house-of-caraleya

[house-of-caraleya]

This Chapter; Bittersweet | BILLY H.

summary： after the events of starcourt that july, christmas sounds like a lot to live up to, but with your siblings, your brother (billy) alive, you’re sure you’ll manage. pairings： william “billy” hargove // sister!reader warnings： semi-proofread. minor stranger things 3 spoilers (mentions of starcourt). platonic, of course. fluff/comfort. very minor angst. wordcount： ~1.4k author’s note：merry christmas!! haven’t posted or reblogged in a minute, so i’ve been working on this short to give you all a little christmas present😋 creds: dividers: @cafekitsune + @/toastray + @bernardsbendystraws // masterlist // gif: this post on pinterest

The house was quieter than you remembered. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but the chaos was now a distant hum — a memory you were trying to shake off. With everything that went down in July at Starcourt, it wasn’t surprising that everyone was left with aftershocks. People changed. Your brother changed. You changed.

Christmas Eve in Hawkins, Indiana, and the barely-put-up tree in the corner of the living room blinked lazily, the red and green lights casting soft shadows against the walls. The scent of pine and cinnamon stuck in the air, a familiar smell that felt like a strange comfort after everything that had happened.

You stood in the doorway, watching Billy from the kitchen. He was slouched on the couch staring in thought at the tree, as the tv on the table in front ran. He had beer bottle dangling from one hand, and the other messing with a tangle of old Christmas lights. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and part of you liked it that way. You weren’t sure if you were ready for whatever the hell this evening would bring.

Billy didn’t notice a lot these days — didn’t really care about the details anymore. But that was okay. He’d been through too much, and the both of you had learned not to push. After everything with the Mind Flayer, after the crazy shit that almost killed him, and with Neil deserting him, you figured you could afford a little quiet.

You cleared your throat. “You gonna fix that, or just stare at it all night?”

Billy’s head snapped up, his eyes squinting as if he wasn’t sure whether he was seeing you or just imagining you there. A dry laugh escaped him. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I’m not really in the mood for this kind of holiday shit, you know?”

You could feel the weight of those words before they even hit you. Billy had a way of making things sound harder than they were. It wasn’t even a question of Christmas. It was more about everything that had happened to him — to all of you. Max, Eleven, everyone. Things weren’t back to normal yet. Not even close.

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I get it. But, hey, we’ve got the whole close-but-not-dead thing going for us this year. I think that’s a win.”

Billy scoffed and leaned back against the couch, the worn fabric creaking under his weight. His face softened just a little, a small sigh escaping him. “It doesn’t feel like a win,” he muttered. “Not when everything feels... I dunno, messed up.”

You could hear the faint edge of bitterness in his tone, like he was trying to push the words out before they turned into something else — something bigger. You wanted to say something. Something that would comfort your brother, put him at ease. But you both knew that “everything’s gonna be okay” wasn’t true anymore. It never would be.

Instead, you walked over and plopped down next to him; the couch sagging a bit under your combined weight. Billy didn’t move. He just sat there, letting the silence hang between you. The warmth of his body next to yours was almost a reminder of how far you’d come since the shitshow that had been that same summer. It was bittersweet; the things that brought you closer were the very things that you all nearly died to. The things you both survived. The things that still haunted him, that probably always would.

After a while, he broke the silence. “You really want to do this?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but you could tell he was bracing himself for whatever ridiculous thing you’d throw at him next.

“Do what?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He motioned to the half-assembled Christmas lights. “Put up this stupid tree and pretend it’s all fine?”

You chuckled softly, nudging his arm. “Yeah. Because that’s totally what we’re doing. You know how much I love the pretend everything’s fine holiday spirit.”

Billy’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his usual tough-guy exterior. “Yeah, okay. But seriously, if we’re doing this, you’re not putting those ornaments on the tree again.”

You stared at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong with the glittery reindeer? You loved those when we were kids.”

Billy’s expression faltered for a second, and you could almost see him trying to push past something — something dark from the past. “I think you broke half of them trying to hang them last year,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

You grinned. “That wasn’t my fault. You didn’t help me, and they kept falling off the branches. You can’t just hang ornaments like they’re frisbees.”

Billy gave a low, amused chuckle. “Whatever. If you insist on doing this Christmas thing, then fine. I’ll help… but only ‘cause I don’t wanna hear you complain.”

It was a simple, stupid thing — hanging Christmas ornaments on a crooked tree in a house that wasn’t quite home anymore. But somehow, it felt like a small victory. You were here, together. After everything.

You grabbed the string of lights from the floor and passed it to Billy, who accepted it with a fake groan. “Alright, but if these burn out halfway through, I swear to God…”

“Then we’ll just use the glow of the flames to finish the job,” you joked, though you weren’t sure if you were joking at all.

The first few minutes passed with a kind of comfortable silence, just the sound of the crackling tree lights and the occasional clink of the ornaments as they were hung. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something real, something that could hold the both of you together for a moment.

“I think it looks good,” you said after a while, standing back and surveying the tree, which had somehow turned out better than you expected. Billy was standing next to you now, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the disaster you’d made of the living room.

“You’re lying,” Billy muttered, but you could see the slightest hint of pride in his eyes.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. “You’re not as bad at this stuff as you think.”

Billy let out a short, derisive laugh. “Yeah, right, if you say so.”

There was a long pause. The house was still, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft background noise of some Christmas music playing faintly from the old stereo. You could tell Billy wasn’t really into the holidays, but there was something about this moment — about him trying, about the fact that you were both still here — that made everything feel a little less broken.

“You ever thought about what we do now?” you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Billy didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked over to the window and looked out into the snowy night. You could see his reflection in the glass — tired, a little older, a little more beaten down than he’d been a few months ago. You hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until now.

“What do you mean?” His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

“I don’t know,” you said, walking over and standing beside him. “Like… what happens after all the shit is done? After everything that went down? Do we just keep pretending to be okay?”

Billy didn’t answer right away, but you saw the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of guilt or pain or something else that ran through him. You wanted to reach out, to help, to fix it — but you knew better. Some things you couldn’t fix.

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” he muttered, then added more quietly, “But I guess we just… keep going. Together. I think that’s enough.”

And somehow, despite everything that had happened — despite all the scars, the trauma, the ghosts of the past — you believed him. You didn’t need to say anything else. You were both still here. And for once, that was enough.

You stepped back from the window and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night lift off your shoulders just a little. “Yeah,” you said, letting a grin spread across your face. “Together.”

Billy looked at you, and for a moment, there was no anger, no distance — just the quiet, unspoken understanding between two people who had weathered the storm.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he muttered, motioning to the kitchen. “We still need to figure out dinner, right?”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the moment sink into your bones. “Yeah, let’s do that before we burn the house down.”

Billy rolled his eyes, but his smile — the real one this time — was enough to make everything feel okay.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, Christmas could actually be... alright. Not perfect, not bad, but just okay, so long as you had your siblings.

apologies for any mistakes i may have made! —thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs and (constructive) criticisms are always much appreciated! 💗

if you’ve got any ideas on what i should write next, my reqs are open!

[house-of-caraleya]

Woooo! Then i have a Garreth Request!

Just some fluffy family fun! Like i honestly see Gar being a girl dad, so is it okay you write a day in the life of the Weasley household of Garreth’s several daughters and one son? Everyone being rambunctious and just some fluffy good times with fem Reader/MC

sorry for the late response, anon! tysm for the req, was short but fun to start writing again! fic is： this post

[house-of-caraleya]

A Day at The Burrow | GARRETH W.

summary： a weasley morning with your husband and children. pairings： garreth weasley x f! reader warnings： none, just magical family fluff wordcount： 1.2k author’s note： probably innacurate in some parts, especially with the burrow. i’ve no clue who built it but we’ll pretend it was our garreth :p. creds: dividers: @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics // request: this post // picture: this post on pinterest

The sunlight streamed softly through the window, spilling over the old oak floorboards of the Weasley household, a little cabin on the green outskirts of Devonshire that the six of you lovingly called home.

You sighed contentedly, savouring the warmth of the morning as the quiet hum of the house reached your ears.

Garreth was up—he was always the first to rise, even before the birds outside started singing. It was just his way. And you, still half-asleep, could already hear the faint sound of pans clattering in the kitchen, interspersed with the familiar hum of Garreth’s voice, trying to herd the kids toward breakfast.

The house had a comfortable, lived-in feel, with mismatched furniture and the soft scent of toast and herbs in the air. It was a far cry from the grand halls of Hogwarts you and Garreth knew many years ago, but it was perfect for your family.

A home filled with warmth, laughter, and magic—just the way Garreth always dreamed it would be.

You stretched lazily, then swung your legs out of bed. The sounds of chaos from downstairs made you smile as you padded softly toward the kitchen. You had four children now—three daughters and one son—and mornings in the Weasley house were never quiet.

The familiar hum of their voices, overlapping in excited chatter, greeted you before you even entered the room.

“Annie! Don’t you dare mess with my things!” came a loud voice from one of the chairs around the table. It beloged to Lily-Anne, your eldest daughter, who at eight years old was already an expert at sounding outraged without really being angry.

“Relax, I was just looking!” Annie retorted, her words fast and full of mischief. At six years old, Annabelle was the family’s little adventurer—always poking around, testing spells, and getting into trouble.

“You’ve been looking at my things for hours,” Lily-Anne snapped back, sounding every bit like a miniature Garreth.

Garreth, who was having dishes washed by themselves while stirring something at the stove, laughed quietly to himself, not even bothering to intervene—he knew better by now. He was accustomed to the banter between his two oldest girls.

“Lillie, sweetie, give your sister some space,” he said, his voice a mix of fondness and exhaustion. “Annie, don’t make me send you to bed early tonight.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I wasn’t even going to do anything with them,” Annie said, though the sly grin on her face made it clear she was up to something. She always had that look when she was planning her next ‘adventure.’

As you stepped into the kitchen, your youngest daughter, Winifred, nicknamed Winnie, was the first to spot you. “Mummy!” she squealed, her short ginger curls bouncing with excitement. She scampered over to you, her arms outstretched. “I made pancakes!” she announced, proudly holding up a small, slightly misshapen pancake, which she’d more than likely stolen from Garreth’s stack.

“Did you now?” you asked, bending down to kiss the top of her head, taking the pancake from her with a grin. “This looks amazing, darling.”

“Not as good as Daddy’s!” Winifred said, eyes wide with admiration. You turned your gaze toward Garreth, who was now flipping a much more professional-looking stack of pancakes onto the table.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take it from here,” Garreth said with a wink as he set the spatula down.

He turned to you and added in a quieter voice, “She insists she’s a pro chef already. I think we’ve got a little cook on our hands.”

You chuckled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Then I believe you’ve got some competition, my love.”

“I’m okay with it,” Garreth said, his voice warm and humorous, and full of pride. “She’s clearly already better at it than I was at her age.”

“Annie!” came a new voice, followed by the tell-tale sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Finn, your four-year-old son, had clearly entered the fray. “You can’t do magic like that! Mum and Dad said no!”

Annie turned around, hands on her hips. “I wasn’t doing magic, Finn. I was simply pretending. It’s not even a real wand,” she said, a mock pout on her face.

“Pretending or not, stop doing that near my things!” Finnick spoke, stomping his little foot in exaggerated annoyance.

At this point, you couldn’t help but laugh. Finnick was a fiery little boy—very much like Garreth, though he had your stubbornness. 'Spellcasting' was his favourite pastime.

He wasn’t allowed to use magic yet, not until he turned eleven, but that didn’t stop him from pretending to perform spells.

Most of the time, he used his broomstick—his favourite toy, which was already showing signs of wear and tear from the countless imaginative Quidditch games he played in the garden, which Garreth would sometimes join in with.

“Alright, alright, enough with the magic-ing, everyone!” Garreth said, his voice good-natured but firm as he set the pancakes on the table. “We’ve got to eat before these poor pancakes turn to bricks.”

You sat down beside Garreth, helping Winifred into her seat next to you, while Annabelle, Finnick, and Lily-Anne scrambled for their places at the table. The moment your eldest daughter, Annie, slid into her seat, she immediately reached for the jar of jam, her eyes wide with determination.

“Lillie,” Garreth said, a chuckle in his voice, “we’ll get to the jam in a minute. First, let’s all eat something before your sisters get their hands on it.”

“I’m going to be the first one to finish my pancakes,” Lillie announced, her voice full of confidence.

“Not if I can help it!” Annie challenged, reaching for her fork, and starting to eat at an almost competitive speed.

Meanwhile, Winifred, still entranced by her stuffed dragon, began feeding her pancake to it, making sure it had its own little plate of syrup. Garreth leaned over to you, eyes twinkling. “If it weren’t for her, we might've had a spat over this food.”

“I’m pretty sure we already do,” you said with a laugh, watching as Lillie, Annie, and Finn began bickering over who would finish first.

The rest of breakfast was a beautiful mess—garbled conversations about dragons and broomsticks, Winnie insisting that Puff the Dragon could only eat pancakes with syrup, Annie and Finn arguing about the best Quidditch teams (despite neither of them actually knowing what a real match looked like), and Garreth trying to keep it all together with good-natured laughter.

“Alright, alright, let’s get cleaned up before it’s time to head outside,” Garreth said, after a few minutes of pancakes, syrup, and chaos. “We can’t have another broom incident like yesterday, can we?” He raised an eyebrow, though his tone was gentle.

“Maybe just one more race, Daddy,” Finn pleaded, his eyes big and innocent. “Just one.”

“Alright, one race,” Garreth said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But that’s it.”

You shook your head affectionately, your heart swelling with love as you looked at the family around you—your four rambunctious, wonderful children and your impossibly charming, endlessly patient husband. The day was just beginning, and already it was filled with more laughter, noise, and love than you could have ever imagined.

It was a good day. A very good day. And with Garreth by your side, you knew it would always be.

apologies for any mistakes i may have made, whether in timeline or the language! thank you so much for reading! i was super nervous about this, i don’t usually write much for garreth, but i hope i captured him as best as i could :,) likes, comments, reblogs and (constructive) criticisms are always much appreciated! 💗

[house-of-caraleya]

Do you write for Garreth?

yup! 💗

[house-of-caraleya]

REQUESTS! OPEN

LAST UPDATED: 25.12.24

Pop in a message in my inbox anytime! I may be a bit in responding, so apologies in advance, but I will always get back to you eventually. Anons & mutuals are always very welcome, and if you’d just like to say hi aswell, feel free to! :]

TYPES OF REQS:

Normal fics Drabbles Daydreams/Thoughts Headcannons Incorrect Quotes Moodboards Playlist/Song Req Songfic - Anything else interesting I may have missed!

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If you’ve any ocs/specific features for Y/N and would like me to include them in a req I do, please feel free to let me know !

LIMITS:

Being demisexual makes me struggle with romance and suggestive themes, but I’m sure I can try! Apologies if such scenes are sometimes disappointing. :,)

However, it should be said that I can’t write for male!reader yet. fem!reader & gn!reader are okay for me to do.

ㅤ +18 - MINORS PLEASE SKIP THIS !

I’ve never written smut in my life, and I don’t plan to soon since I’ve barely just got back into writing, but I’m willing to attempt eventually.

That being said, I do have some no-no’s:

Dub-con, non-con, incest / step-cest / pseudo-cest, illegal age-gaps, etc.

Scatophilia, emetophilia, urolagnia, mutilation, etc.

Underage characters (including)

Any dark, hardcore kinks.

If you have any doubts regarding a kink you’d like me to exploit, do ask me about it.

I will be working on a navigation/menu post soon!

[house-of-caraleya]

AAAAAGHGH EATS?? scrumptious art gimme 14 of em

ur gonna be popular

[house-of-caraleya]

MASTERLIST | star banner 001.

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hehe, been wanting to do something like this for a while now 😌✨. starting off with blues and reds and golds first and then will do more colour sets later !

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[house-of-caraleya]

hopeless romantic! jason todd who thinks cheesy pick up lines are stupid, and that surely, the shakespearian shit is gonna work on hinge

hopeless romantic! jason todd who doesn't get why everyone he tries to match with doesnt fw his poetic bars (hes TRYING)

hopeless romantic! jason todd who finally, FINALLY gets a match. he has to put his phone down for a million years just to process everything and then glances back down at his screen to make sure it's still there.

how is someone is genuinely that stunning?

hopeless romantic! jason todd who feels like he's fumbling every time his messages you. if he had less pride, he'd probably ask dick for advice, but no, fuck that, he can do things on his own. it'd be humiliating to beg for romantic advice from him.

at least you seem amused by jason's antics. even if he does seem mildly inept with flirting. dork.

hopeless romantic! jason todd who makes sure to ask about your favourite flowers to get you a bouquet of them for your first date and meet up

hopeless romantic! jason todd who drops said flowers when he finally sees you in person and loses all his words and cognitive function for a moment when you say hi and greet him with a friendly hug. yeah he's not surviving the date.

completely and utterly hopeless! jason todd when the date goes incredible. he walks you home because... obviously? it's gotham and it's dark.

you leave him with a kiss on his cheek and the promise of seeing him sometime again, and he just knows he's a goner.

[house-of-caraleya]

imagine the two of you on the beach, him wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of swim trunks because you told him his scars weren't ugly.

his muscular body by her side. and he didn't leave her side because her body was wearing the bikini he loved.

he couldn't help but touch her body, even a touch of his fingers passing over her leg. He was tanning bravely and not feeling ugly because you always reminded him how beautiful he was.

After arriving, Jason had gotten sunburned and forgotten to apply sunscreen.

[house-of-caraleya]

eyes in the shadows

summary - somebody is watching you from the shadows…they know who you are, but do you know them?

pairing - jason todd x fem!reader

warnings - MINORS DNI, stalking, home invasion, guns, death, blood, internalized misogyny (on your part), attempted sexual assault, hurt some comfort, shutting off emotions, feeling like a burden, paranoia, small panic attack and anxiety. This is a heavy one folks, read at your own discretion. not beta’d I just wanted to post it, so sorry for any mistakes.

wc - 3.4k (how did this get so long?)

a/n - I got this idea while listening to the diner by billie eilish and it turned into this…anyway. If you feel unsafe when walking home or anywhere else, call the police or a hotline to get the help you need.

“Hey, this came for you.” Your coworker, Gina, handed you a calling card.

You raised an eyebrow and took the slim card into your hands. You felt sick looking at the words. It was the fourth one of these cards this week.

You look gorgeous today. I know you want me too.

“This is going too far, who is sending me these?” You asked and looked around at the empty restaurant.

“I found it in the kitchen, it was just the cooks back there closing up shop.” Gina shrugged. “We can report it to the manager tomorrow and see if he can pull some footage.”

“Right.” You nodded and hung up your apron for the night. You counted your tips and put them into your wallet before picking up the textbook and notes you had brought along and shoving it into your bag. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye sweetheart, we’ll get it all sorted out.” Gina patted your shoulder. “On a happier note your boyfriend is outside, he’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Your mood lifted significantly as you threw on your coat and pushed out of the break room.

Jason was sitting outside leaning against his bike. He promised to help you study for your exam the next day, and took a night off of patrol for it. You didn’t ask him to but he did, also telling you that he would pick you up from work.

“Hi Jay.” You smile as you exit the front door of the restaurant.

“Hi honey.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” You smile and take the helmet he hands you.

Placing it over your head you hopped onto the bike behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso. Your eyes travel to the other side of the street, and they land on a figure shrouded in darkness. Their hands are stuffed in their pockets and they seemed to be staring right at you.

You don’t know how Jason didn’t notice, he starts the bike and drives off into the street. The figure moves in the direction you and Jason were driving, your gut feels unsteady. The shadowy person felt like someone to be afraid of. You held onto Jason tighter.

He tapped your thigh two times, asking if you were okay. You tapped his stomach once, telling him yes. Your head whipped back and the figure was gone, vanished into thin air.

Maybe you had been imagining things.

���••

You push open the door of your apartment, dropping your bags, keys and purse on the floor like a ton of weights. You had been getting the early shift the last few days, after your manager found an unauthorized person walking into the kitchen four nights ago and placing the calling card with your name on it. The cards hadn’t come since, but there was no clear image of the person's face so they couldn’t be identified.

You tried to be relieved about it, but your gut feeling still persisted. You really needed to tell Jason about it, it was bad enough that the person knew where you worked, how long before they knew where you went to school or even where your house was.

Flopping onto your couch, you looked at your coffee table, an opened textbook, a half full cup of tea forgotten from the night before, and a singular red rose. The rose hadn’t been there this morning, you jolted up and took it into your hands. There was a tag with your name on it, the same handwriting as the notes from the restaurant printed on it. Terror ripped through you.

Fumbling around for your phone you dropped the rose quickly and leaned over the couch, grabbing it from your purse. Your hand shook as you pressed on Jason’s contact. Bringing it to your ear it rang a few times before he picked up.

“Hi baby.” His voice is groggy like he had just woken up.

“Oh, were you sleeping?” You ask, guilt seeping through your words.

“Yes, but I can tell something is bothering you. So tell me what’s going on honey.” Jason’s voice soothes the fear in your veins.

You pause for a second trying to formulate how to tell your already overprotective boyfriend that you have a stalker and that they got into your apartment somehow.

“Baby, you there?” His tone grew more worried the longer it took you to answer.

“God, Jay I meant to tell you sooner but I didn’t want you to be worried.” You began rambling unsure what to say. “Because you always tell me to be careful and I lock all of my windows and my door has three deadbolts on it.”

“Honey slow down, why would I be worried?” Your mind raced as he tried to calm you down.

“You know I’ve been taking the early shift the last few days right?” You start slowly, playing with the necklace around your neck.

“Yes, you said it’s because your friend was out of town so you were taking her shifts.” The lie you had told him made you feel sick to your stomach, you hated lying to him.

“Yeah, that was a lie. God, Jay I’m so sorry for lying to you.” You felt like the worst person ever. “But my manager had me in the busier shifts because I have been getting notes sent by some person who’s obsessed with me. I thought it was all fine because there haven’t been any notes in the last four days. But I got home and found a rose with my name on it, the same handwriting and everything. They got into my apartment Jason, my home. They know where I work and where I live.”

The tears were spilling down your cheeks, breathing shaky. “I’m coming over, pack a bag you’re staying with me for a while.” His voice was laced with anger.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you.” Your voice cracked.

Jason took a breath over the phone, “I know you didn’t want to worry me honey but you have to tell me if something like this happens. You know I want to protect you.”

“I know Jay, I just…I just didn’t want to be another thing on your plate.” You picked yourself up off of the couch and moved to your bedroom. Pulling out a suitcase you filled it with enough clothes for a week, and filled your school bag with all of the things you would need for your classes.

“You will never be just another thing, you are my girlfriend and I care about you so much. You are always going to be my number one priority, don’t you think otherwise.” He practically scolds you. “I’m on my way, stay put, I'll be there in ten. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reply and set the phone down.

The drive from his apartment to yours is twenty minutes if he took all the main roads, but you knew he was going to break all kinds of traffic laws to get to you. You fold your legs into yourself, you have never felt so unsafe in your entire life. The tears come again before you even know it, and you are a sniffling mess, eyes watery with tears.

Time passes you by quickly, and you are only jolted by the sound of the locks on your apartment door turning. Your breath quickens and you reach for the pepper spray in your bag.

“Baby it’s just me.” Jason locks the door behind him and you drop the canister. “Where are you?”

“Bedroom.” You choke out and the door swings open, he’s looking at you with concern in his eyes.

One look at him and you break down for the third time. Jason pulls you into his arms, pressing his cheek to your hair. “You’ll be safe with me I promise.” His thumbs rub soothing circles onto your back as he holds you.

“I don’t want to be here anymore, I’m scared.” You wipe your face and look up at him. Jason’s eyes seem more green than normal.

“It’ll be okay honey, you can stay at my apartment until you feel safe.” He helps you to stand and takes your suitcase in one hand and grabs yours with the other.

You press into him, your mind drifting away as he takes you out of your apartment and off to his. You lean against him and shudder as your gut tells you someone is watching you. Searching around you don’t find anyone, but the feeling still lingered. He helps you into his car and takes off, your eyes feel numb and throat raw. All you want to do is sleep and hope that the nightmare ends.

•••

You packed up your books and placed them inside your bag. Taking a pen into your mouth you scrolled through your email one last time. The classroom was nearly empty, and everyone was chatting with someone while they left. The grad student Teacher’s Assistant was flipping through his paperwork.

You shut down your laptop, put it in your bag and threw it over your shoulder before picking up your phone and walking out of the lecture hall.

The screen on your phone lit up, you flipped it over hoping to see a text from Jason or even your manager. But it was an unknown number, pushing out the door your breath quickened as you looked around. No one was there. You opened the text.

Why are you with him? You could be with me, you could be my wife. You should love me, please love me. I love you, why don’t you love me?

Several pictures of you and Jason were attached to the text, some of you both out and about. A few of you both near your work. But the ones that made you sick to your stomach, were the ones of the both of you in your apartment, ranging from just talking on the couch or one with you partially undressed leading Jason to your bedroom. They had been watching you, and the list of things kept on growing longer. You now had to add, taking pictures of you in your own home and having your phone number.

WHY NOT ME? PLEASE LOVE ME. PLEASE LOVE ME. PLEASE LOVE ME. PLEASE LOVE ME. PLEASE LOVE ME.

You didn’t finish looking at the text before escaping the campus of Gotham University and running to the train. You texted your manager that you wouldn’t be coming in for work and you stuffed your phone into your bag. Jason would want to see what the person had sent you.

You shrunk down in your seat, it felt like all of the people on the train were watching you. Eyes raking over everything, your hair, your skin and your body. You were acutely aware that the shirt you were wearing was tighter fitting and the jeans were hugging your thighs. Panic filled your chest, maybe you brought this on yourself.

The train stopped at the stop near Jason’s apartment and you practically ran out the doors. You made a beeline to his apartment, not acknowledging any of your surroundings. You made it up the stairs without interacting with anyone, pulling the keys from your bag you unlocked the door and locked it behind you.

“You’re home.” Jason peeked around the corner, his formerly happy face dropped once he saw the grave look on yours. “Did something happen?”

You silently held out your phone to him, the unknown number’s text pulled up on the screen. His eyes raced over the text messages and you watched him grow progressively more angry as he scrolled through the pictures.

“I’m sorry.” You looked at him and Jason looked back at you in shock.

“Why are you sorry?” He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close.

“I-I must have brought this on myself in some way. Maybe I’m too nice or my clothes are too revealing.” Your eyes were downcast as you leaned your head against Jason’s chest.

“Too revealing? Honey you’re showing a sliver of stomach and your clothes aren’t the problem.” He kissed the crown of your head. “Someone is stalking you and you should in no way think that it’s your fault. I’m going to send this phone number to Babs, she’ll track down the person attached.”

“I don’t feel safe anymore Jay.” You wrapped your arms around him.

“I hate that you don’t feel safe, especially when I’m right here. But this person is slippery, like they know what they’re doing and that scares me.” Jason spoke softly, your boyfriend, who just happened to be Red Hood, was scared for you. And he couldn’t find the person doing these things to you which made everything worse.

You couldn’t cry anymore, your body going numb as Jason held you. You looked at Jason, and felt the weight on your shoulders, you were being a burden to him. He definitely had more pressing matters to attend to and you were keeping him from them. You wanted it to all stop. You just wanted the nightmare to be over.

You don’t remember how you ended up cocooned under the covers in Jason’s bed. Your clothes were a mix of your sleep shorts and his oversized hoodie. Jason opened the door half in his Red Hood gear. How long had it been?

“You fell asleep for a while, but I have to head out. B, called me up, there was a breach at Arkham.” He knelt down and brushed his thumb across your cheek, the callouses dragging roughly against the flesh.

“Okay.” You said quietly.

“I’ll lock the windows and doors, the alarm will engage when I leave. There is dinner in the refrigerator, I’ll be back soon.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You spoke in a whisper. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, but you were just so tired of being a burden to him. So you let him go. You heard the click of the window and the grind of the lock, he was gone.

You laid in bed like a rotting corpse, unmoving and eyes glassy as you stared at the wall. Your stomach growled reminding you that you were alive and needed to sustain the life you had. Pulling yourself from the bed you opened the door. You walked out to the sound of running water and someone humming a song, but it wasn’t Jason. Panic gripped your chest as you bumped into a bookshelf, notifying the intruder that you were there.

“You’re a hard woman to find, sweetheart.” The voice spoke and you looked around for anything to defend yourself with. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere since you left your apartment.”

The voice crawled over your skin, trailing cold chills as they rounded the corner and set their eyes on you. “How did you get in here?”

“Your boyfriend sure does have a lot of security, but I really just broke in, he’s probably on his way. So I probably have about ten minutes to get what I want.” Half of the man’s face was covered in shadow.

His face came fully into light, and you realized it was the Grad TA, Gavin or something, from your Humanities class. Pressing yourself against the wall, he stalked closer to you.

He had a gun.

“I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, your mind is so fascinating and once I prove my love to you. You’ll leave that boyfriend of yours and be mine.” He pressed the cold metal of the gun underneath your chin. His hand slithered up the side of your thigh, its trajectory clear. “Please be mine.”

You kneed him in the crotch and he doubled over in pain. You made a run for it, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pain shooting through your arm.

“Stop running sweetheart I know you want me too. You’re always smiling at me in class, and asking me how my day was.” He pleaded at you with tears in his eyes.

“That’s basic human decency you sick creep.” You fought his grip and pulled your wrist from his hand.

You ran into the kitchen, the knives that were on the counter normally were gone. “I hid the knives, I know you’re scared but you should harm me. I love you.”

You were going to die.

He ran into the kitchen as you bolted out of it. You needed to defend yourself somehow. You ran into the living room, and looked around. Jason hid weapons around the apartment you just couldn’t remember where.

“Stop running sweetheart, I'm getting tired of this cat and mouse game.” He exited the kitchen, you were out of time.

You ran to the front door, if you couldn’t find a weapon you needed to get out. “No, you can’t leave!”

The psycho ran after you and you sprinted down the hallway that seemed to last forever. “Don’t leave me sweetheart, you can’t leave me.”

His hand grabbed the hood of your sweatshirt and you fell to the floor. He grabbed your ankle, dragging you away from the door when you saw it. You pulled the gun from underneath the hallway table, took off the safety and shot the man.

“That’s not very nice.” He looked down at where you had shot him. The blood seeped from the left side of his chest coloring the shirt he was wearing red. He fell to the floor as you scrambled out of the way of his dead body.

You killed someone.

You dropped the gun and covered your mouth. “No, no, no what have I done? What have I done? What have I done?”

The tears you hadn’t been able to shed before came spilling down your face. as you pressed your back against the wall and stared at the body. The window was shoved open and Jason practically ran through. He looked at you, then the body on the floor.

“I killed him, Jay. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.” You chanted the words still foreign on your tongue.

“Hey, hey. Look at me honey.” His hands were on your shoulders. Your eyes were glazed over. “Look at me. You didn’t kill him. I did, I killed him.

He took a gun from his holster and shot another one in the dead body’s thigh. “You immobilized him, I killed him.”

You were frozen in place as Jason held you, the cool metal of his armor spread ice through your veins. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

“I need to see your face.” You whispered. “Let me see your face.”

He disengaged the helmet and threw it to the floor. “You’re okay baby, you’re okay.”

You held his face in your hands, and let the warmth seep into your fingertips. “What are we going to do about the body?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be alright.” Jason shook his head and held you.

“What if they find out?” You asked fear and worry still lacing your mind.

“They won’t honey, it will lead back to Red Hood. I killed him, not you.” He kissed your forehead.

You just let him hold you. As much as you worried about your stalker's murder making its way back to you, you felt safe for the first time in months now that he was dead.

•••

“And that’s all for sports. Back to you Kristen.”

“Thank you, in a recent string of female related crimes another stalker has been found dead outside of Crime Alley. The graduate student of Gotham University was identified and found to have many explicit and non explicit images of a woman and her boyfriend, billionaire Bruce Wayne’s son Jason Todd in his apartment.”

“The man had been following her to work and back to her house leaving roses, notes and calling cards. He had even gotten her phone number in order to intimidate the woman.”

“It is unknown who the killer is, but he was shot through the heart and leg. With the body’s position in Crime Alley, it is plausible that crime lord Red Hood was behind the shooting. But the GCPD still has an open investigation into the case. Now to David with the weather.”

a/n - fluffy tim fic coming soon!

all rights reserved to me, do not translate without my permission

[house-of-caraleya]

Jason Todd with sharp canines that he accidentally nips you with all the time. At some point you kinda just have to shove your hand in his mouth to take a look and find out what the fuck he has in there that could possibly be doing this shit. He just sort of lets you without question and complains in muffled gibberish around your hand.

He does apologize profusely every time he knicks you though (and depending on what he was trying to do, he’ll lick or kiss it better). Unfortunately he refuses to do it on purpose.

But if you distract him enough with your hands tugging on the roots of his hair while he’s trying to leave a hickey… let’s just say he has a hard time focusing on being careful.

[house-of-caraleya]

you were addicted to jason's kisses like the birds to the soil on a wet, damp morning.

they always felt different in the morning, peppered kisses between gaping yawns and faked gags. his hands always had the habit of encircing your waist, pulling your half-asleep body into his embrace as pressed his lips to your face, chuckling as you playfully pushed him away at the ticklish feeling.

his kisses in the afternoon were somewhat rushed, yet slow, just like the breeze on a foggy day. you were sat on the marble of the counter, watching as he learnt a recipe; his eyes glancing over at your excited compliments and gazes, almost mocking the glare of the moon. once in a while, he'd stand in betweem your thighs, leaning down to kiss you, his lips slow against yours.

"could kiss you all day," he mumbled with a small laugh, the microwave timer echoing through the kitchen causing him to part from your touch.

your nightly embraces were often associated with his soft mumbles, a voice you wish you could sow to your mind. his lip was busted from a punch he took too hard, yet he was being much more careless than he should have been. the gush of the running bath sung throughout the coloured tiles like a choir as his lips melted against yours. your arms were wrapped around his neck as he grasped at your waist, the warmth of your body intertwining like a pillar of fire.

"fuck," he groaned, bringing the pads of his fingers to his lips once your parted, blood adorning the skin.

"you need to get in the bath, baby," you whispered.

"fuck the bath," jason replied as he kissed you again, yet, more feverishly than the last, hungry for your biting moans and shivers.

his kisses were a godly language.

[house-of-caraleya]

Series In every universe - 14 . Jason Todd

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: "Why do we fit so well together? Word Count: 764

Jason stood there before you, like a vision between the worlds of the living and the spirits, a presence both strong and ardent, filled with a stillness that yet overflowed with an unreachable love. His eyes, deep and tempestuous, were like the ocean, a vastness containing countless stories, countless sorrows, and yet, his gaze upon you was that of someone who had found shelter. Around him, the air seemed charged with an electric tension, as though the very space between you pulsed with a life of its own, intangible and full of longing. The moonlight fell softly upon his face, casting shadows that danced like fleeting memories, and you wondered, for a moment, if he, too, felt this strange, eternal divide that held you both apart.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice grave and reverent, like one offering a prayer to the sacred, “why do we fit so well, as if we are two halves of the same whole?”

Your eyes met his with a sad sweetness, and there was a calm in your answer that seemed to embrace all the intensity he carried within, as if you were the gentle morning that soothes a restless night. The air around you seemed to still in that moment, as if the earth itself paused, giving you space to speak, to answer. "Because you are the fire," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, like someone offering their heart with every word, "and I am the breeze that loves to warm you, that loves to give you room to burn."

The soft rustle of distant trees and the faintest stir of wind were the only sounds that accompanied your words. The world around you seemed to hold its breath, the night embracing your quiet confession with an aching silence, as though even nature could not bear to interrupt the fragile peace between you.

Jason gave a faint smile, but there was something dark in his expression, a sorrow that the years and battles had etched deeply within him. He was like a fierce flame that consumed the silence, and you were the peace that welcomed that fire with boundless devotion, a quietude that understood his fervor without ever extinguishing it. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, making them seem almost too bright, too full of unspoken stories. You could feel his gaze pulling at you, like the tides pulling at the shore, as though he, too, had once wished to cross this invisible boundary that separated you both.

He drew closer to you, his gaze penetrating, as if his very feelings might shatter the invisible barrier that separated you both. And yet, his hand remained suspended in the emptiness, unable to reach yours. It was a gesture steeped in a love so intense it ached within your soul; the desire to touch him was a flame that burned brightly, though it could never be fulfilled, existing there with a strength that words could never capture. His outstretched fingers trembled slightly, and you wondered if he, too, could feel the pull of the impossible.

The world seemed to grow still around you, the distant cries of unseen creatures falling silent as though the very forest itself understood the gravity of this moment. The cool air wrapped around you both, carrying with it a sense of timelessness, a sense that, for once, the world outside of your bond had ceased to exist.

"Let me tell you," you whispered, while he gazed at you with a look that held the weight of all things unattainable, "that no matter how many silences I face, yours is the only one I wish to fill, again and again." Your words felt like a thread, spun from the very air around you, connecting you to him in a way that no physical touch could.

A solemn silence enveloped you both, and within that stillness, you and Jason remained side by side, two souls cleaved from the same feeling, a melancholic, eternal love that could never be touched. The stars above flickered like distant flames, tiny lights in the vast, dark expanse. You both stood there, gazing at each other, knowing that this love was too pure, too distant, to ever reach its full potential in the physical world. It was an invisible bond, woven from words and glances, from unspoken promises that filled the void, though they could never truly bridge the distance between you. And so you remained, suspended in time, existing in a world where all you could offer was the hope that, perhaps, in another life, your souls would finally meet without the distance between you.

[house-of-caraleya]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague