better on the small bed.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

You touch the bionic arm gingerly, “This arm… does it still hurt you?”

Caleb shakes his head at you, smiling softly in an attempt to ease the worried gaze you’ve set upon him, “I barely feel any pain. Unless it’s under construction.”

He reaches the appendage out to you, grasping your hand in his, “But…” he sighs weakly, placing his forehead where your hands combine, “I… can’t even feel you anymore. Feel my mei mei.”

You whimper at his words, pressing your forehead against him as you press closer to him, “Gege, I wish you were always in pain,” you stop and contemplate, kiss at his cheek (eyes stinging with tears when he pulls away).

“But most of the time,” you continue, “I wish your pain to be lessened.”

He hums at your words, pressing a kiss to the heel of your palm, “If that’s what it takes to feel you, I’ll accept it.”

You pull away abruptly, standing as anger for Caleb seeps through your veins.Your protector, your love, your gege, “Is this the Fleet’s doing? They won’t get away with this.

You turn to leave; and truly you’re not sure where to go. Who to bite and scratch and maim; to make them have the same semblance of pain they’ve inflicted on him.

Caleb stands swiftly, the cool metal of the arm biting into the exposed flesh of your arms as he pulls you back against him, “You think you can just… come and go as you please?”

You shudder at the closeness; from the heat radiating off his exposed midriff.

“Caleb. I—

You’re cut off by the sound of your phone ringing, stiffening at the familiar ringtone. Caleb uses his free hand to pull the phone out of your pocket, a scoff falling from his lips as he reads over the contact.

“Who’s this?” He snarls, yanking you tighter against him, “Xavier?”

You scramble to come up with any excuse; though you know nothing will be good enough for him. Gege was always bad at sharing.

“He’s my— my coworker, my partner,” you finally squeak out, head already hanging in shame when he pulls away from you.

“Do partners usually call each other this late at night?”

You turn to face him, tears already brimming your eyes at the disappointment laced in his tone. “He’s just a friend! H-he calls to talk sometimes.” Caleb cups your cheek in his hand, shaking his head in pity.

The first tear falls when he unlocks your phone, scrolling through your messages. He tosses the phone angrily aside, crossing his arms as he looks down on you.

“It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

A sob wretches it’s wait out of your throat, and you dare not say you feel the same about him.

“It’s still me,” you wipe at the tears falling down your face, wringing your hands together, “I’m still your mei mei.”

He shakes his head with a scoff, stepping close enough you can see his feet below you.

“No.”

The words tear through you, and you sob into your hands; heart stinging with rejection.

“My mei mei wouldn’t do this,” he gestures to where the phone lays on the ground, the slew of messages between you and other men glaring at you from the floor, “My mei mei wouldn’t whore herself out to men who only want to take advantage of her.”

You shake your head, wanting to defend yourself, to win your gege’s acceptance, his forgiveness.

“No, they— they’re nice and I didn’t… I didn’t—

“Nice?” Caleb seethes, grabbing your chin to make you look at him. The disappointment is clear in his eyes and you bite your lip to hide the cries you want to let out, “They’re nice? Did you let them touch you? Touch your gege’s belongings?”

“No!” You protest, shaking your head weakly, grabbing at his arm, “No I would never… never let them. Only gege.”

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing you close as you weep into his neck, his hand rubbing up and down as you sob, “don’t cry. You know I hate when you cry.”

He’s lying of course; he can’t help the overwhelming arousal coursing through his veins, burning hot when you look at him like that. Tears stick to your lashes, eyes glossed over with tears unshed, pouting up at him so he’ll ease his anger.

Caleb finally steps back, and you reach for him in a panic as the stern look takes over again.

“Show gege how sorry you are.”

You already know what he wants; wants you to kneel and beg for mercy, to tell him how sorry you are. That you’re his as he is yours. You fall to your knees before leaning to press your head to the floor, hands splayed out next to your head as apologies tumble quickly past your lips.

You feel when he steps closer; breath hitching when the pad of his foot presses you further into the ground until you’re shuffling at the pain.

“You know gege doesn’t like punishing you,” he coos down, “Why do you make me do this?”

You splutter more apologies, sobbing in thanks when he finally steps back and nudges you with his foot to look up at him.

There are tears in your eyes, lip trembling while he assesses your blubbering state.

“Gege,” you ask before he can say; knowing what comes next, “can I make you feel good?”

Caleb laughs at this, but doesn’t stop you when you scramble to grab at his belt, Hands shaking when you finally pull his pants to rest on his thighs.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you,” you grab his cock, pressing a kiss to the tip, “thank you, gege.”

He clicks his tongue and you open your mouth for him, a moan falling past your lips when he spits into your mouth. Thighs rubbing together when he spits at you again; this time landing on your cheek.

Caleb nods his head and you take him into your mouth, kissing and licking reverently at his weeping cock. He groans when you trace the veins running along his cock, his grip tightening in your hair before he pulls you back. He grabs his cock, tapping it against your tongue before stroking himself in front of you. You whine at the action, thighs clenching as he holds you in place while you try and take him back in.

“Such a good girl,” the praise goes straight to your core, and you whine at the words, “my sweet mei mei.”

Tears fall again when he blesses you with the words, hands falling to his thighs when he roughly shoves his cock into your mouth, allowing no reprieve. He fucks you at his own pace, ignoring the way your fingers scratch at his thighs from lack of oxygen.

Caleb cups the side of your face lovingly, wiping the tears before bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. You whimper at the sight, eyes clouding as he presses your head down until your nose nuzzles against the coarse hair resting on his pelvis.

“Did you do this for them?” He asks, ignoring your struggle as he holds you there, “Did it feel good letting their filthy hands taint what’s mine.”

You try and shake your head, but you’re struggling to breathe; choking on his cock as he ruts shallowly into the back of your throat.

“Answer me.”

You slap at his thighs until he finally pulls back, gasping breaths falling from your lips, “No!” Your voice is hoarse from the rough treatment, and you nuzzle against his thigh as he pats your head, “N-no, only gege. My gege.”

Caleb pats your head in approval, shushing your sobs.

“Make your gege cum, and I’ll touch you where you want,” he soothes, leaning to press soft kisses to your hairline.

“Thank you, thank you,” you murmur.

He allows you to go at your own pace this time, cooing loving words down at you as you swallow around him, trace your tongue on the tip in the way you know he likes.

He never warns you, but you can tell he’s close. The way his hands tighten in your hair, how his hips stutter to meet your mouth when you moan at the prospect of his cum coating your throat.

Caleb grabs your hand and entwines your fingers, smiling softly down at you as you choke and cry and whine for him.

“Take it all,” he says sweetly, brushing the hair from your face, “my sweet mei mei, always making me feel so good. Such a good girl, my best girl.”

You preen at the praise, whimpering as the first of his spend coats your throat. You swallow dutifully before pulling off, opening your mouth to show him.

He falls to his knees before you, pulling you into his arms as he whispers praises. Bites apologies into your skin, grasps your hips in longing while you settle into the familiar warmth of his arms.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing at the spot under your ear that you know he likes, “I’m sorry for being so cruel. I don’t like punishing you mei mei. I only want to protect you. You’re too naive for those boys, they’ll only hurt you.”

You nod solemnly, feeling pitiful that you even allowed it to go as far as it did.

“I’m sorry, gege,” you whisper, “I just missed you… I wanted them to make me feel the way you do.”

“And did they?” He asks, pulling you into his lap as he cradles you; much like he used to when you were young and scared of the dark.

“No,” you trace the chain of his necklace, “they could never make me feel the way you do.”

“You need your gege to protect you,” he coos, “I know you think you’re all grown up now, but you’re still just that dumb little girl deep down. But it’s okay, I’ll keep them away from you.”

“Can I have a kiss?”

You feel so small when you ask, fear of rejection simmering in your soul.

He quirks his lips up in a smile, and for a second he looks like the Caleb you know. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to your nose, your cheeks, any expanse of your face his lips can reach. You giggle at the affection, smiling against his lips when they finally capture your own.

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Nsfw artists, my most respected!